by D. M. Burns
“Mrs. Cambridge, can you please email me the details and I’ll reach out to you with any questions I might have?” I ask.
It’s posed as a question but meant as an order. That’s my nice way of saying wrap it the fuck up. I point toward the door encouraging her and everyone else to move their ass and make an exit. She looks back to my shithead brother asking for permission.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Cambridge,” I speak pleasantly but the fiery calm tone in my voice is lethal. Her brown eyes return to me and I smile wider. “I know that this arrangement here might be a little new for some of you, but your continued future employment dreams are equally held by the both of us here, it’s not a one-man show anymore.” I flick my finger between me and Brogan. “Moving forward, I encourage all of you in attendance to remember that, and please don’t mistake my kindness for anything other than exactly what it is. This is my way of attempting to be a decent human being, period. However, if a bastard is what motivates and captures your attention in a stronghold, then I can be that too. Choice is yours.” I point toward the door again while resting my chin in my hand. “Now if you don’t mind, kindly show yourselves out.” I look each of the members in the eyes right before they start to file out.
The leggy black-headed business bitch scrounges her papers up and moves for the door with a scowl on her face. Except, before she scampers off out of the room, I do her a solid as well as the rest of the staff she’s infecting with every second that she’s here.
“Mrs. Cambridge…” When she turns around, I smile wide. “You might want to take the rest of the day off and visit with your family physician. That fever is going to need a script or two. See you after about a week when you’re better, yeah?”
I lean back in my leathered chair eyeballing my brother as his chips of ice continue to cut through my retina’s. He’s spinning a gold pen rhythmically through his fingers like a certified sociopath. As soon as the door shuts, I dive in.
“You can take her back to The House of Creed with you. She probably just infected this entire room with Influenza, H1N1.” I say with a shrug of my shoulders. Brogan doesn’t flinch. “The place looks good with the new design.” I hold my hands out at the décor that surrounds us. “I like it.”
Brogan waits for the punchline because he’s beginning to catch on to my asshole ways like I am his. I’m not a silent man of sinful acts, no. My preferred method of torture is found in sharing the knowledge I’ve been provided of futuristic shit taking place down the road. The shock or confusion he tries to unsuccessfully hide is much the way I feel when the previews slap me in the face. It throws him off course and we all know that I like gauging his reaction as well as fucking with him. The simple shit makes me happy.
“Tell me, baby brother…” I tilt my head and smirk at him. “Do you still want Creed Capitals?” His jaw ticks. “I know how much this place means to you and frankly, just between us, something else has captured my attention. I don’t mind parting with it anymore.” I shrug my shoulders. The meaning of my statement is not lost on him, oh-no. He completely ignores my question.
“I’ve been spinning some shit around in my head since our back-alley pissing match. Hell, to be honest, I’ve been rifling through every syllable of each conversation we’ve had since you magically appeared. It’s on repeat.” He places his index finger to his temple and those twisted eyes twinkle out at me like two bright stars.
“I’m sure you have,” I smirk.
“I’m simply curious, as to why you would visit my penthouse encouraging me to release my dealings here and live happily ever after with Brea if you knew the outcome. What changed, hum?” His voice is dead matching his relationship status with her.
I don’t blame him for his attitude. If I lost her now after having a sample, I’d react violently-viciously. So, in my opinion, he’s doing much better than I would be. His restraint is impressive.
“In the beginning, I was willing to give that to you even though I knew God’s design placed her with me. You don’t miss what you alter out of your life Brogan. If you evade the encounter, then you can change the color of the painting so to speak. I was open to creating my own masterpiece.” I say. “When you failed to listen to reason, I simply let nature take its course. I fell in her path and that’s on you but now that I know her… Nothing and I mean not a god damn thing, but death will stand in my way getting to her.”
He immediately perks up. Brandishing a jovial sadistic smile while nodding like he’s in agreement with the statement of my death. It’s the first sign of life he’s shown since I filed into the room. Hell, even I smirk at that because his hate for me is comical.
