by Dani Wyatt
From the way he settles back in his chair and his shoulders fall a few inches I think he’s decided to keep his mouth shut for the moment. Smart choice.
“Now. Are we done?” My voice thickens as I stuff my hands down in my pockets. The muscles in my shoulders ache and twitch. My mouth is dry and I just need to be out of here. I can’t stop thinking of where I want to be. Even if it’s just looking at her. I came here to sign some IRS shit for him but the conversation quickly turned and I’m ready to be gone.
“Yep. I guess we are. Thanks for coming by to sign. Fucking IRS wants to know every fucking thing.” Erik leans back in the chair. He’s got Mom’s fair skin, Nordic light hair and lean build, while I, on the other hand, take after our father. Mom used to say Dad and I descended from some ancient human-grizzly hybrid and from the view I get in the mirror every morning she’s not far off. Even my voice comes out of me as a half growl most of the time. “I’m changing your direct deposit like you asked. Once a month still fine?”
“I don’t care. Whatever. I don’t need the money.” I pick up the picture of Mom and Dad from the edge of the desk, looking at how they still smiled at each other after fifty-two years of marriage. It makes me happy and sad at the same time, and I dust the top of the frame with my index finger before setting it back in place, turning it to face him.
I’ve left the business in any official capacity, but Erik and my sister insisted I keep drawing a salary. I also have a lot of zeros behind my company profit sharing account, but I only use that now for donations and contributions to the rehabs I support. I’m starting a scholarship sort of deal with three of the best rehabs across the country. The ones where the fucking celebrities go when they need to dry out, the best places. The programs that actually work, where you’re not a junkie, you’re just a hero in need of a rest. But the real addicts, the folks on the street with nothing and no one, don’t get to go to those facilities. No money, no help. I want to change that.
“You earned your checks, man. You turned this business around in the last ten years. I just hope I don’t fuck it up. You ever want to come back, no questions. The whole wine business thing with Cindy—” He laughs and pushes back in his chair with a knowing grin. “We both know you’re just there to get her started. Hell, you don’t even drink...”
He busts out with a hearty laugh as I back away toward the closed door, anxious to get back outside in the fresh air. I’m done. The room starts to feel smaller and smaller, and my heart is starting to pump faster knowing the sympathetic stares and averted eyes I’m going to get from the staff when I walk back toward the elevator.
“Hey, it’s something to do. Cindy needed some help. I’m a glorified gopher over there, but if she needs me, I’ll stick around for as long as she wants.”
“So now both of you are off doing your wine thing and I’m here steering the ship. Not sure that’s what Dad had in mind when he left the company to all of us.”
“Cindy never cared about blowing shit up. She’s happy as hell now that she’s bought the distributorship.”
She’s doing well. She has around seventy employees and the new building is almost ready. The warehouse is state of the art. Ten sections kept at perfect temperatures for the different kinds of wine. Fuck if I know anything about it, but she’s in hog heaven. I just do what I’m told and that’s fine for now. Keeps me busy. I can even bring my two mutts, Tinder and Leopold along to the offices.
I’m almost to the door when I turn around one last time to see Erik look at his watch then his fingers click on his keyboard.
“Okay.” Erik stops typing and reaches up to the ceiling, stretching and leaning side to side. “Well, I have work to do. You go run your little errands for sissy and take care of those in need and those vicious dogs of yours. I’ll be here blowing shit up.”
As I turn, I can’t help but think of where I want to be. Who I want to be talking to. I step forward, my gait slightly off balance. My fingers grip the cool metal handle of the door and a rush of blood streams down south. I know when I leave here my next stop will be to see her.
I lean to my right. The pressure from my prosthetic needs adjusting. Finding a specialist that could form fit and teach a six-foot-seven-inch, three-hundred-and-seventeen-pound man how to walk again with the bottom of one leg blown off hasn’t been an easy road.
Erik pushes back from his place behind the desk and steps forward as I start to open the door. I pivot taking one quick look back his way. Squinting into the morning sun as it streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
“One more thing.” His voice changes, the lightness gone.
He nods slightly and looks down at a thick folder at the corner of the desk. For some reason he can’t meet my eyes.
Our mutual discomfort heightened by the fact that one black boot is sticking out from under the hem of my charcoal gray slacks. Where the other boot should be, there’s just slick, curved metal.
“We settled the last of the claim.” He flips up the corner of the folder, then closes it again. “It’s done. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I wanted you to know. It wasn’t your fault, but we settled and accepted all of their terms just as you asked. Now, you just need to settle it with yourself, Magnus. It was an accident. You weren’t at fault.”
I sniff. My hand tenses on the door handle, the veins traversing the bones leading to each finger in thick rivers. My desire to turn the knob falters as the words tumble out of my mouth. “Tell that to Sarah Templeton.” My head starts to pound. “Oh wait, you can’t, can you?”
I force my wrist to turn my hand.
The click of the handle, the blast of air as I jerk open the door. I feel like I’m watching the whole thing from somewhere else. The irony of the entire situation is that Sarah’s piece of shit mother came out of the woodwork after her daughter died. Found some TV attorney to take her case of wrongful death against me and the corporation. Erik wanted it to go to trial, but I put my foot down. We paid off that worthless bitch because there was no way I was letting Sarah’s name be dragged through the mud. Her mother did jack shit for her until she was dead, then all of a sudden she was the grieving, long suffering, maternal figure. Sarah deserves some peace, even now. The ancillary benefit of settling out of court was it kept both Sarah and the entire sad event out of the media.
I shoot off one final barb. “Doesn’t feel settled to me.”
Erik shakes his head and looks down, but I finally walk away. I turn the corner out of his office away from the elevators and onto the stairs, sparing us all the forced smiles and averted eyes on my way out.
AVAILABLE NOW ON AMAZON
Other Titles by Dani Wyatt
Standalones
Wrangler
Perfect
Sweet Ride
Reining Her In
Valentine’s Rose
Love, Daddy Series
Angel
Mastering Her Heart
The Forever Collection
Where She Belongs
When She’s Mine
Promise Duet
Promise
Cherish
Southside MMA Series
Force
Push
FOLLOW ME
I love a dirty-talking, head over heels
possessive alpha who will
stop at nothing for a happily ever after.
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Thank You.
I have met so many amazing people since I started putting my
naughty thoughts on the page. To some of the first fans who supported me, the bloggers,
fellow
authors who have been more than generous with their
time and opinions as well as the other professionals that
put up with my particular kind of crazy, thank you.
My undying gratitude goes out to so many
But there are a special few that deserve to be named.
Sybil. My sanity is in your hands and so much more.
Nicola for understanding me and deciding to stick around.
Neda for your humor, straight talk and heart.
Nicci for your hard work and professionalism.
Gi for more than just your obsessive attention to detail. For your support and kind soul.
For L who talks me through and down and around almost everything everyday.
There are more, so many, thank you all.
Every day that when we support each other
everyone wins.
xoxoxo
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dani Wyatt used to feel bad about having such dirty thoughts. Luckily, one day she decided to starting writing them down. Her uber alpha heros have a wicked possessive streak and an insatiable libido. Her heroines are intelligent, quirky and worry about having too much muffin top. With her books, you can count on a heaping helping of HOT, a dash of rough and always a happily ever after.
When she's not writing (which is not often) she is probably laughing about some irony (like A-1 Steak Sauce is vegan), riding her horse, wondering why The Walking Dead can't have a new episode every night, or looking cross-eyed at some piece of technology sent to ruin her day.
