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“Just call me Hadley,” I tell him in the politest tone I can muster.
“All right, Hadley, come with me.” He nods his head as he climbs higher up the stairway.
Glaring at his back, I stomp after him with my fists clenched.Thanks, Dad, for getting me into this. You really suck. You know that?
What I wouldn’t give to say that to his face.
And to spit in his face.
Mr. Porterson remains quiet as he guides me up the stairway, down a narrow hallway, and into an office on the far-left side of the house. The space is big and lined with large windows so sunlight spills in from every angle. Bookshelves line the walls, gothic chandeliers dangle from the ceiling, and an antique rug covers the middle of the floor.
“You look confused,” Mr. Porterson remarks as he takes a seat behind a large desk.
“That’s because I am.” I stay standing near the door.
There’s no way in hell I’m going into this room any farther. It’s already tucked away in a maze of winding hallways so far back no one can hear me scream.
He rests his overlapped hands on the desk, curiosity gleaming in his eyes. “And why’s that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t picture a mobster’s office to look so… sunlighty.”
He chuckles, his eyes crinkling around the corners. “That’s an interesting choice of word.”
I recall how, only hours ago, Blaise was teasing me about my interesting vocabulary. What I wouldn’t give to go back and keep joking around with him.
Huh, never thought I’d think that.
“You’re very odd,” he muses as he collects a cigar from a wooden box that’s on his desk.
“Most people think so,” I admit. Blaise being one of those people. “But I’m guessing that, compared to you, I’m probably pretty ordinary.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” He strikes a match and lights up the cigar. Then he takes a few puffs while resting back in the chair. “Just for the record, I don’t refer to myself as a mobster. In fact, the term isn’t accurate for what I do.”
I mentally roll my eyes. Sure he isn’t. And one day, I’m going to learn to sit with my legs crossed and say excuse me when I burp.
But I decide to play along. “Then what are you?”
He brings the cigar to his lips, smoke lacing the air. “I like to think of myself as an entrepreneur.”
“An entrepreneur who runs a bunch of illegal gambling clubs?” I mentally want to smack myself.
Stop saying stuff without thinking, Hadley! Your mouth is going to get you in trouble. Again.
Silence chokes the air as he puffs on his cigar with his interrogating gazed fixed on me. “You’ve done some research on me. I’m wondering why.”
“For kicks and giggles,” I say with a shrug, but my pulse races as fast as my Goddamn car when I’m drag racing.
His brow meticulously arches. “You sure about that?”
“Yep,” I say matter-of-factly. When he stares me down hard, my toughness starts to crumble. “Okay, fine. Honestly, I was trying to dig up some dirt on your sons and stuff about you popped up too.”
He doesn’t appear the slightest bit surprised. “Well, you should know that not everything you read online is always accurate.” He stands with the cigar in his hand. “But your curiosity in my sons isn’t important nor relevant to why I brought you here.” He strolls over to a window and stares at the acres of land just outside. “As I’m sure you already know, your father has gotten himself into a bit of trouble.”
I swallow hard.Here we go. “Yeah, I’m aware of that.”
His gaze flicks in my direction. “Do you understandwhyhe’s in trouble, though?”
While Blaise explained some of the details to me, I’m not about to tell this guy anything that might get my dad—or well, me, since I’m here now—in even more trouble.