“You want to know what I think?” He asks. Those steely white ice chambers blink out like high beam headlights. My eyes look down as he taps that golden pen into the tabletop with a neurotic pattern pinging out. The sound is irritating.
“Sure. Dazzle me, asshole.” I flippantly toss my hand out then smooth my tie-down.
“I believe you to be full of shit, Channing.” He stands from his chair pacing over to the gloomy view outside the link of windows.
“Your grasping. I get it though. I guess if I were in your shoes, I would be too. Thank fuck I’m not you, huh?” I say. “The big bad Wallstreet God has a weakness.” I laugh out loud. “Just wondering if you know what true assets are yet, baby brother?” He ignores my taunting altogether.
With his back facing me his dead even tone breaks out when he says, “I won’t buy your shares in Creed Capital out. We’re partners now and I look forward to each and every day spent with you. It’s going to be the building blocks to a brotherly bond like no other.” He looks over his shoulder and the smile on his face can only be described as manic.
“You know, after your stalking episode on New Year’s Eve, I believe your hateful feelings toward me are completely justified, little brother.” I chuckle as I stand. “Now that I know what that slice of heaven feels like and tastes like, if someone so much as brushes up against her, I wouldn’t hesitate to broil them from the inside out.” I walk to the door but before I can wrap my hand around the cool doorknob he speaks out.
“Tell me something…” He turns to face me crossing his arms over his chest. “When was the first time you saw her?”
“Why?” I ask. There’s more playing out here with my little bro but kudos to him. He’s a sore loser but a tenacious little son-of-a-bitch. “The fuck does that matter?”
“Just indulge me.” He tilts his head studying me.
“It was the very first day she moved to New York.”
It’s an honest answer. I’ve watched over her for years out of curiosity for the girl that has basically been on my HBO life repeat preview. I even managed to finally get my hands on the asshole that robbed her several times over. That piece of shit will never steal from anyone again, especially not from her. Ashes to ashes-dust to dust. That career criminal suffered a charcoal exit out of this world. He was deserving.
“Why don’t you share an episode of this epic future bliss that you have with her, brother? Show that shit to me. Or better yet, show me the fallen relationship between her and I. Prove that my presence in her life ends in death because from what I saw your ass was there too. Quite frankly, I do not fucking trust you.” His tone has turned chilling and his chest is rising and falling in anger. “Are those crystal ball conclusions true or just a prop shoved so far up your ass that the tingles you’re actually feeling are simply a reaction from your kink?” I chuckle because that shit’s funny. “I believe they're nothing more than assumptions tossed out, so I stay away.”
“Seriously, I don’t blame you for feeling this way but even if I were lying, which I’m not, after New Year’s Eve with her, I wouldn’t walk away willingly. Not unless she tells me to.” I smile wide and tsk him. “She can be happy with me. Given time she’ll even choose me and grow to love me. There’s not much I can do or say about it right now but know this, as soon as I make her mine, if I catch you creeping around her l
ike the dark shadow that you most definitely are, you and I are going to embark on warlord status. Death will surely find you and those are facts. Stay the fuck away from her.” My blood is getting heated and I try to stable that off. There’s sure to be a fuck ton of questions if Brogan Creed’s body were to burst out into a blanket of flames.
“Without her, I’m starting to welcome the idea of a deadly encounter. However, I highly doubt you’ll be my reasoning though but I encourage you to try.” He winks at me. “I believe Brealyn Winters is on an entirely different level of the playing field from where you and I stand.” He chuckles with zero humor. “We just think we call the shots for her but in reality, we have zero control over this shit. One more thing…”
“Why the fuck not? You seem to need someone to talk to today.” I give him a chin lift.
“Does it bother you knowing that she thinks of me every damn time you touch her?” He smiles with a victorious outline while tucking his hands into his designer suit pants. It’s probably a precautionary measure to keep from slamming my head into the red marble war table.
