Rip grabs a spoon, scoops some up, and eats a little. Taking another scoop, he then brings it to my mouth. I pull my head back, confused, but after a second to process, I part my lips, and he carefully slides the spoon in.
Once I swallow, he smiles. Then, he opens the bag of chips and throws them into his mouth. “I can eat a thousand bags of crisps in a day.”
“Crisps? You mean chips?”
He chews, unfazed. “No. I mean crisps.”
Rip hands me a chip, and my fingers brush against his as I take it. I nibble the end, then chew the rest, and the heavy dumbbell sitting on my chest since we were at the dinner table vanishes. Thousands of eyes aren’t on me, and the chips aren’t daunting like the mashed potatoes were.
We simultaneously chew. Maybe we’ll finish the entire bag.
“Don’t go soft on me, Rip,” I say through munches.
“I’m not?”
“This,” I gesture to us and the snacks, “is going soft. You’re the same guy who shoved me against the wall because you didn’t like what Iwasn’tsaying. You’re the man who goes from calm to furious in the blink of an eye. You once had this fire in your eyes, as if you weren’t working for my parents, you’d strangle the hell out of me for glancing at you wrong. That is the Rip I know.”
He grimaces at my words, but I watch him swallow them down. “What do you want me to do? Pretend its fine that the only food I’ve seen you put in your mouth are some crisps and pudding?”
Ouch. “Yes.”
“Well, I’m not,” he states. “I’m a douche, but that’s a whole other level of douchery. I told you, Beaumont; I’ll be pissed if you die on me.”
14
Kingsley
“Iheard about your appearance at Fight Club last week,” Dad paces around his office desk as he speaks. “I’m impressed.”
I straighten my back in the chair. “Thanks.”
He stops across the desk from me, looking over. “EvenIwouldn’t have bitten into someone’s neck just to win. People have been whispering about it, which tells me they have nothing better to do, but it’s nice to know you gave the lazy fucks a scare.”
I nod absentmindedly. First Shawn and Odie, then Dad, and now even some of the Crowncrest are impressed with how I dealt with Victor Plaster. Biting into someone’s trapezius muscle isn’t a common thing that happens, even in Fight Club, but should that make it the topic of the year?
If it’s the most interesting thing to happen in a long time, then yes.
My dad sits down in front of me, as I stare at the shelf I always focus on when I’m in Dad’s office. The shelf of his favorite booze that’s been collecting dust since I was a kid. I think it’s for display rather than drinking, at this point.
“Kingsley,” he states in a low, firm tone. The tension thickens, and I’m realizing that the reason he called me into his office wasn’t for a lighthearted chat like I’d hoped. “What made you want to rejoin?”
I blink. “Same reason I’ve started working out again. I need to find the mole, and to do that, I need to be active again.”
“So after a year off, all it took was me telling you to find the traitor for you to get back at it?”
“No. It was a lot of things, I guess.”
He raises a brow. “Like?”
It’s hard to say what one thing is making me want to go back to the way I was, and while I’ve gotten back into what I used to enjoy, I haven’t yet startedenjoyingit. And until that happens, I won’t truly be back.
“I’m supposed to take over someday, and the Crowncrest will not follow me if they think I’m irremediably weak,” I explain. “And you forcing me to take on the pointless assignment of the Wright boys pissed me off enough to want to do something about it.”
“You think what you’re doing for the marketing of the family business is pointless?” Dad asks, genuinely curious.
My teeth grind together. “I think you could have gotten anyone else to do it, but you chose me. Your first job for me in forever was to babysit instead of something that utilizes my skills.”
“What skills? The ones you put on the back burner while Sylvie’s murderer continues to walk free?”
