Page 2 of Royal Desire

A smile pulls at my lips as I point at my only employee through the screen on our video conference call. “Not this week. Everyone’s an A-Lister while you’re on your honeymoon. All the clients of Deacon Financial will get special treatment from moi. Go forth and Romeo your fiancée into oblivion.”

“Shut the fuck up. And you know Romeo was a tragedy. Not the way I want to start out my marriage.”

“I, of all people, know tragedies. Hell, I was Romeo, quite literally back in high school. You’re young and in love—hence, Romeo, but you’re badass enough to change your ending. Just don’t drink the poison.”

Sam settles back in his office chair and takes a long pull from his beer. “You sure you don’t want to come?”

I shrug and pour myself another glass of water. “I always want to come.”

He rolls his eyes. “To my wedding, asshole.”

I take a sip. “You know, most employees would get fired for calling their boss an asshole and fucker to his face. You’re lucky you have me. I’m cooler than that and embrace your pet names for what they are.”

He ignores me. “My wedding, Payne. I talk to you more than I do anyone. More than my best man and my fiancée. The fact you won’t travel across the country to my wedding is whacked.”

I pull in a deep breath, because he’s right. “You know I can’t. It’s honestly killing me, because I’m always up for a party. Your big-ass family sounds like a vibe, but I’m on duty for the town this weekend along with other less desirable shit that the universe deems essential to ruining my life.”

He takes another drink and leans forward so the only thing on the screen is his smug mug and the longneck he’s sucking down. “I know. I figured I’d try one more time. You’d think with all your money, you could hire someone to take care of some of those responsibilities.”

“The fact I can’t is a testament to how much my responsibilities suck. No one will step in, no matter how much I pay them.” That’s a lie. Everyone in town knows the Deacons are fucked up, but they have no clue at what level. It’s my goal to keep that a secret.

Sam was a finance major and one of only three people who applied for the junior asset manager job when I was drowning in high maintenance clients. I hired him on the spot. He’s five years younger than me and just as smart. I pay him a whack plus some just to keep him around. He’s been with me for two years.

I go on to get him to change the subject and raise my glass to the screen where the kid sits on the other end of the continent in South Carolina. “Happy for you, man. I want to be you when I grow up.”

Sam smirks and shakes his head. “You’re like the cool but weird uncle that never shows up to holidays.”

I shrug and take another sip. “I’m going to take that as the compliment it is. Now, log off for the next two and a half weeks and do your happily-ever-after shit. Congratulations.”

He lifts his chin. “Thanks. And call me if you need anyth⁠—”

I put my hand up to stop him. “And by the way, your wedding gift was deposited in your account today.”

His eyes widen, but I don’t let him say anything else.

“Just remember, I’m there in spirit and the best boss on the planet. Don’t get any wild ideas about moving to an island with your bride and not returning. I’ll find you and drag your ass back. The B-List needs you as much as I do. Got it?”

He shakes his head. “Thanks again. Be good to my little clients. I’ll be back for them.”

“You’d better. I hired you for a reason. There’s only so much of me to go around. Use sunscreen and remember that sand and sex don’t mix. It might sound romantic, but it’s just not.”

Sam ignores my shit like he usually does and raises two fingers to wave me off as I kill the conference call. I throw back the rest of my water like it’s something stronger and slam the crystal on the desk harder than necessary, one hundred percent pretending it’s my father’s face rather than his desk.

My fucking father. After all these years, I’m still using his damn desk. I’m not sure if it’s to remind me of who he was or who I don’t want to be. I must be a masochist, because I fucking hate it. Maybe I should make over the office during the next two weeks.

I stand and go to the window that overlooks the back of the property. The estate I grew up on sits on the top of a mountain that overlooks the town of Winslet. Other than the manor, which was here a century before my parents built this place, there’s no better view in town. I’m an only child, so to say that my parents overdid it when my father made it big in the financial world is an understatement.

The house is over ten thousand ridiculous square feet and sits on fifty acres. I know every door, window, and inch of its land like the back of my hand. Thank God technology wasn’t what it is today when I was a kid. I hated it here and snuck out as often as I could.

Toxic is not a strong enough word for the Deacon family.

And I still came back to salvage what my father shit all over like the selfish prick he’s always been. I never wanted to work for him. Hell, I never wanted anything to do with him. I gave him the proverbial middle finger and refused to go to the Ivy League school of his choice. I cut all financial ties, got a scholarship to a state university, and put myself through law school.

I escaped home and didn’t look back. That was until shit hit the fan.

It wasn’t a matter of if, but when it would happen. None of us knew just how bad it would be when Owen Deacon finally fucked up so grand, he couldn’t dig his way out.

It was bad.