Strip Poker: Bad Boys Club Romance #2

by Olivia Thorne

  “Assholes.” “Assholes.”

  There was a second of stunned silence – the way we act when we hear a truth we don’t want to admit –

  And then we both laughed.

  God, that felt good. It was the first time I’d smiled in days.

  But two seconds later, I went back to hurting.

  115

  I did get him to respond, finally.

  I texted him, At least let me know you’re alive.

  Thirty seconds later the reply came:

  I’m alive. Now fuck off.

  Strangely, I felt a lot better after that.

  116

  Sal and Frank called me into their office a few days before I was supposed to leave for New York.

  “Did you find a place to live yet?” Frank asked.

  “I have an apartment broker looking for me,” I answered. “I’ll probably stay in an AirBnB for a while before I commit to anything.”

  “Good, good.”

  Sal wasn’t quite so approving. “We hear your performance the last couple of weeks has been somewhat… desultory, shall we say.”

  “Desultory?”

  “Lacking in enthusiasm.”

  “I know what desultory means,” I said, a bit snippishly. “I just don’t agree.”

  “Mm.” Sal narrowed his eyes. “Having second thoughts?”

  “About moving to New York? No.”

  “I wasn’t just talking about moving to New York.”

  My stomach twisted slightly. “Then what are you talking about?”

  “I think you know.” A cruel smile crept onto Sal’s face. “Although, when I saw that video of Victor’s proposal in New York, I knew we’d made the right choice hiring you.”

  Frank laughed. “That was… woo, I can’t tell you how much I laughed when I saw it.”

  I felt sick.

  What should have been a private moment between me and Vic was being picked over by these two vultures for their own private entertainment.

  Sal continued. “What I thought was, ‘Now here’s a woman who doesn’t let personal issues get in the way of her work. Who knows the value of loyalty to her employer.’”

  I wanted to slap him upside his bony face to show him how much my loyalty was worth.

  But instead I thought of the hospice bill and remained silent.

  Sal’s look of amusement morphed into suspicion. “But since your return, you’ve made me question that initial assessment.”

  “I just wish it hadn’t happened so publicly,” I said coldly.

  “You still harbor feelings for him?”

  “He proposed to me. I turned him down in front of a couple thousand people – ”

  “Make that a couple hundred million,” Frank chimed in. “Once it went viral.”

  I clamped down on my anger and disgust and just nodded in agreement. “Yes. And there’s nobody I would want to humiliate like that, not even my worst enemy, so… yes, I feel badly about it.”

  “Oh.” Sal seemed mollified. “Alright, then, if that’s the extent of it.”

  “That’s the extent of it.”

  “Have you spoken to him since New York?”

  “Not directly. Only in a text.”

  “Oh? What did he say?”

  “He told me to fuck off.”

  Sal gave a prudish little frown at hearing the four-letter word – but Frank liked it plenty. “That’s Vic, all right.”

  “Have you heard from him?” I asked.

  Sal shook his head. “No. Which we found somewhat odd.”

  “Especially when he hasn’t been on the yacht, or asking for the company jet,” Frank added. “Too bad for him he missed his last chance.”

  Sal immediately shot a disapproving look at his brother, who fell silent.

  Alarm bells started going off in my head.

  “Wait – what do you mean, he missed his last chance?” I asked.

  “Nothing,” Sal said abruptly.

  Frank gave Sal a Come onnnnn expression. “You can tell her.”

  “Quiet,” Sal snapped.

  “She proved herself in New York.”

  “I said quiet.”

  “Tell me what?” I asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Vic’s no longer working for us,” Frank said, ignoring Sal’s furious look.

  I stared at Frank. “He quit?”

  “Oh no,” the fat man snorted. “What, Vic give up the gravy train? No way.”

  “So… you fired him?” I asked.

  “Yes,” Sal said.

  “What did he say?”

  “He doesn’t know yet,” Sal said matter-of-factly, apparently over his anger.

  “…what?!”

  “If he would call, we would tell him.”

  “You’re completely cutting him out?!”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?!”

  “Because he’s a pain in my posterior,” Sal said prissily, “and has been for years.”

  “Are you going to give him any money?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “He’s bled us for enough over the years,” Frank wheezed.

  “It’s not like he’ll starve on the streets,” Sal said, then allowed himself another cruel smile. “Though if he did, that wouldn’t be so bad… since he’d have to come groveling back on his hands and knees.”

  Frank laughed. “I’d pay a lot of money to see that.”

  I wanted to kill these money-grubbing, backstabbing bastards – and it must have shown on my face.

  “You seem distressed by this,” Sal said, his eyes probing mine.

  “It was bad enough you went and signed a deal with Domenico behind Vic’s back,” I said, “but now you’re cutting him out completely?! Yeah, I’m a little distressed about that.”

  “I thought you could be professional about this,” Sal said acidly. “I thought you severed all personal ties with him.”

  “This is different,” I insisted.

  “No, this is business.”

  “If it’s business, then you know what Vic brought in over the weeks we were in Europe – ”

  “He lost Bradley Middleton. That one deal was worth ten times more than everything he earned for us in the last ten months, combined.”

