by D. M. Burns
Bottom line, those two need to fuck and get it over with, period. They’ve been torturing each other these past two weeks something fierce. Sure, I enjoy it immensely but it bothers Brea. She believes that she made a huge mistake by trying to bring them together but I know better. My girl just can’t see it for what it truly is, literal fucking games. The sexual tension between them is real. When they stop tormenting each other and focus on orgasms instead of pranks, it’s bound to alter life as they know it.
Casually, I saunter his way and stop just short of reaching distance. It’s not a good idea to tempt my army of demons. Those bastards have a mind of their own. Sending Channing over this steep cliff that’ll surely end in a gruesome death might alter Brea’s future aspirations of vacationing with me. Since these past two weeks have been fun, I’d like to do it again, with Brea, less the friend and bastard brother tag along. Last I checked the asshole doesn’t possess the talent of flying, so space is key.
“Did you bring me a cup of coffee too?” He asks without turning around.
I look down into the cup I’m holding with a frown on my face. To me, the best thing about coffee is the first five minutes with that hot instigator of the day. After that, it’s pretty much downhill. And since it’s already lukewarm with a fat gnat floating around, why not? I shrug my shoulders and smirk.
“Creed Capitals wasn’t enough for you, huh? Now you want my coffee too. Sure. Why not?” I grunt out.
I hold it out to him, and he turns around eyeballing me with a great deal of suspicion. My smile glows out like the good baby brother I’m not. Channing reaches and takes said cup turning it up. My insides flare with demonic joy. I’m an asshole, I know. Let’s move on.
“Thanks, baby bro.” He says.
“Brea made me promise to extend a brotherly hand and initiate a conversation. You wanna talk about your shit childhood or fucked for life feelings?” I ask.
“Doesn’t she know that you only have a soft spot for her?” He says.
Channing arches his brow at me. I smirk because there’s no need in denying facts. I could give a fuck less about his past. This asshole seems to have adjusted well anyway. Besides Carson, he’s one of the cheeriest motherfuckers I’ve ever met. Which, in all honesty, it only makes me question our DNA relation but the good looks are uncanny.
“Plus, I’d probably have a better chance at downing a bottle of Xanax bars than surviving a therapy session with you.”
“Yeah, stick with the RX script, but if Brea asks…” I wave my hand out nonchalantly.
“Then I’ll lie and say our sharing session was better than a locker room full of pre-teen bitches.” He says.
“That’ll work, you prick,” I say.
“One condition…” He mumbles. Seriously, that cliffside burial is looking better by the second. I wave my arm out for him to continue. “We get together and have drinks at least once a week when we get back. Doesn’t really matter where.” He says. I squint my eyes at this slightly older and bigger version of me. I’m not buying it.
“What bargaining chip is Brea holding over your head?” I arch my brow. Channing scrubs his five o’clock shadow and chuckles.
“I’d like to say sex but maybe down the road that’ll be doable.” My icy glare cuts through him then darts over to the side of the coffin cliff and right back to him again. He laughs out loud. “Seriously, if sunshine is going to all this trouble to get us together then we owe it to her to at least try.” He says. I shake my head slowly back and forth.
“I gotta call bullshit,” I say.
“She promised to help me with her girl if I play nice with you.” He stares off at the clouds that are closing in then back to me. “I’ve never had a woman annoy me to the brink of choking them out. You saw what her ass done to me… I looked like a god damn mummified Thanksgiving chicken.” I can’t help the laughter that erupts from my chest. “Glad you find humor in that shit.”
“The fuck you want me to do. That shit was hilarious.” I smirk through my words.
“Hell, the only reason I haven’t locked my hands around her throat is because having a conversation with a corpse tends to be one-sided. And it’d hurt sunshine. The damn girl drives me crazy, but I like being around her. She makes me laugh when I’m not breathing fire.”
“Welcome to the club,” I say.
“No, no… Brea is like a breeze of fresh air that ends in a damn rainbow. Tamera is like a rose bush full of thorns. All pointed straight at the crack of my ass.”
