by Ashley
Sutton nodded. “We’re going to add tax on this one.”
CHAPTER 9
“You’re lying! You’re lying! I don’t believe you!” Beamer shouted as he kicked and flailed in the hospital bed.
“Beamer, I’m sorry,” August said, sniffing away his own grief as he delivered the news to his baby brother.
“I want Mom! Where’s Senior? They were right there! Then boom. Then boom. Then boom!” Beamer shouted. He repeated things in threes when he felt anxious, a tic caused by his condition.
“Calm down, Beamer! Mom’s not coming! I need you to chill out!” August said, his frustration mounting as he looked at Beamer. He had burns everywhere. He was in so much pain, but the emotional anguish was killing him. August couldn’t stomach it. He was high out of his mind in an attempt to numb the pain. He couldn’t reassure Beamer. He couldn’t even contain his own grief. He was spiraling.
“Beamer! Cut it the fuck out, man! Give me a break! You’re not the only one who’s fucked up over this!” August shouted.
“Hey!”
The voice came from West as he entered the hospital room. “Fuck is wrong with you, bro?” West barked.
“He won’t stop crying!” August shouted. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? We’re all sad! It is what it is! I can’t deal when he gets like this!”
“When he gets like this or when you get like this?” West asked, removing his suit jacket and hanging it on the back of the chair before approaching Beamer. He could always tell when August was high. West had been pulling August out of situations he couldn’t handle since they were kids. Today, he lacked patience. Today, he had buried two people he loved. They all had, and Beamer hadn’t even been well enough to attend his parents’ funerals.
“I don’t need this shit today,” August said.
“Go for a walk, bro,” West said. It was an order. His tone left no room for interpretation.
“Beamer, my man, I need you to listen to me, okay?” West asked, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed. Beamer was overstimulated. His body hurt unimaginably, his heart was ripped in half, and his mind was racing with the realization that his parents were gone. He was stuck in a fit. He had them sometimes. Usually, no one would be able to tell he was autistic; but when he felt overwhelmed, he couldn’t control himself. He just had to scream.
“I want my mom. I want my mom. I want my mom,” Beamer shouted.
“I know you do, man, me too,” West said. “I know, but you’re not alone. You still have family who love you. I know you’re scared, but I’m not going anywhere. No matter what happens, I’m going to make sure you’re okay.” It was so hard to look at Beamer. He was covered in bandages. He was burned everywhere. His arms and legs were so badly singed that he would need skin grafts for years to come. West had never seen anything like it. It almost seemed like surviving the explosion was worse than the quick death the blast had delivered to their parents.
“It hurts,” Beamer whimpered.
“Close your eyes, kid,” West said.
Beamer’s tears squeezed out of his eyes and his lip quivered as a nurse walked into the room.
“We have him on the highest pain medications we can administer. I’m going to up his dosage,” she said as she hooked a new medication up to his IV. “We’re doing everything we can to make sure his burns don’t get infected,” she said.
“I don’t want him to feel any of this. He’s the last of us who deserves it,” West said.
“Are you a friend of the family?” the nurse asked.
West looked up at her, brow pinched, glowering. The question didn’t surprise him. He had gotten it most of his life. His black face among the Sinclair family’s, him sitting in the family Christmas photo, him showing up at Mass, all appeared out of place. “I am family,” he said.
“He’s my big brother. The best big brother ever.” Beamer groaned as the pain medication pulled him into a haze.
August cleared his throat and West glanced behind him.
An awkward beat filled the air and West saw the injury behind the weight of Beamer’s words.
“The attorneys are at Sinclair Enterprises. The press is all over the oil spill. We’ve been summoned,” August said.
West stood to his feet and leaned down to kiss Beamer’s forehead. “I’ll be back, kid,” he said. “Take care of him.”
The nurse nodded as West slid into his jacket and walked out of the door, leaving the scent of expensive cologne behind him.
“August,” West said when he entered the hallway. August’s eyes were bloodshot from the mixture of cocaine and crying that had consumed his day. West wasn’t sure if August would even remember where Senior and Abigail rested. He was out of his mind with grief and the grief pushed him to test the limits. West knew whatever sadness lived in him was multiplied in August. Blood counted for something in that aspect. West’s loss was great but incomparable to what August was feeling. West lived on without regret. He had told Senior and Abigail how much he loved them often. Not a day went by when they were unaware of how grateful he was for them. August, on the other hand, was a man who spoke his affections rarely. Unspoken sentiment had been buried today because in death, words left unsaid went forever unheard. It was a tragedy felt most by August Sinclair.
August turned to him, reluctantly, unwilling to lend his eyes to West, instead opting to scroll through the unimportance of his Instagram timeline. “I know this is rough. I need you to tighten up though. Senior would have wanted you to be at your best.”
August nodded but didn’t reply. West pulled him in for a brotherly hug.
“I can’t do this right now. I don’t care about the press, the lawyers, none of it. Not today,” August said. “I think I’m going to stick around, make sure Beamer’s straight.”
West reached into August’s inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small baggie of powder cocaine. He pocketed it discreetly. “You take care of Beamer. I’ll handle the company. Sober up, a’ight?”
