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There was no flicker of surprise on Butler’s face when Nic entered the tack room. The patron was geared up to go riding, a whip in one hand and a mobile phone pressed to his ear on the other. He immediately concluded his phone conversation, tracking Nic as he drew closer. After a few seconds, he broke into an affable smile that showed too much teeth and did nothing to hide the malicious gleam in his eyes.
Nic scanned the room. Multitudes of saddles, bridles, and other polo equipment were hung on mounted racks on one side of the wall in neat rows. On the floor were handmade leather polo boots waiting for their owners to don them. He and the patron were alone.
“To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, Nic?” Butler said as if this was a social call. He gave a soft rap of the whip on his thigh.
Nic decided to play it cool even though he wanted to smash his fist into the bastard’s smarmy face. There would be time enough for that later. “Can’t I say hello to my former patron?” He made a show of digging a hand into his trouser pocket, and Butler followed the action predictably.
“What have you got there, Nic?” The nonchalance was gone from the older man’s face. He stilled, like a prey faced by a hungry predator, still deciding if he should flee or fight.
Nic smiled in a harmless manner, bringing his hand out of his pocket and holding the mobile aloft. “Relax, Rupert. Just checking if I still have my phone with me. I remember the last time I almost forgot it,” his tone hardened. He discreetly checked if the record button was on and returned it to his pocket. “I applaud your creativity, Rupert. A bit melodramatic though, but still creative.”
Butler was enough of a megalomaniac to preen at his words. “So you saw my handiwork?” He was standing near a saddle rack, casually inspecting the leather. “You gave me nothing, Nic.” Did he just fucking pout? The action was repulsive on a grown man. “I had very little to work with,” Butler said in a pseudo-woeful tone.
The hairs on Nic’s arms rose. It was imperative not to let his guard down. Butler was wily, but he was also a loose cannon. He folded his arms across his chest and opened his legs a bit wider, feet firmly planted on the floor while he leveled Butler a hard, menacing glare. “So you took what were private and personal photos of the Princess and used it to try to coerce the Prince into giving you the alledramite contract.”
Butler shrugged and Nic felt his blood simmering, the heat rising to his face. “I saw an opportunity at the party and I took it.” The patron chuckled, “Even my hare-brained wife has her uses, sometimes.”
When Nic just stared at him, he continued, “I’m a man of action, Nic, on and off the field. That’s why I like polo. The rules are simple enough. If I see the ball, I don’t lose sight of my target. I go after it until I score the goal. Anybody who stands in my way gets ridden off.” He sneered, “There is a reason it’s called the game of kings. If you’re lily-livered, you don’t get to play with the big boys.”
“You get to play with the big boys because you pay your way, Butler. You’re an amateur. Don’t delude yourself into thinking it matters whether or not you’re on the team. The only reason you are there is because you paid your way into it.” Butler’s face grew florid and Nic knew he hit a nerve. A self-made man, Butler accessorized himself with all the trappings of the rich − mansions on prime real estate, luxury cars, a yacht, a jet, several trophy ex-wives, all designed to make everyone forget his dirt-poor origins, something he tried very hard to conceal. Nic wanted to goad him into losing it. He used his final weapon. Knowing Butler was insanely jealous of the man, he lied, “Oh, and by the way, I’m playing for Walkden’s team on the Argentine Open.”
“You ungrateful son of a bitch! You filthy gaucho!” Butler lost it as he screamed, spittle flying off his mouth. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be back in your farm cleaning horse dung!”
Before Nic could react, the whip flew through the air and struck him across the cheek. The stinging, unexpected blow threw him backwards and momentarily knocked the breath out of him.
