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“True.” Maximo nods. “But I say we vote. Because Kelly’s got a point.”
Jac doesn’t lift that gloating, hate-filled gaze from me. “Why don’t we let Hendrick decide? Split the room fifty-fifty. The power balance is all yours, Hendrick.”
I hate this, hate his attempts at manipulation, hate having to share a space with him. And he knows it. This fuck ruined my life. He wants me to check over my shoulder all the time. He wants me to step out of line when it comes to Quinate business.
But more than that? He wants me to look weak, to bow to him, make the tough calls and then when something goes wrong, he can blame me.
I nod. Offer him a small smile. “My thoughts on this subject have already been documented. I think you’re all adult enough to make the right choice. Ivan, when you all make a decision, fill in Damon and he’ll organize support accordingly.”
I then rise as Jac’s smirk spreads, and the waves of hot hate radiate from him.
One more second in this fucking room and Jac’s brains are going to paint the wall behind him.
“Running late for something, I’m afraid, so I’ll see you all at my gala.” I keep my gaze on Jac. “Or not.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the fucking world,” Jac says.
Fuck Jac Miller and everything abhorrent he represents.
* * *
Elsa Nostrand, the date I left to meet, is late, but I don’t mind.
The understated ambiance, rich and tasteful in both the low music, clientele, and deep reds and cherrywood of the bar in Old Town soothes something in my soul.
Oh, there’s still a level of bullshit, just like in New Town, but here, people aren’t out to make a point in a Jac Miller way, and the further from Jac-fucking-Miller the better.
So if the heiress is late, I can enjoy a drink in peace.
Elsa’s very pretty, a good lay, and a better business move. I’m not intending on marrying her or having a relationship with her—not beyond what we have—but the rich man’s daughter likes playing with fire, and I like her father’s business connections. So I’ll fuck her however she wants.
She can suck cock well enough. She can take it bent over a table in the cunt or up the ass.
Does she light infernos within me? Not on her life, but I’m not here for that. Keep the princess happy, and I get a piece of what her father’s empire entails, a certain something money can’t buy.
Which is why I’m at this upscale bar in the beating diamond-draped heart of Old Town, Delacroix. Not my fucking choice, I’d rather be working. I’d also rather be fucking a woman who likes to play my way.
Rough-edged, kink forward, sprinkled with danger, and maybe up for sharing. The latter is something I love but don’t indulge in often.
Sharing a woman requires certain parameters. I don’t give a shit about another dick. Even if I’m up her ass and someone else is buried deep in her cunt, no one’s there for homoerotic moves, it’s about pleasure and the woman. Usually it’s spit roast territory, but even then…
Trust.
Someone who wants to play that way.
The things that need to align are sometimes too many working pieces. I like compartments, mess in the form of sweat and cum and wrecked beds. Not emotions. Not things spilling into other things.
Right now, I don’t have time.
I don’t have a woman like that.
Elsa’s not ever putting out to more than one dick at a time.
I sip my whiskey and check my phone as it buzzes and lights up. She’s running late, and her text is full of emojis that piss me the fuck off.
The fact I’m thinking about threesomes tells me all I need to know about the shelf-life of the Elsa situation.
I’m fucking bored.
