Wallstreet God (The House Of Creed Book 1)

by D. M. Burns

  No Locks Turning.

  No Response.

  Nothing.

  “Uhm… Have you been drinking again?” She whispers so low that I barely catch it. I pinch the bridge of my nose and shake my head even though she can’t see me. Damn, I’m a horrible bastard.

  “No, I promise. I’m sober.”

  When I still hear no sounds of life coming from the other side. I push off the door and prepare to leave. Only to make my way around to her fire escape though. What can I say? Old habits die hard. But then the multiple locks start to disengage, I let out a harsh breath that I didn’t even know I was holding. Damn Creed… Pull your shit together.

  When the door creaks open, those deep blue sapphires come into view and her hair looks like it dried naturally giving it a wavy effect. It’s beautiful. She’s beautiful. Fuck. Brea doesn’t bother to open the door all the way, no. She’s eyeballing me with a fair amount of slap-happy suspicion. The hallway begins to run thick with her hesitation, but I hear her.

  Is he mad at me for slapping him? I really didn’t mean to. His words hurt more than I can ever explain to him.

  “Can I please come in?” I tilt my head to the side and give her what I know she likes. I smile for only her. She scrunches up her button nose trying to figure me out. She probably thinks I’m off my god damn imaginary meds again.

  God, I wished he weren’t so beautiful.

  Brea nods her head and tries to swing the door open, but her efforts are blocked when the door slams up against something on the other side. It’s a doorstop effect. I quirk my eyebrow silently asking the obvious. She shrugs and steps away so I can wedge myself in the small opening.

  “Sorry, it’s a little cramped. I’m… Well… Uhm, someone sent me a new wardrobe for Christmas.” She throws her arms out at all the packages. “I’m still trying to figure out who and why.” Her eyes wander over all the items.

  From jewelry, shoes, purses, lingerie… To beanies, skirts, business suits, dresses. And my all-time favorite viewing pleasure for her, yoga pants and matching workout attire. She likes to lounge in those yoga outfits and I secretly love for her to, too. My time on her fire escape has been educational. I smirk to myself as I shut the door then turn back to her.

  “Santa has been damn good to you, huh?” I say. Her cheeks dust out with a shade of pink then she looks at me.

  “Well, it’s so very sweet and Lord knows I needed clothes after my multiple break-ins at my old apartment but WOW.” She waves her hands out and the excitement on her face lights up. “Mr. Maggio let the delivery crew in the other day. I mean, a delivery crew… It’s insane, right?” I smirk and nod my head at her. “They came by while I was uhm, visiting you. I’ve been trying to get a little put up at a time.” She covers her neck with her hand nervously then asks, “Did you do this, Brogan?”

  She crosses her arms defensively and I shake my head slowly no. I’m an honest man when it counts. This is not one of those times. To hear her tell it, I’m the Robinhood of Wallstreet. As far as I’m concerned helping her is my new calling of causes. She needs it. She deserves it. I made it happen. But admitting that won’t help the situation.

  Brea is proud. Mix that with the way I hurt her a few days ago and she’s likely to try choking me out with one of the belts I purchased for her. Hell, her slap caused me to have a hard-on for hours. I can’t imagine what would happen if she approached me with a belt. The thought of spanking her has that down south billionaire business bastard on the rise. Fuck.

  “Do you want something to drink? I have some good wine or maybe you’d prefer water.” She quirks her brow at me then moves for the frig. That’s her way of saying, you should stick with non-alcoholic beverages butthole. I don’t blame her.

  “Water would be great.”

  I fall into step behind her, eyes latched on her yoga covered ass. Hell, I picked out that damn pair myself. I scrub my hand over my face and decide to shed my trench coat tossing it over a chair then invite myself to take a seat on her couch. Avoiding the boxes in my path, I dive down. Brea joins me but sits as far away from me as she can possibly get without being in the box covered floor then she hands over the water.

  “Thanks,” I say. She nods while studying her hands like they hold all the universal secrets. “Brea, I’m deeply sorry for the things I said to you the other night. I had no right to tear you down and treat you that way. It’s no excuse but I’d been drinking. A lot.”