“Maybe the friend just has you pegged for the asshole you truly are.” I shrug.
“Whatever, you prick. So, you’ll tell Brea the weekly bro playdate is a go, right?”
“Yeah, as long as you hold up your end,” I say.
“See, we’re already lying to our girls for each other. That’s brotherly love.” He winks at me and I growl out in protest.
“Bending the facts so my fiancé smiles, is not lying. Plus, you don’t have a damn girl.” I mumble.
“Whatever, asshole.” He says.
I guess it won’t be so bad hanging out with this DNA douche bag. Never thought I’d see the day that I’d find myself agreeing to this shit. That’s what a certain sweet southern butterfly has reduced the Wallstreet God too, a compliant corporate pussy.
“Just out of curiosity, what are you doing out here? I mean, watching you get struck by lightning is something I can do from the comfort of my house while popping some popcorn and sipping on a nice glass of Southern Comfort.” I say.
“Making sure our last day isn’t a complete washout. Here… Hold this cup.” I take my mug back and stare at my asshole brother.
Channing looks out toward the sky that’s brewing a storm with promises of hellish intent quickly approaching our way. He holds his index finger out and twirls it around, motioning toward the scene in front of us. I look off into the distance and spy as the deep dark clouds whirl about in an angry foreboding pattern over the upset seabed.
The brewing thunderstorms rage out with multiple bolts and zig-zag streaks of lightning then the crackling of thunder rolls. This shit is coming in fast and swift. Channing looks back at me and winks while splaying his arms out as if he’s accepting the madness from the heavens above. Then he swiftly swings his arms out dispersing the storm to the four corners of the sky. The upsetting scene disappears in the blink of an eye in multiple directions.
It was like the damn thing never existed. The entire weather forecast has been effectively dismissed and the sun is beaming brightly. Coolest fucking shit I’ve seen to date. Looking back at him, I slow blink and shrug my shoulders as if unaffected. I’d never let on that I’m astounded.
“You’re a hard ass audience to impress, huh?” He chuckles and shakes his head.
“We done here?” I ask and he nods. “Thank fuck.” I turn without another word and move back toward the house with him hot on my heels. When he drapes his beefy arm over my shoulder, I grit my teeth and look over at his smiling face. “That shits unnecessary, asshole.” I deadpan.
“Sunshine is watching us. Play along, you prick.” He nods his head and I turn my icy eyes toward the prize to see Brea’s award-winning smile breakout. Completely fucking worth it. Always.
chaPTER 23
BREALYN
Getting back into the groove of business affairs after spending two weeks in Greece with Brogan is proving to be a challenge. The amount of emails alone is intimidating but I’m gaining ground on them. Bright side is that this first week back has flown by and I’m wrapping this late Friday workday up.
Brogan had to fly out on Tuesday to Texas and attend a meeting with the board members at his oil company, Creed Oil. Something about going over plans for expansion. The man is truly an overachiever when it comes to business. He considered rescheduling the trip, but decisions need to be made. I pushed him to go ahead and get it over with. No matter how much he likes to pretend not to be involved, that man is always lurking in the shadows watching every move being mad
e and the ultimate decision is made by him. Brogan is a control freak and that is a fact.
I wasn’t surprised to see Damien back amongst the living here at The House of Creed. After getting the watered-down version from Brogan about the bar incident, he said they had a disagreement and that was all he’d tell me. I encouraged him to mend that bridge and I was glad to see that he did. Friends are hard to come by. These five men built this company together and have been friends since college. I want no part to play in being the reason why that’d change.
Brogan can hold a grudge like a child gripping their security blanket during a midnight storm. What I’ve come to realize throughout this ride in life is that we expect those closest to us to be perfect. Holding them to a higher expectation. We tend to be more forgiving to an enemy than that of a close friend. It’s funny how that works, huh? I try to remember that we’re all human.
