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There’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I call as I text Jensen a few dirty words. I know she’s in class. She won’t be able to sit through without her curiosity giving in, and it gives me great satisfaction knowing she’ll squirm in her chair. I smile, just as Fredrick enters my office. “What is it?”
He tosses a stack of papers on my desk. “This.”
I look down at the copy of the contract of sale. “What of it?” I pull my feet off my desk.
“You’re not serious with this, are you?” I look at Fredrick with a stern face, not liking the way he’s speaking to me.
“I’m dead serious. And it’s happening, whether you approve or not. Not that you have a say.” Standing, I grab the contract, crunch the paper between my brutal grip, and toss it into my desk drawer. I grab for my phone and check to see if Jensen responded.
“Damien, you need to think this through. This girl. She’s messing with your head. I’ve told you from the beginning she wasn’t a good idea. You need to get rid—”
“She is none of your fucking business.” I slam my fists on my desk. “And the deal is done.” Taking a deep breath to rein in my anger, I step aside and walk over to the window. The afternoon staff is in stocking the bar and preparing for the busy night ahead. I lift my phone and check again.
“But we’ve talked about this. You can’t just sell. Other people have shares in the company. Your father left part of it to Patricia. She’ll refuse to sell.”
“My father’s whore is not my problem anymore.”
I hear a soft growl coming from behind me. Fredrick has always had a thing for Patricia, but the feeling was never mutual. “You didn’t say that when you took over for him,” he spits out.
I whip around, my eyes blazing. “You will watch your tone with me. Remember who you work for.”
“And you’re becoming a disgrace to this business. Running around like a schoolboy. Candlelit dinners, date nights, blowing off what’s important because that child has somehow captured your attention. Her cunt can’t be that—”
My hands are up and around his neck. I squeeze and whip him around, slamming him into the window hard enough to nearly crack the glass. “I warned you,” I hiss. My grip tightens. “And you know I don’t ask twice.” His hands fumble around my fingers, trying to pry them from around his neck. “I should have never allowed you to steer me down this path. I should’ve listened to my gut and burned this fucking place down fifteen years ago. But now, I’m done. And so are you. Get the fuck out.” I toss him to the side, and he trips forward, his hands instantly going to his neck as he gulps in deep breaths.
“Damien, listen I—”
“I said get out! Or I’ll throw you out. If I see you around here again, I’ll fucking bury you myself.”
He opens his mouth to argue, but the look in my eyes stop him. Murder has never been my solution to a problem, but I’ll put him six feet under if he speaks her name. If looks could kill, his feelings are similar. But in this case, I’m the one who will win here.
Without another word, he turns and storms out. I don’t realize I’m shaking until I pull my phone out and check for messages. Where the hell is she? I type out another one, this time, sterner, demanding she respond. I need her wittiness to calm me so I don’t run after Fredrick and follow through on my murderous thoughts.
I finish my text as Fredrick appears below, storming across the dance floor. He’s stopped by Kade, who’s holding the order sheets from the booze delivery. I don’t have to hear him to know he’s getting Fredrick to sign off on it. I dial Kade’s number and he grabs his phone while handing off the forms.
“Yeah, boss.”
“Don’t have Fredrick sign. He’s done here. I want you to make sure he leaves, then get all the club’s locks and codes changed. You’ll finish bartending tonight, then work under me.” I fail to mention the sale in two weeks. The less chatter, the better. “When that’s taken care of, I need you to deliver a letter for me. It’s important.”
Kade looks up at the mirror. Fredrick follows his gaze, then tosses the clipboard and storms off. I end the call and dial Jensen’s bat phone, as she likes to call it. It goes to voicemail.
“What the fuck is she doing?” She would never turn the phone off. The battery must be dead. There’s no other way she wouldn’t answer. I think to last night and how I fucked her hard and fast, then slow and sweet, over every inch of my loft. I barely gave her time to get her shoes off, let alone time to charge her phone.
