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“I’m working. Indie knows everything about work is confidential.”
Liam turns his nose up at Indie. “For both your sake, you better be right.”
“Now’s probably a good time for me to go.” Indie grabs her bag, looking uncomfortable, and I don’t blame her. Liam is such a dick. “Give me a call if you need anything else.”
A nurse takes us into my father’s hospital room. He is hooked up to a heart monitor, and some other thing is coming out of the vein on his arm. His complexion is just as grey as it was before surgery, but there is a hint of pink coming through. Looking over at us entering the room with his weary eyes, he raises his brows.
“Thought you two might have left by now,” he says, his voice coming out rough and tired.
“I hope you’re not giving the nurses a hard time, Dad?” I raise my own brows. He looks like shit and sounds like it too. The last time I saw him similar to this was when my grandfather died. He didn’t take it well and lashed out at everyone.
Dad attempts a chuckle. “Not much I can do hooked up to all these machines, but the doctor said I will be fine to go home within the week, providing everything goes as it should.”
“The doctor said you need to take it easy for a while. Don’t stress, Dad. I’ll make sure everything is taken care of at the office,” Liam says coyly to our dad.
I step forward. “That’s not for you to decide, Liam.”
Liam practically growls at me. Despise dripping from his teeth. “Nor yours.”
Dad grunts in his bed, pulling our attention to him. “As the eldest son, Roman will look after things until I am well enough to return.”
His decision sits heavy and thick in the air. Liam is practically choking on it.
“You can’t be serious. Roman is not capable or ready to take that on. I am the one that has been preparing for this very moment. I’m ready.”
“You were ready until you went and fucked it all up with Elanore. Do you have any idea what that could have cost the company? The family? And who was the one that cleaned it all up?” I point to myself. “Me!”
“Oh, and you’re such the golden child, aren’t you, Roman? You have not proven that you want this company. You’re not even married. You’ve not done a damn thing that has been asked of you. I have proven myself more than enough that I’m the one that should take over; not you.”
“The only thing you’ve proven, Liam, is that you are not ready.” My father chimes in. “This is the push that Roman needed, and he will do the right thing. I’m certain of it.”
Liam throws his hands in the air. “What a fucking joke!” I have done everything you asked me to do. I have kissed your ass for the last ten years, jumped when you said jump, and this is the thanks I get.”
“You are out of line, Liam. Dad is lying in a hospital bed, for fuck’s sake. Do you really think now is the appropriate time to offload all your daddy issues? Wake up and have some fucking decorum. Go home and pull your shit together.”
Liam opens his mouth to speak.
“Go home,” I repeat slower and articulately.
Lowering his head, he shakes it, exhaling a long breath. His shoulders droops as he carries his defeated dumb ass out the door.
Dad clears his throat. “And that right there is precisely why I chose you.” His stare is intent and full of expectation. “Roman, I’m relying on you, and you know what needs to be done.”
I know. Believe me, I know. In the last ten years, he’s made it perfectly clear what is expected of me. I know I can do it. But the question is, how much of myself will I lose to get it done? The next few months are going to be hectic, managing my father's clients and my own. That’s not what concerns me as I leave my father’s room and look over at my sulking-faced brother still in the waiting room. It’s him that concerns me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Indie
MONDAY MORNINGS ARE THE WORST. Although, coffee on a Monday morning tastes way better than any other day of the week, for some reason. I take a long sip, savouring the sweetness of my latte.
“Your boss is late.” A gruff voice startles me as I walk into the office.
I practically jump out of my skin. “Jesus Christ!” I bellow, nearly spilling my coffee down the front of my crisp white blouse as I take in the man sitting casually on the waiting sofa. He’s so tall and frighteningly built; he looks like a giant in a children's chair, and his eyes cause an unsteadiness in me that I can’t explain. This man has evil written all over him. His tattoo of a cobra curls around his neck like it’s his protective pet. The thick black lines paint a fierce and troubling image that unsettles my stomach. His jeans hug his thick, muscular thighs like they were part of his skin, and his jawline looks like it’s been chiseled from stone.
“No, not the Devine One. Judge.” He smirks wickedly as his eyes prowl over me slowly from head to toe with no concealment of his exact thoughts.
“I’m sorry. You are?”