West departed, sliding into the awaiting black Escalade, a company-chauffeured vehicle. West’s phone had been ringing nonstop for days. The blowback from the explosion was devastating. He knew the Sinclair legal team was trying to minimize the damage. They had set up meetings with potential PR firms that could help their company recover from this. He would have to put on a strong front for the Sinclair family in order to preserve the legacy that Senior had left behind.
* * *
“I’m sorry, how much longer will the meeting be delayed?” Sutton asked.
“Please accept our apologies. The Sinclair family funerals were today. This meeting is very important to Mr. Sinclair, however. It’s his top priority to establish a relationship with a good firm that can help the company navigate through this trying time. The LaCroix Group is the best. It’s imperative that this meeting take place.”
Sutton cleared her throat and nodded. “Considering the circumstances, I can extend a bit more patience.” Before she could go on, the door to the boardroom opened and Sutton placed eyes on West. She faltered, stunned, as he rounded the table.
“Tim, I’m sorry to keep you waiting. As you know it’s been a trying day,” West said. Sutton’s throat tightened. She wasn’t even breathing as he finally turned to face her. His shock matched hers and they stood there staring as the night they shared pulled a seat up to the table. An elephant in the room.
“Mr. Sinclair, this is Sutton LaCroix.”
The introduction wasn’t necessary, but she played along, extending her hand. She was thrown off. The temperature in the room seemed to be on hell as she stood under his stare.
She saw the amusement in his eyes as he reached for her hand, holding on to it a second longer than appropriate.
“Timothy, give us the room, please,” West said.
“I really should sit in on these…”
“That wasn’t a question,” West stated. The finality in his tone sent the older white man from the room.
“Ms. LaCroix,�
�� West said, finessing the sides of his mouth as he sat on the edge of the table, placing shiny Prada shoes around her so that she was standing between his legs.
She took a step back. “Mr. Sinclair,” she countered. “This is so inappropriate,” she whispered.
“Or fate, depending on how you look at it,” he snickered.
“I don’t think fate leaves a $25,000 check as payment for services,” she snapped.
“I told you, it was too good to get it free,” West answered. His eyes took her in, and Sutton raised an eyebrow.
“You’re so arrogant,” she said, shaking her head. “I had no idea you were affiliated with this company.”
“I’m not affiliated. I’m a Sinclair,” West added.
Sutton’s brows lifted, stunned.
“The adopted black son from the hood,” West explained.
The guy from the jet that Ashton was trying to tell us about, Sutton thought.
“I thought you owned a sports agency?” she said, confused. “Or is that what you say to get women to sleep with you.”
He stood, closing the space between them. Sutton was cornered by masculinity. He smelled so damned good that she wanted to taste him. He looked even better.
“That’s not why you slept with me,” he replied. “But I own that too. That wasn’t a lie.” He bypassed her and took a seat at the head of the table. “Now, do you want to tell me how our paths crossed again?”
Sutton took a seat at the other end. “You have a PR problem; I have solutions,” she said. “The explosion of your oil rig has resulted in the damage of the underlying wellhead. Every day, thousands of gallons of oil are leaking into the Gulf of Mexico. Wildlife, water quality, and food sources are all being tainted. Your company’s stock has declined. You need the LaCroix Group to spin this story for you and to help you take the steps to repair your company’s image financially and publicly as you work on stopping the leak.”
“I want to take you to dinner,” West said, interrupting her.
She sat back in her chair, offended. “Is that all you see? A pretty face? You didn’t hear one word that I said,” she accused.
“I heard every word,” West said. “I’d prefer to continue the conversation over dinner.”
“I don’t mix business with pleasure,” Sutton stated.
“If there’s a choice in the capacity I’d like you to serve me, I won’t choose business. A nigga ain’t had pleasure like what you was giving out before. I’m trying to double up.”
His hood slipped out effortlessly and Sutton’s body revolted.
“Mr. Sinclair.” His name came out clipped, a warning.
“Say yes to dinner.”
She didn’t know why it sounded like he was ordering her around. He wasn’t the boss of her. She didn’t even know this nigga, but somehow her heart raced anyway.
“I’m not interested in that. You can hire another firm for this job, and they’ll fail you. I have a strategic plan ready for implementation that will…”
He stood from his seat, rounding the table as he approached the window that revealed the rest of the office. He closed the blinds.
“What are you doing?” she asked, voice trembling as he clicked the lock on the door before approaching her. He spun around the chair she sat in and Sutton stood. “Mr. Sinclair.”
“You didn’t cash the check,” he stated. He was so off subject. Sutton just wanted to steer the conversation back to her agenda because he was too close and her stomach was somersaulting.
“It wasn’t a transaction,” she whispered, flustered as he loomed over her. It was like her body was betraying her, yearning for this man, as she remembered the ways he had made her cum. He had been so good. It had been a long time since a man had been anything more than a disappointment in bed.
“Can we just keep this…” She paused, blowing out a deep breath before swallowing the lump in her throat. “Professional?” she finished.