  “It’s okay.” Her hushed tone bothers me.

  I’d rather her slap me again then to be the cause of hearing that defeated whisper. I run my hand through my hair nervously because she hasn’t bothered to look up at me. Now, I know how she felt while my back was turned to her at the penthouse; total dick move on my behalf.

  “How I talked to you was not okay, ever. God help a bastard if they try to pull that shit on you in front of me.” I lean across the couch and tuck my index finger under her chin lifting her ocean blues to mine. “You deserve so much more, and I promise to never let it happen again as your friend.”

  Her body flinches as if I physically wounded her. It’s like that last proposed word struck her harder than her connected slap did me the other night. I see it. Hell, I feel it too.

  “It’s all I have to give right now, Brea.” I swallow the knot lodged in my throat. “Something instead of nothing.”

  I grind my teeth together and my other hand clinches tight around the water at my side. I wouldn’t blame her if she tossed my ass out of her loft. I’d go reluctantly, but fuck, I’m hoping she’ll give this to me. My inside evil demons overheard my words and those little fuckers are ripping out the lining of my stomach. Brea looks to the left pulling away from my hand and I let it fall between us. She bites her lower lip seemingly lost in thought over what I just proposed.

  I’m in love with a liar but I’ll take him however he comes. He’s special to me.

  “Can I ask you something?” She whispers and those eyes come back to me. Jesus Christ, this woman owns me. I nod my head. “You said you were an honest man and it’s important to me that you tell the truth no matter what the answer is. I can handle it.”

  “I will if I can.” That’s the best I can do. She purses her lips and nods her head.

  “Is it because I’m well, uhm… A virgin?”

  Thank fuck it’s an easy one. I sit up and place my water down on her coffee table then scoop her little frame right up out of her long-distance spot on the couch. Hauling her little body into my lap noting that she doesn’t fight me in the least.

  Friends can touch in a PG rated way, right? She buries her head into the crook of my neck and her body seems to meld into mine, god damn it… I get a whiff of her peachy lotion and I will my dick to tame himself, fat chance. I’m as hard as a steel rod. Her scent invades my brain cells taking up permeant residence in my senses and branding my sinus cavity.

  “Absolutely fucking not, Brea.” I brush her long wavy locks to the side and wrap my arms around her.

  “Okay.” Her hand binds around my side clinging to my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear if she lets go. “So, the other night was because you were trying to push me away coupled with drinking.”

  “Yes.” I spit that word out like its shit invading the palette of my mouth.

  “Can you tell me what changed everything?”

  Her breathe brushes across my neck sending a blanket of chills over me. I try to think of anything that will kill my erect dick but with my hands on her body that shits not happening.

  “No, baby.” I grind out.

  “Do you want it to be this way between us, just friends?” She asks.

  “Fuck no,” I growl squeezing her tighter to me like that proves my words.

  “But this is what’s allowed so, you’re here taking what you can get just like I’m accepting whatever you’re willing to offer.”

  “God damn it…” I look up at the popcorn ceiling above and let out a frustrated shy. “Yes.”

  F
uck… She’s asking all the right questions. Plus, she’s almost as good at reading me as I am her. And that’s saying something since I have mind-reading abilities. Brea knows that if I want something; I obtain it, period. For me to want her and not be able to have her, especially when she should be the deciding factor in giving herself over, tells of a sordid story all its own.

  When I feel her body shaking with silent sobs, I do the only damn thing I can, I reposition us on the couch and wrap my arms around her. I kiss her forehead and hold her to me until she quiets.

  “Is it someone else?” I know I should probably say yes, but when she looks up at me with tears staining her blotchy face, I slowly shake my head no. Hell, if I lied to her, she’d probably pick up on it anyway. “I’m not going to pretend to understand because I don’t.”

  “No more questions, Brea.” My voice is flat. This is how things are for now. She nods and lays her head back down. “Friends. You’ll be my first female friend.” Fuck me…

  “Geneva’s your friend.” She whispers.