“Apparently, not enough to detour me but then again poking around in people’s minds is your ability, not mine.” Yeah, it fucks with me hard knowing she prefers him; loves him. But I won’t be confiding or confessing that shit, especially not to him.
“Hold up… If I recall correctly her exact thoughts were, I’ve just kissed the brother of the man I’m in love with. Now, that’s some fucked up shit right there. If I were a better man, I’d feel sorry for you but… I’m not.” He deadpans. “Coming in second, behind me has got to get old, hmm?” He laughs and I grit my teeth.
“You once said that my future foresight was a depressing thought for you. Well, I can honestly say that I’d rather co-exist with the unknown lies while catching glimpses of the truths to come every day of my fucking life. Hearing a bunch of assholes run off at the fucking mouth with bullshit that they don’t have the balls to say out loud would give me a fucking stomach lined full of ulcers.” I flip him off.
Without another word, I turn and walk out. He knows that dug deep under my skin but that also does nothing but set my efforts into overdrive.
chapter 3
Brogan
My footfalls push me forward as I exit the elevator at The House of Creed. Moving swiftly down my private hallway to my office, I clench my jaw painfully as this morning’s memories bang out in my head. I’m mentally trying to process all this bullshit with Channing. Something is not adding up.
When I shove through my door, I find Carson pecking out a brutal beatdown on my keyboard. Where most people type on a keyboard, Carson jabs. His head bobs up from his downward concentrated stance and I notice his eyes have huge dark circles underneath them.
“What happened, asshole? Did you wake up to find that someone finally stole your pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.” I deadpan.
“Do you ever trip up and fall into a good mood, you dick?” He scrubs his hand over his face.
“I sleep just fine but you on the other hand look like complete shit.” I walk over to my chair where he’s seated and kick the side out as an indicator that it’s time for him to move. He slow turtles his ass to the better seating option for him in front of my desk. The only ass that belongs in my chair is MINE.
“What are you doing in my office, Car?” I stare at my screen trying to register his computer browsing bullshit that’s on display in front of my face. “Why the hell are you researching pregnancy topics? Something you want to tell me?”
My bright lights hit his dimmed green ones and all the puzzle pieces fall into place. I lean back in my plush chair feeling a certain type of way for the cushion underneath my ass cheeks having a prewarmed texture to it. It pisses me off when he uses my office, but I hold back on tearing into him. It looks like my sideshow clown has dropped his props. He has much bigger problems right now than that of my stingy, territorial, asshole ways. He hangs his head dropping his chrome dome in his hands like it’s a ten-pound weight. Oh, shit… Here the fuck we go.
“You remember that blonde chick, Sterling Harrison?” His voice is muffled from his mouth being smashed into his hands.
“No, but what I remember isn’t really relevant right now, is it? Give me the watered-down version.” I say.
“Well, she reached out to me last night telling me that I was going to be a dad.” His voice is laced with a whole lot of why and what the fuck am I going to do.
Carson’s head suddenly pops up and he stares at me with a helpless look that I’m sure will be reflected on his kid's face if he or she inherits the carrot top trait from his dad. In light of that, I somehow can’t bring myself to feel sorry for Carson, no. Poor kid… I shake my head and chuckle.
“What the fuck, Brogan? Really?” He snaps. I realize that I need to stifle the laughter. “I need my god damn friend right now. Not the unfeeling corporate bastard that’s apparently present.”
“I’m one and the same, asshole. Did you fuck her without a coat?” I prop my elbow on the arm of my chair and rest my temple against my index finger. I feel like a god damn underpaid therapist.
“NO… But she says it’s mine.” He stands abruptly from the chair and stalks over to my JP Morgan view.
I’m really not in the damn mood for this shit after my morning with Channing. Everything that motherfucker has said and done is turning over in my head like a cracked-out hamster wheel on a running race for the next rock. It’s like a scientific lab has been set up in my head analyzing anything and everything Channing Creed related under a microscopic view. I’m on the hunt for any abnormal test results that don’t match-up.