It’s a given that errors in judgment will take place. When I explained to Brogan that first-time offenders need room for rehabilitation, he balked. I ignored that and told him that repeating a corrupt cycle is reason for the warlord to appear with battle gear and weapon in hand, but changed behavior is reason for forgiveness. He grunted something about superior social skills and needing more Macallan’s from The Cellar. Whatever that means.
Making my way down the hallway, I enter the massive boardroom that is Brogan’s preferred battlefield. I look up at the repaired ceiling and shake my head at the two brothers that, just a few months ago, were ready to gut each other. Now it’d seem that Brogan and Channing are tolerant and even receptive to getting acquainted. I knew they were intrigued by each other. They just needed a little push in the right direction. I smile as I grab my briefcase I left in here earlier. As I turn to make my way back out, I stop suddenly at the sight of a suited-up man leaned into the frame of the door.
“That Greece sunglow you brought back looks perfectly touched over your skin. Was your trip pleasant?” The black-haired man tilts his head to the side in question. I know this guy from somewhere.
He’s a perfected Ken doll with silk black hair, bright green eyes, and high cheekbones. Another beautiful outfit, one of many that can be found here at The House of Creed. I’ve just never seen this particular one before and normally there slightly older. He looks to be around my age. Who is this guy? His voice sends chills down my spine in a warning of sorts but I ignore that. His green eyes survey my body from head to toe similar to an examination.
“I’m sorry. I don’t believe we’ve met.” I swallow my unwarranted fear and move in his direction with an outstretched hand for which he meets me in the middle.
“Logan Monroe.” His handshake is steady but cold. I pull my hand back trying to covertly rub the frosty feel away over my pencil shirt. “I’m with Highlight Investments. I was just picking up some documents. Thought that was you as I was passing by and figured I’d say hello.”
I’ve read about this guy and his legendary marketing skills for such a young talent. I knew he was around my age. Plus, they call him the Black Stallion. Comparing his Wall Street success similar to Brogan’s but not quite on his level of mastery.
“Mr. Monroe… Oh my… It’s a pleasure. Your renown marketing campaigning skills are remarkable. You’re a huge influencer on my approach.” I smile.
“Now that’s a compliment right there.” He smiles. “You’re at the top of our field too. Not to mention, beautiful.” That was a little out of left field but not uncommon so, I ignore that and press forward. “Does this mean that I’ll see you around the office more now that Highlight and The House of Creed are joining forces,” I ask.
“Well, that’s up to your leader.” He rubs the back of his neck and chuckles. “I requested you to lead in the marketing aspect with me but since the project is based out of China, I don’t think that idea was favorable by the chief in charge.” He chuckles.
“Oh… Wow, I didn’t know you had requested my expertise but I’m honored.” I say while wrapping my hand around my neck nervously.
My brows knit up as I try to make sense of this. Why wouldn’t Brogan or Carson discuss this with me? I can feel the heat rising from my chest and filling my cheeks while warming the outside shell of my ears. Brogan the butthole has some explaining to do. This is a major compliment as well as a challenge I’d love to spearhead but Brogan saw fit to take that choice away from me. Selfish butthole…
“Very nice ring. Congratulations are in order.” He smirks while glaring at my hand. His voice sounds so soothing and vaguely familiar. “Brogan Creed is a very lucky man.”
“Oh, thank you, Mr. Monroe,” I say.
“Just Logan, yeah? I believe we’re close to the same age.” He winks at me. “I’ve got to get going but if circumstances change and you want to work with me on this deal, you can rest assure that there will be a spot open for you on my team.”
“Brea…” Logan and I turn to the voice that called out from behind. Carson is standing at the entrance eyeballing Logan like he just took a crap in the middle of Brogan’s boardroom. “Monroe.” Carson’s lonesome eyebrow cocks up in a suspicious motion. “You’ve got what you need, yeah?”
“Sure did.” Logan chuckles then looks back to me. “It was a pleasure, Miss. Winters.”
“Brealyn, my name is Brealyn.” He smiles wide and I return the friendly gesture.
“See you soon and let me know if you’d like to join me in China or any marketing journey for that matter.” With that, he turns and walks toward Carson stopping right before he exits as Carson swings his arm out blocking the exit.