  “And I pay her handsomely too. It doesn’t count when they’re on payroll and my mother’s age.” She giggles.

  “Thank you for telling me the truth.” She whispers. “I’m sorry for slapping you. I’ve never hit anyone before in my life and I never want to do that again. It hurt my heart.” Hell, I know it did.

  “Well, it hurt my face but in a damn good way so don’t apologize. I promise that I can be an asshole friend too. Just ask Carson. So, hold that thought. You might just end up slapping the shit out of me again.” She giggles into my chest and damn, it’s the best fucking sound. “Does this mean that I can tell Carson you won’t be leaving The House of Creed?”

  “I don’t want to make things awkward, ya know? I just thought… Uhm.” She yawns.

  “We need you,” I whisper into her hair. What I really want to say is that I need her. My non-alcoholic version of Southern Comfort. She’s my beautiful butterfly.

  “Okay.” She yawns.

  Without hesitation, I pull the blanket off the back of the couch covering her up and then tighten my arms around her. This is okay, right? We’re not having sex. We can be friends and hangout. Shit like that. It’d just be another first for me and where this one is concerned that’s becoming the norm. Fuck you, Channing!

  “Thank you for giving me our tree. It’s my best memory I have, and I love it, Brea.” She nods her head and I feel the movement against my pounding heart. She doesn’t need to say anything, I hear her silent answer.

  And I love you.

  chapter 29

  brealyn

  Propelling my feet forward, I exit the elevator and my eyes roam over the crowded room that houses all my co-workers. My insecurities over my dress settles by a fraction as I take in the ladies here tonight. I was worried that one of my secret Santa gifts was too revealing but judging by the others in attendance that’s not the case.

  The strappy silver number gathers and drapes dangerously low between my breasts and the back is non-existent. The silky material runs the length of my body but slits on one side exposing high thigh down. My matching stilettos that came with the dress are flawlessly perfect and sparkle without movement. No motion is needed for this eye stunning ensemble to draw attention. It does its job effortlessly.

  Since the dress lacks a back, I flat ironed my long blonde hair, so I’d have some kind of curtain cover and warmth. I paired this outfit off with understated drop diamond earrings and a barely seen choker chain that has a beautiful single diamond for appearance. It gives off the impression that the sparkling ice is free-floating around my throat.

  The entire outside packaging is beautiful. It’s absolutely elegant but sexy. And it’s also all Brogan’s doing. I know he’s the one that stocked my closet with an insane amount of everything. With it came a price tag that I won’t allow myself to think about. I’ve blocked that mountable detail out.

  Brogan’s a beautiful liar, he’s just not a decent one when it comes to deceiving me. But thanks to his generosity, I feel like a new aged Cinderella that was just dropped off at the New York-New Year’s Eve hotspot for a chance at seeing my Creed charming.

  The main floor of the Sky Lounge is a sight to behold though. From what I was told this is the first year that The House of Creed has held a New Year’s Eve party. And from the looks of it, they didn’t spare any expense. Which shouldn’t come as a surprise because these five horsemen are rumored to run Manhattan. Money talks. Their net worth is only speculation and much like the Bermuda Triangle, it’s still an unknown mystery.

  Doing a full circle, I see the place is a panoramic floor to ceiling glass circle. The seating underneath my feet resembles black ice and up above the ceiling radiates a red-light effect with thousands of tiny glass globes varying in sizes. The red-light ambience pours through the spheres scattering out multiple rainbows that radiate and dart across the black ice bottom.

  There are numerous stainless-steel looking bars posted randomly throughout the massive space with bright blue LED lighting pouring out from underneath each bar top. This place is beautiful in an upscale nightclub vibe kinda way.

  The staff randomly shuffle about trying to accommodate my colleagues. It sorta depresses me to think that we’re the cause of these people working on New Year’s Eve but I’m fairly certain the reward is lucrative. Pushing off to the side, I smile at an unfamiliar couple in passing as I wander over to the view.