“That friendly guy you speak of is urging for me to tell you to invest in a paternity test while lawyering the fuck up, but that corporate cutthroat motherfucker is simply laughing his ass off.” I swivel around to see him running both of his hands through his red frazzled fur on top of his head. He scowls at me then flips me off. I shrug unaffected.
“She’s stopping by in a couple of hours. I’ll find out more then, I guess.” He turns back to me shaking his head in a dramatic show. “Fuck… I’m too young for this bullshit.”
For a fraction of a second, I worry for my friend. Then I remember that he’s financially set, and for the most part has a level head on his shoulders coupled with a happy heart. He’ll be a good dad when the time comes. Hell, he looks the part of a god damn clown already. His kid is bound to smile and laugh a lot. Even if it’s because his father resembles a striking cross between a leprechaun and side circus clown. I’ll have to remember to buy a barrel so he can climb in and play peek-a-boo with the kiddo.
The only thing Carson has to really worry with is this chick screaming out parental rights while deceptively clinging to his wallet with a deadly DNA vice around his dick for the next twenty-six years, that is if the kid goes to college.
“Well, there’s nothing I can do about it until I talk to her, right?” Carson’s shoulders deflate and he turns for my door.
“P.A.T.E.R.N.I.T.Y. T.E.S.T.” I growl. “Fuck what the coats say. You know as well as I do that their deceiving by nature.” I look back down at my screen as he slow-pokes his dick-defeated little ass out of my office. “Carson…” He looks over his shoulders at me.
“Yeah, Bro.” He says.
“What time are you expecting your maybe baby momma to show?” I ask without looking up from my screen, my fingers typing out at the speed of light. My stock tip paid off big time. Hell, yeah. That’d normally give me a sense of accomplishment but does nothing to stir life inside my cold heart.
“In the next hour.” He says. I nod my head indicating that I heard him and with that, he makes his way out shutting my door behind him.
Stepping out of my door, I nod my head at Geneva silently acknowledging her as she peeks up at me. She’s caught up in the middle of carrying on a conversation with whoever is on the other end of the phone attached to her ear. I filter my way down the halls of The House of Creed
on my way to Carson’s office.
Out of instinct, my eyes land on Brealyn’s closed-door status in passing. Why is her door closed? Does she have someone in there? Is it that fuckface brother of mine? Hell, he wouldn’t be that daring, would he? I want to kick the fucking thing off the hinges. Keep walking asshole. You have no right to mess with her even if your name is the one that signs her payroll check.
I’ve remained sealed off behind my closed-door headquarters whenever business requires my physical show of face here. Avoiding Brea is my go-to for therapy at this point. I damn sure don’t trust myself to be around her. That doesn’t stop my mind from wandering over to her endlessly nor showing up on her fire escape like a crazed lunatic.
That entire shit scene from New Year’s Eve is like a death sentence carried out on my soul, firing-range style. My body hit an awareness level for her presence as soon as she stepped off the elevator. Much like everything else when it comes to Brea, I had no control over my feet moving in her direction.
Seeking.
Searching.
Savoring.
Without so much as an explanation to the coat that I had draped on my arm upon arrival to the event, I left Natalie standing in a circle of people. Fuck her superficial thoughts. I tuned her out along with everyone else that didn’t matter. Everyone but Brea.
The way her deep blue eyes grew in size with surprise as Natalie crept up behind us at the Sky Lounge set off my demons. They grappled it out within my demonic cage in the middle of my chest. Those angry red soldiers of sin went ballistic. Taking out their hostility with me on my internal organs, blood bath style.
The knowledge that I was spending New Year’s Eve with another, shredded Brea’s southern sweetness. I wanted to sweep her up in my arms. Carry her off somewhere private and explain my asshole choices while sinking myself between her legs. Owning her body aggressively while drowning in those loving country confessions of me that consumes her mind.
