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But just to fuck with her, I throw her a slight smirk and rasp, “Can’t wait.”
Her eyes light up and she practically prances out the door.
Poor… Sabrina?
Okay, I give up.
Poor whatever the fuck her name is, is going to learn real fast that I don’t pick up my father’s discarded ones. It’s the principle of the thing and the fact that my dick doesn’t work for women like that.
No offense to the women.
All offense here goes to the man who brought me into this world and who constantly cheats on my mother. And who a second later says, “She likes you.”
I’ve been watching her leave, but at his voice, I turn around and there he is.
My lovely father.
All the way across this huge room, sitting on his throne. Or his chair that looks like a throne.
It’s been here for as long as I can remember. Upholstered in polished brown leather, it has a high wide back. It makes him look larger than life. It makes him look like the king of the world, or at least Bardstown.
He specifically had it made for himself, actually.
I think he saw it on TV, this throne-like chair, and he wanted it so much that he had it custom built.
That’s my father; he wants things.
He wants money. He wants power. He wants women. He wants an ugly-ass chair that he saw on TV because he thinks it makes him look rich and powerful.
He is those things, yes. But he also loves to show off.
He loves to shove it in your face, how rich and powerful he can be.
“How tragic for her then that I don’t,” I reply, remaining by the door.
“Don’t be so hasty in your judgement, son. Stephanie’s new but she has her uses.”
Ah, Stephanie, and she is new.
I hum. “Good for Stephanie. But I think I’d find her more useful if she wasn’t fucking my father.”
At this my dad laughs.
He has a booming laugh, loud and echoing, and just like that it becomes a real struggle, a real fucking struggle, to not feel that noose tightening around my neck.
When he’s done laughing at me, he says, “Such prudishness. Still. I thought time would make you more receptive. But you continue to surprise me.”
Yeah, because this isn’t the first time my father has suggested that it’s okay for me to — how do I put it? — avail myself of his conquests. He’s definitely availed himself of mine in the past and so I stopped bringing girls from school over.
For all his greediness, my father can be a very generous man. He’s happy to share things with me, his one and only son. His wealth, his power, this company that he’s built from the ground up.
“Yes, I’m an enigma.” I sigh and brace myself. “Is there a particular reason you wanted to see me tonight?”
As I was heading out of the bar, I got a text from my dad, asking me to come see him in his study.
I’ve had plenty of summons like these over the years and they never end well. So I’m not particularly looking forward to this conversation. But I don’t have a lot of choice in the matter like I did before.
Like I did up until two years ago.
Up until then, I’d blow him off. I wouldn’t answer his texts, wouldn’t pick up his calls. I’d be purposely difficult to get a hold of. It used to be easy too. I used to have soccer practice, parties, friends, school and all those things.
I would actually take pleasure in avoiding him. I’d take pleasure in showing him the finger, doing things he hated just to spite him.
But now not so much.
Now I don’t have very many excuses.
Such as soccer.
Yeah, I don’t have soccer anymore, and I’m not going to get into the whole thing as to why. Because the reason doesn’t matter. Suffice it to say that I don’t play and neither do I go to college.
Not that that’s been a hardship, not going to college.
Like my father, I never liked education. I was only going to classes to have minimum grades so I could play and piss off my dad. Since I’m not playing, I’m not going to waste my time on homework and assignments.
“Just wanted to check in on my son,” he replies almost gleefully. “Welcome him back from New York. I have to say I missed you.”
Yeah, of course.
He wanted to check in on me. He wanted to rub it in my face that he can check in on me and that one call from him, one measly text, and I’d come running.
As I said, my father wants everything.
Such as my complete and utter obedience. Complete control over me.
“And I have to say that I can’t say the same,” I quip.
Chuckling, he settles back in his ugly-ass chair. “I’ve always liked your sense of humor. I’m sure it’ll come in handy as you adjust to the new workplace. I’m looking forward to having you here. And the fun starts tomorrow, huh? The big party in your honor on transferring from the New York office to here. The future CEO of the company. This is all going to be yours one day.”