  I can see the entire city from here engulfed and masked in darkness. Each building in the distance seems as though they're speaking out at me by way of a unique laser light show. It’s eye-pleasing. Placing my palm on the glass, I let the stark bite of cold capture me for a moment, sinking into the palm of my skin. I retract and close my hand feeling the stinging tingles left behind.

  That’s exactly how my body felt when I woke up in bed to find Brogan had quietly slipped away. The numbness creeping in from the abrupt realization and leaving behind withdrawals. I’ve not heard from my new friend since either. To be fair, I did fall asleep on him, but I was emotionally and physically wiped out.

  That entire apology threw me off balance, but the friend proposition laid me to rest. It felt like ice water had been thrown in my face. I was shocked into silence and had to contemplate and formulate my words carefully before speaking.

  Something instead of nothing. That arrangement will never apply to us. No matter how much he wants this newfound relationship definition to exist, it’s doomed. It’ll never be enough for either of us, ever. Much like I feel toward him, Brogan is a seeker of full ownership entitlement to the things he wants. All or nothing. And I feel the making of corporate sabotage coming on.

  Those ice white eyes heat with a butane flame that burns vigorously when looking at me. I see it. I feel it. I want it, him. And there’s absolutely no denying that my body gravitates to that man. It’s as if my creator’s sole strategy behind my design and existence was to provide a partner for Brogan Creed only.

  Had Brogan told me that it was someone else, or that he didn’t want me, I’d gracefully bow out blending into the background but that’s not the case. With every answer he gave me, filling in the blanks to my questions, I felt his distaste and hate for the decision he was being forced to make for us.

  Brogan believes he can’t have me and for whatever reason, fragile female complex protector-maybe, he’s holding firm to that idiotic notion. Placing me in a glass box with strict instructions for handling.

  Smell but don’t inhale too deeply.

  Look but don’t memorize the detail.

  Touch but don’t revel in the feel of the texture.

  Lust for it but never satisfy the predatory urge.

  Enjoy for a brief moment but deny yourself eternity.

  Love from a far only.

  ALL these LIMITATIONS and for WHAT?

  My viewpoint on the city becomes unfocused when his form slips into place behind me. A profound reflection in the spotless glass of a suit covere
d body dwarfs me. Broad shoulders and impeccable posture centers me, picture perfectly, in the middle of his powerful frame. He stands tall and the hard lines of his Godlike jaw structure are compelling. Those eyes are beaming bright and his hair is slicked back giving a highlight effect to the blonde-white streak over his ear.

  I close my eyes and inhale deeply trying to compose myself. Only to catch his expensive cologne upon inhale cataloging it to memory as well as this moment. My beautiful lying friend, right? Not even close.

  When I open my eyes, I pretend not to notice his presence behind me. Spying on him while he studies me in the see-through reflection, that’s my cause for pause. His eyes rake over my body creating a blanket of heat that starts out at the center of my core. If I’m not mistaken, I feel him lightly brush his knuckles over my silky long strands.

  “Whoever made this purchase for you is my least favorite person at the moment.” His voice sounds gruff. I smirk knowing that I’d hate myself too if I continued to deny myself what I truly desired the most.

  When he makes a grunting sound, I turn my head to the side and smile coyly letting my eyes take him in. This man is making a fashion statement tonight. The deep maroon color of his business shirt screams that this is the shade of his boardroom victims’ bloody death. The matching pocket square showcases his elegant silver scripted initials, BMC.

  Brogan is a wall of sex that I want to climb, literally. His mouth tips up by a fraction as if he heard my dirty thoughts. Surprisingly, he holds his hand out offering me a glass of champagne.

  “That’s not a very friendly thing to say, now is it?” I turn to him fully and take the bubbly noting the glass in his other hand holds a familiar brown substance.

  “No, but it’s honest.” He smirks.

  “You look beautiful, Brogan.” I wink at him. Can friends do that?

  Brogan’s eyes immediately scan down to the silver fabric dipped between my breasts and my nipples automatically respond to his attention. Those eyes hoovering there. His jaw jerks and those icy domes slowly climb back to mine.