“This little scene right here initiated by you just set the tone for an untimely death to your career and financial fuckery unlike any you could possibly ever imagine. I hope you know that.” Carson’s entire face is bright red from the collar up. It’s crazy to see this morph in front of my face. He’s normally a jolly kinda guy.
“Fuck you, Carson. You’re a god damn puppet with the fictional Wallstreet God’s hand shoved up your ass. From now on, have your fucking documents delivered by courier and my face won’t be seen here. Fuck you very much.” With that, Logan pushes past Carson.
“Uhm, Carson what was that about?” I ask. My confusion is apparent. Carson scrubs his hand over his face and shakes his head on a chuckle.
“A death wish, that’s what but you don’t worry, yeah?” He chuckles. It’s fake but I pretend to be none the wiser. I can play the dense country girl if that’s how they want this to go. “You about to head out? I can walk you down.”
“No need.” I hold up my briefcase and move my way toward the door. “Unlike handling any of the decisions about my career, I can see myself out. See ya Monday.” The snark in my voice did not go unnoticed. I pat his chest and move for the elevator. Carson knows I’m pissed about the Highlight deal.
“That job is based in China, Brealyn.” His voice calls out.
“You sound like an ex-boyfriend pleading their case after a bad breakup with that Brealyn crap. Cut it out, Carson.” I say.
“Brogan just wanted to keep you here, Brea. He’s never been one to give a shit or be over-protective but with you, it’s different. I’ve never seen him this freaking happy in all my years of knowing him. I know he’s a hard one to understand at times but that man only means well where you’re concerned.”
“It was still my call to make, Carson,” I call out over my shoulder. “I’m mad at you both. Not just him.”
“Shit… I know. Please just hear him out. He has good reasoning.” Carson whines.
“I’m good,” I say. I’m so not but I’ll take that up with Brogan.
Angling myself out of the elevator, my heels click-clack against the gleaming bright white tiles in a parting pattern destined for the front revolving doors. When I see my favorite security guards head poke up from behind his post, I smile and wave like a loon. I’ve missed Stewart.
“Good evening, Miss. Winters.” He says.
“Hey, Stewie.”
“You
know I’ve got strict orders from the boss to have Lincoln take you home. Let me give him a quick call and we can get you out of here.” Stewart picks up the phone and starts to dial before I have a chance to respond.
“Sure,” I whisper out to myself.
My eyes scan the spacious lobby and I see my reflection in the massive mirrored glass structure. My nice black business dress suit is a perfect fit and one of many, compliments of my secret Creed Santa. My red briefcase and matching heels add a touch of life to the wardrobe of choice. The black of the material highlights my blonde locks that lay in a blanket across my back. The only thing missing is Brogan. We normally leave together while discussing where to eat. He might be a possessive butthole but he’s my butthole.
Surprisingly, our engagement, amongst other things, hasn’t been leaked or plastered all over the tabloids or television yet. Sooner or later, it’s bound to happen but for the most part, we’ve contained it within our small circle of friends and work associates. However, there were pictures of us in Greece that popped up all over the internet.
There were even pictures of the Creed brothers posted all over social media and the tabloids too. Ousting Channing as the lost Creed but pegging him as the brother of bulk and sex appeal. There was even a pole posted encouraging everyone to vote for their hot popular pick to determine the sexiest Creed. Honestly, I secretly voted for Brogan. Surprisingly, it was a close race but not so shocking, Brogan won.
Brogan takes the publicity personally like someone is stealing precious moments only meant for us. He says those are our and not meant for sharing. It’s something he’ll never be comfortable with. We try to stay lowkey but somehow our secrets are always on display, similar to a reality TV series.
“Lincoln is pulling around now.” Stewart hangs up the phone and his smile curves upward as he walks out from behind the desk accompanying me to the front exit. “I heard the news and I’m not surprised.” He nods toward my hand and I instinctively look down at my ring and smile.
“Wow, yeah… Thank you so much.” I look back at Stewart. “But how did you find out?”