  “Bradley Middleton is a weasel,” I said vehemently – and almost added, And a welcher. “That’s not Vic’s fault.”

  “Weasel or not, Arias managed to get him to sign. And if we partner with Arias, we get access to Middleton.”

  “But – Vic makes you money. Why would you throw out an asset that’s still making you money?” I asked in desperation.

  “I’m sure you’re acquainted with the Pareto Principle,” Sal said.

  “The 80/20 rule.”

  Named for the 19th century Italian economist who had coined it, the Pareto Principle was the hypothesis that 80 percent of effects were related to only 20 percent of causes. In other words, 80 percent of your investment returns would come from only 20 percent of your stocks, and 80 percent of your progress would come from only 20 percent of your efforts. The Pareto Principle was an article of faith in the business world, and basically the Eleventh Commandment in Silicon Valley.

  Sal nodded. “Well, 80 percent of the aggravation in my life comes from Victor… but he doesn’t provide anywhere close to 20 percent of my profits. I would like to eliminate the aggravation. Any loss in revenue will be well worth it, and made up by our new partnership with Arias.”

  “But… he’s your nephew,” I pleaded, playing my last card – and my weakest one.

  “So?” Frank asked.

  There it was. These bastards didn’t give a damn about family. Blood may be thicker than water, but for them, the ink on US currency was thickest of all.

  Then something very disturbing occurred to me. “Were you planning this when you hired me?” I asked in barely suppressed horror.

  “More or less. It was something we’d wanted to do for some time, but the right opportunity hadn’t
arisen. Now, with Arias’s partnership, it has.”

  “Why didn’t you just fire Vic from the beginning?” I asked, dumbfounded. “Why this whole charade?”

  Sal steepled his fingers together like some old silent movie villain. “I’m reminded of something from my childhood. Our grandparents lived on a farm in Sicily, and Frank and I used to visit there as children. One of the things that impressed itself most upon my memory was how my grandfather would slaughter pigs. Have you ever seen a hog slaughtered, Ms. Ames?”

  “…no…” I said warily.

  “My grandfather would use chains and a winch to haul it up by the hind legs, so that its head was dangling off the floor, and then he would make a tiny incision in its neck. You see, you have to bleed the pig out slowly. If the animal dies quickly, its heart stops beating, and too much blood remains in the flesh, producing an inferior quality meat. Do you remember that, Frank?”

  Frank Cortelian chortled sadistically. “Those pigs made a racket fit to raise the dead.”

  “Yes, they did,” Sal agreed, then turned back to me. “Hence the expression ‘squeal like a stuck pig.’ These days I’m sure factories have turned the process into a marvel of efficiency, but there’s something to be said for the old ways. Do you understand the parallel to our current situation?”

  My stomach turned – not just from listening to them recount something so gruesome, but from what I thought he was implying.

  “Why don’t you spell it out for me,” I suggested.

  “Victor needed to be bled out slowly. We wanted him to remain useful to us… at least, until he wasn’t anymore. Or until we made other arrangements. And to keep him from stomping around in outrage and causing damage on his way out, he needed to be bled slowly… and controlled, if need be… no matter how much he squealed.”

  “And I was the chains,” I said, my voice monotone.

  “Yes. And you performed admirably.”

  “Then… if my purpose has been served… why are you still employing me?”

  “You did excellent work with our nephew, so we’re hoping you might prove as resourceful again in New York. If that’s called upon.”

  I wanted to throw up. But I kept my cool instead. “I see.”

  Sal narrowed his eyes. “You’re not as upset as you were last time when I suggested you use your… abilities to cultivate a hold over Arias.”

  “I’ve gotten used to the idea,” I lied.

  Frank laughed. “I told you she was all right, Sal! I knew it the moment I saw that video!”

  Sal just looked at me like he was weighing my compliance, not quite sure whether he agreed with his brother or not. “Good. Because we have plenty of other hogs to slaughter.”

  117

  I texted Vic as soon as I got out of the meeting.

  Just spoke to your uncles – they are planning to cut you out completely. You need to protect yourself.

  Vic didn’t answer.

  Two hours passed before I texted again, Did you get my text about your uncles?

  No answer.

  When I got back to the much nicer hotel I’d been staying in since I returned from New York, I texted him again.

  I need to know – did you get my text about your uncles?

  Seconds later, I got a reply.

  I did. Stop texting me.

  I sat there on the edge of my bed staring at the screen. I wanted to rage at him – Fine, asshole, see if I care – but I felt so ashamed about my unwitting part in all of it that I couldn’t summon up any anger.

  Instead, I just felt horribly sad.

  I checked his Instagram page, but there was nothing up since the concert footage.

  Where are you, Vic?

  What are you doing?

  Probably on a two-week alcoholic bender in Mexico, surrounded by strippers, I thought bitterly.

  But I couldn’t fault him.

  After all, he’d proposed to me in front of the world, and I’d shot him down.

  I wished so badly I could have seen him again, if only to tell him how sorry I was.

