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Lucas
Two weeks later
Ireally need a break. It seems like everyone is pissing me off lately and this meeting is no exception. I am surrounded by fools and if I thought money brought you happiness; I was wrong.
“The problem is, the project is running behind and the costs are mounting up, making the investors worried. It’s having a knock-on effect and now the press is questioning if it will ever get off the ground at all. Word on the street is you’re pushing for something that will end up bringing you down…”
I raise my hand and the room falls silent as everyone turns to look at me. The man who spoke appears to be sweating and I know I make them nervous. Bill Bailey is my business advisor and a small part of me pities him for that but then again, I pay him well above the normal pay grade for his trouble so I snarl, “I don’t care what they think, I only care about getting the job done.”
My eyes flick to my chief of operations, Adam Remington, and a look passes between us. My brother from another mother, the man I trust with my life and the only person here I can stand to be in the company of for longer than sixty minutes. As always, he understands my mood and says shortly, “Meeting over, make it happen and next time we meet, make sure you come up with positive shit rather than dragging us down with your whinging and sniping.”
I silently applaud his diplomacy because my trigger finger is itching to end this meeting in a more violent way because I am sick to the soul of the people who surround me. The men who profit from my business sense and the men who think they matter. They don’t. Nobody matters. I have no loyalty, no love, and no emotion. I’m dead inside. The only thing that motivates me these days is money, and as the room empties, I reach for the cut-glass decanter behind me and pour two whiskies.
As the door clicks, I push one toward Adam and growl, “I was so close.”
Chucking back the contents of the glass, I don’t miss his amused grin and growl, “What?”
“You need to get laid. How long’s it been?”
“Not interested.”
Shaking his head, Adam finishes his drink in one and as I refill the glasses, he says with concern, “You may not want to but it will take the edge off. You can take your pick, hell I’ll even play pimp for you, but something’s got to give.”
Despite myself, I laugh. “You’ll play my pimp, interesting image.”
He laughs. “It wouldn’t be the first time because if I remember rightly, it was a regular thing back in the day. Business by day and whore by night, all engineered by yours truly.”
“And now the beast has been tamed, and the bastard has lost his partner in crime. Shouldn’t you be getting back to her?”
At the mention of his wife, Penelope, Adam’s eyes soften and I wonder what it’s like—to find the one person you can’t wait to see above all others. The one you would do anything for; the woman who completes you.
When Adam met Penelope, it changed him almost immediately. He only wanted her and I can see why. She has beauty, brains and a quick wit that impresses even me. He didn’t hang around - we live in Vegas after all, and they were married inside six months. It suits me though because it keeps Adam grounded, focused on the business and after all, that’s the only important thing in my life, anyway.
“Go, get the hell out of here, we’ll sort this shit out in the morning.”
“I can stay.”
“Just fuck off, Adam, I’ve had enough of you for one day.”
I laugh to take the edge off my words and he grins. “Then we feel the same.”
I throw him my best death stare, but he just laughs and gathers up his belongings. “I mean it, Lucas, go and get laid because you’re obviously doing a bad job of it yourself in your ivory tower with just your hand for company. Shall I send one of them up?”
“Only if you want a quick blow job before heading home to domestic bliss. I’ll give you the two minutes you need before I leave.”
He rolls his eyes and throws me the middle finger and leaves me festering in my own irritable shit.
* * *
By the timeI make my way to my private elevator that takes me to my own floor of this sin palace I created, two hours have passed. This is normal for me. Business every hour I’m not sleeping. Maybe I should get laid, but I’ve grown weary of the whores, weary of the socialites on my arm that accompany me to business functions and shows. Meetings that require a plus one with the promise of a night in my bed and an expensive gift delivered the next day. I like the finer things, I always have, but sometimes a man needs a dirty whore to play with and yet, that no longer interests me. It’s so meaningless, so degrading, and I feel as if I sell myself short every time I let a faceless stranger work my body just for a moment of pleasure that soon fades. No, I’m done with it, for now, anyway, because increasingly the only thrill I get these days is running my empire.
As soon as I step outside my private elevator, the hairs on my neck stand to attention. Call it a sixth sense, a premonition, but something is wrong.
I override the light sensor by pressing mute on my phone and reach for my gun.
A low chuckle tells me I was right and a hard voice says, “I’m impressed.”
My hand eases on the gun and I say evenly, “To what do I owe this pleasure? I mean, it’s always good to see you, but surely you could have called first.”
