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“A prude?” My face contorts into confusion and annoyance. “Can a man even be a prude?”
“You’re what I like to call evidentiary support.”
“Fuck off.”
“Dude, you’re in my office. If you want me to fuck off, you’ll have to do the fucking. Oh, whoops. Forgot. You’re a prude.” He laughs like a hyena, and I decide immediately to cut him from my life with a savagery and ruthlessness that rivals the most oppressive tyrant.
“What I can do for you,” he continues, “if you insist on carrying on with this whole insane charade rather than fucking the insanity out of your system, is a background check. I’ve got a PI I’ve worked with on occasion, and he’s licensed in forty-nine states.”
Hmm. Maybe his offer holds merit, even if I’m supremely curious as to why one state has refused this guy credentials.
“Is the state he’s not licensed in this one?”
“Would I be involved with someone like that?” Caplin asks, and I nearly snort.
“Yes. Yes, you would.”
He smiles, secure in the questionable parts of his morals. Hell, that’s probably why he’s the main counsel for pretty much every fucking billionaire and millionaire around. Not to mention, a successful lawyer who turned a million-dollar idea of creating an app to assist people with cheap and quick legal counsel into a thriving company he sold off for a measly 2.2 billion dollars.
“And what about Louisiana?” I ask and he chuckles.
“He’s licensed in the states you need him to be. Trust me.”
I don’t trust him one bit, but I have only two options at this point—use the resources he’s suggesting to dig up dirt on Greer Hudson, or turn tyrannical against him while also losing my sanity.
Bloody torture will have to wait for another day.
“Fine. Do it.”
“Please? Thank you?” he prods.
“You’re welcome,” I goad back.
His brown eyes deepen with sin and enjoyment, and his voice is eerily calm. “I know people, Turn.”
I roll my eyes, and he smirks.
“Just don’t act shocked if you wake up behind bars one day.”
“I’ll prepare nightly.”
“By sticking things in your ass? Because that’s what will happen to you. You’re a real pretty boy, and they love those in there.”
“Fuck you, dude.”
“Yes, that is what they’ll call the game they play with you. Because you’ll be the prettiest boy there.”
“I know it’s hard for you to admit that I’m better-looking,” I say with a sly smirk. “But don’t worry, over the years, I’ve learned to understand your backhanded compliments. And thank you.”
Cap laughs, and just as he opens his mouth, I quickly cut him off.
“Anyway, don’t you have better things to do today than to compare our good looks?” I ask, knowing we’ll be stuck in this vortex of nonsense and insults all day if I don’t.
“Yes, in fact, I do. I was in the middle of an important call when you barged in here with a hard-on for termination, remember? Stroke that thing a little tonight, and it might just go away.”
“Prick.”
“Prude.”
“I’m not a prude, fuck you very much.” I roll my eyes, and he challenges me with a smirk.
“Prove it.”
“How?” I raise an amused brow. “You want me to pull out my dick or something?”
“We both know that’s the kind of thing I would do, not you.”
I nod. “Because you have zero fucking shame.”
“You got that right, Turn.” He smirks. “There ain’t no shame in my big-dick game.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, and Cap just laughs, his entire fucking body vibrating with humor.
“Anyway, it’s been what? Five? Six? Twenty months since you’ve even touched a woman?”
“It’s been exactly one day.”
He furrows his brow.
“I kissed someone at the New Year’s Eve party the other night.”
“Ooh, kissing,” Cap croons in an annoyingly fake voice. “Did it happen under the bleachers or in the back seat of your car?”
“I had just met her, dude. We kissed at midnight, and she was wearing a Beyoncé mask because of Quince’s terrible fucking idea. What was I supposed to do, fuck her in the bathroom?”
He laughs. “That’s what I did.”
“You’re ridiculous,” I say, but it’s mostly in an effort to hide my jealousy. The truth is, Caplin’s not that off base. I was so into the woman at the party, so into the kiss we had at midnight, I was considering all the ways we could spend the rest of the night. Visions of her in my bed played vividly in my mind, and if I’m honest, still do.
I wanted to take her up to one of the penthouse suites and spread her legs.
I wanted to touch her. Taste her. Slide my cock inside of her.
I wanted to do a lot of fucking things, but my father’s stare was weighty, even from across the room, and despite the protection of my mask, it felt like he could see right through me.
His judgment about my behavior at a work function—a party we as a company were responsible for putting on—was more than I was willing to risk.