  But instead I was keeping company with the Devil – two of them, in fact – because the Devil pays so very, very well.

  I couldn’t talk to Vic, but I needed to talk to someone. My heart ached, my stomach hurt, and my soul felt bone-weary. So I searched in my contacts list and dialed a number.

  After five rings, my father answered the phone.

  “Hey, Princess.”

  “Hey, Daddy.”

  “I’m lookin’ forward to you movin’ back home.”

  “I’m not exactly moving back home, Dad.”

  “Close enough. Manhattan’s practically next door compared to San Francisco.”

  “True.”

  “You alright? You sound down. How you doin’?”

  “…not good.”

  There was a long pause. “Does it have anything to do with that video on the internet of that guy in New York?”

  Jesus – even my bedridden father had seen it.

  “Yeah,” I admitted.

  “Eh, he’s a big boy. He’ll get over it.”

  “I really hurt him, Dad.”

  “Well… when a guy takes a big gamble like that, he’s gotta be prepared to lose.”

  Those were probably words Vic would agree with – hypothetically, anyway.

  “Yeah, but that’s not all of it.”

  “What’s the rest?”

  “Well… I’m making a lot of money now at my job… but I feel like I sold him out to get it.”

  “Did you?”

  “Not really… but it kind of feels like it.”

  “So what do you wanna do?”

  “I want to work somewhere I don’t feel like I have blood on my hands.”

  “So why ARE you working there, then?”

  I was silent.

  What was I supposed to say?

  ‘I have to pay your bills, and that’s why I’m I’m willing to be miserable’?

  When I stayed quiet, my father continued. “You probably don’t remember it – you were too young – but your mother used to say, ‘I don’t care what a person believes, as long as it makes ‘em happy, makes ‘em a better person, and as long as they’re not doin’ harm to anybody else ‘cause of what they believe.’”

  “I remember.”

  “I think those are pretty good rules for just about everything in life. Does this job make you happy?”

  “No.”

  “Does it make you a better person?”

  I winced. “No.”

  “Are you doin’ harm to anybody else?”

  “…I kind of am. Or I did, anyway.”

  “Then why the hell are you doin’ it?”

  His argumentative tone set me off. “Your hospice is expensive, Daddy. And Spence and John and Adam and Brian need help.”

  I immediately regretted opening my mouth.

  “Is Spence on your case about money?”

  “…I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  “I know it ain’t Brian or John or Adam.”

  “I should be helping them out, Dad.”

  “Not if it’s making you this unhappy. I would rather die right this instant than see you unhappy. You know that, right?”

  His words nearly broke my heart. “Don’t say that.”

  “You’re all I got, sweetheart. You and your brothers and your sisters-in-law and my grandchildren. I’m alive, and I’m grateful for that… but if I gotta be alive at the expense of my children’s happiness? Screw that.”

  “Daddy…”

  “You’re my baby girl. You gotta do what’s right for you. I love your brother, but Spence can go fuck himself if he’s makin’ you feel guilty. Do NOT think about anything else other than what makes you happy and what makes you a good person. You hear me?”

  I started crying. “Yes.”

  “Good girl. Now you do what you need to do, and don’t you worry about me, alright? You worry about you. Follow your mother’s advice. If you d
o that, everything else’ll turn out right.”

  I didn’t believe him about everything turning out alright –

  But I knew I had to do it anyway.

  118

  I walked into the boardroom the next morning as Sal and Frank were on a conference call. Frank glanced up in surprise; Sal looked irritated, then intrigued, as I slapped a piece of paper down in front of him.

  “Hold on for a second, Eric,” Sal said, then hit the mute button as he addressed me. “What’s this?”

  “My resignation. Effective immediately.”

  “Wha– why?!” Frank spluttered.

  Sal unmuted the call.

  “We need to call you back, Eric,” he said, and hung up without waiting for the answer. Then he turned his full attention to me. “This is a serious mistake you’re making, Ms. Ames.”

  “No, this is the first thing I’ve done here that wasn’t a mistake.”

  “Your father’s care is quite expensive. Is this really something you want to follow through on?” he asked, tapping the paper.

  “My father’s care is expensive,” I agreed. “But it’s not worth selling my soul for.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic,” Sal sneered. “You had to do a few unpleasant things you didn’t enjoy, but you did them. That’s what being an adult is all about.”

  “No – being an adult isn’t about manipulating people for the benefit of others. Even when they pay extremely well,” I sneered right back at him.

  “You do realize that we don’t need you, correct? You were useful, but you are not irreplaceable.”

  “So replace me.”

  Frank had turned a mottled, angry red. “After all the kindness we showed you – ”

  “What, when you pulled my strings the whole time? That wasn’t kindness, that was Machiavellian bullshit,” I shot back.

  Sal regarded me with his cold, reptilian eyes. “You realize what you’re doing, don’t you? You’re trying to assuage a guilty conscience. But that ship has sailed. You’ve already sold him out. You think that returning the blood money will make you feel better, but you’re wrong.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “But I don’t think I could live with myself working for you.”

  Suddenly a deep voice boomed out from behind me.