“I don’t come across women like you often,” West said. “Women are easy. They’re shallow, too willing, chasing clout, fame, money…”
“Mr. Sinclair.” Sutton was basically pleading at this point. Her panties were destroyed.
“We’re past formalities,” he stated, taking a finger to the curve of her jawline and then lifting her chin so she was forced to stare in his eyes.
“West,” she whispered.
“Just like that,” he said, his voice dripping in authority, soaking with seduction, like he was losing restraint. “You said it just like that and suddenly I can’t hear it any other way.”
The finesse was top notch. She was sure he had his pick of women all over Houston. He was almost hypnotizing. Sutton could barely gather a thought in her head she was swooning so hard, but she was too stubborn to let it show.
“A smile won’t make you less tough,” West said, smirking. She rolled her pretty, stubborn eyes up to him. “Have dinner with me, Sutton.”
“I can’t,” she whispered. “The only thing I have to offer you is a business relationship.”
“So, a business dinner it is,” West said, stepping back, allowing her to breathe air that wasn’t tainted with his scent. “Leave your address with my receptionist on the way out. I’ll send a car for you. Eight o’clock.”
He didn’t even look at her as he headed toward the door. His focus had already shifted to the phone in his hand. He didn’t even look back at her before he left her standing in his conference room alone.
* * *
Honor’s feet wouldn’t move. She stood in the threshold of the hospital room door, frozen as she stared at the small body in the bed. The fact Sutton had done this, ordered an explosion that had left this young boy so badly burned, brought tears to her eyes. They had run long cons on many entities before, but this was the first time it felt malicious. Normally, they were on the side of right; but with an innocent kid injured and his parents dead, this con hit her conscience differently. Yes, they had been wronged, but Ashton was an adult. Kids were supposed to be off-limits. This felt cruel.
Honor placed a stilettoed foot inside the room, taking timid steps toward the bed. The medication dripping into his veins from the IV made him sleep, but even in his unconsciousness, he still moaned out in pain from the injuries he had suffered.
“I’m really sorry,” Honor whispered as she placed the “Get Well” arrangement full of candy at his bedside.
“Who are you?”
Honor turned to the door, startled, placing a hand to her chest. She stood face-to-face with the man who had beat her sister and left her to die. Not until she saw him did she remember how badly Ashton had been hurt.
“I, um … I’m sorry, you scared me,” she said. She stared into the eyes of August Sinclair.
“Who are you?” he asked again. He stood there in an Armani custom suit with a blond Beckham haircut, demanding answers.
“I’m…” She paused. There was no point in lying. Sutton was already in the makings of forming a fiduciary relationship between the LaCroix Group and Sinclair Enterprises, so August would see her around eventually. To lie would bind her hand so instead she told the truth. “My name is Honor. I am co-owner of the LaCroix Group. We heard about what happened to your family. We wanted to express our condolences. Our president is meeting with someone from Sinclair Enterprises right now, actually. I just thought it would be more heartfelt to deliver this personally.” She prayed he didn’t put two and two together, connecting Ashton to their company. The silent stare he gave her unnerved Honor and she felt the need to say more, explain further, defend her reason for standing in this room, but she knew better. Guilty people talked too much. Rambling and elaborating on what she had already said would only make her seem like she was lying, so instead she said nothing.
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare. My head is all over the fucking place right now. Everybody has to have their day. We all know that. We’re all preparing for the same thing eventually but when it comes…” August stopped talking as he
shook his head, swiping both hands down his face. The sigh that followed was heavy, burdened. Any worries she had of him recognizing her affiliation went out the window because she was sure he didn’t even recognize himself right now. Death had introduced him to a version of himself he had never met. “I’m having a hard day. Shit is rough,” he finished.
He was undone. Gone was the arrogance. Grief had stripped him of it. All Honor saw standing before her was sadness. Her chest tightened. His anguish was like another presence in the room. It sat on his shoulders, pressing down so hard that August’s normally perfect posture was hunched. She remembered that feeling. She had felt it when her father had caught his bid. She was sure August’s sorrow was worse. He had lost both people who made him.
“I’m really sorry,” she said, meaning every word. August swept a tattooed hand through his hair. He didn’t look like a monster. He didn’t seem like the type of man who could beat a woman and leave her for dead. “I’m going to give you some privacy. I didn’t mean to intrude. I hope he’ll be okay.”
Honor walked out of the room and August moved aside as she passed him.
She stopped when they stood shoulder to shoulder. “I went through this phase in my life after I lost someone special to me. I drank a lot, had sex with random men.” Honor closed her eyes as she recalled moments in her life she wasn’t proud of. “I popped pills, started doing lines every day,” Honor said. “All because I didn’t want to feel anything. I get why you’re high. You don’t want to feel the pain, but that little boy … your brother. He’s feeling everything. Every single burn on his body he has to endure. He has to heal from them. Doesn’t seem fair for you to take the easy way out, now does it?”
Honor walked out, leaving August with a heavy heart.
CHAPTER 10
“You killed two people. I don’t know how you’re this calm right now.” Luna shook her head in disbelief as she watched Sutton apply her makeup to perfection.
