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Shifting my gaze to Coleman’s, I open my mouth to ask him what the fuck he means. The girl he was fucking, her father was an associate, but I didn’t think he had any kind of real power. Our father is the one with power in this business.
“It was,” Uncle Dean states.
“What the fuck?” I ask.
My dad stands, placing his palms on his wooden desk. It’s clean, not a paper clip in sight. He’s much like my mother when it comes to his space, and I wonder if this is why they make such a great team. It seems as though they have a lot in common when it comes down to it, even if their daily activities aren’t in exact sync all of the time.
“The girl your brother has been casually fucking for six months; she thought it was going somewhere. So, when he broke it off suddenly, she ran to her father crying. Her father is an associate of ours, but not just that, he was selling us a building. It was a fucking steal, and we were going to make bank on it. Now we don’t have a goddamn thing,” Dad growls.
“How was I supposed to know?” Coleman barks. “I didn’t want to marry her. I broke it off. Now I’m going to marry someone who was promised to me. You act as if I’m not owed the wife I desire.”
Uncle Dean stands, and I’m surprised. He usually doesn’t try to step on Dad’s toes, especially when it comes to business and the family, but there is something else happening here, and I’m confused.
I open my mouth to ask but snap it closed, deciding it isn’t really my place to ask questions. I’m not in charge of anything when it comes to real decision-making in the family or the business. I’m a manager, and I have responsibilities, but this is completely different.
“We need that deal,” Uncle Dean states.
Turning my attention to my dad, I tilt my head to the side. “Why do we need that deal?” I ask. “What is the big thing here that I’m missing?”
“It’s a good deal,” my dad mutters.
“No, that’s not it. I’ve seen good deals come and go, and none of them have sparked a middle-of-the-night meeting. None of them required contracting marriages between a member of the family. So, you’re going to have to do better than that.”
Wrong. Thing. To. Say.
My father moves so fast that my heart slams against my chest at the simple shift of his arm. He lifts his hand, grabs hold of my shirt, and yanks my whole body forward. I didn’t think I was standing close enough to his desk for him to reach, but it’s almost as if he has an elastic arm.
My body is pulled across the desk, my hips and waist pressing against the edge. My face is inches from my father’s, and I can hear his breaths. He growls, then he speaks, just loud enough for me to hear.
“I do not have to doshit, boy,” he grinds out. “I am the director. You are nothing without me. I will not be talked to in that way. Not here, not anywhere, not fucking ever. Do you understand me?”
He sounds animalistic, and I know I fucked up. So, instead of talking back to him, I keep my damn mouth shut. He lifts his other hand, flattening his palm, then slaps it across my face before he releases me.
I fall down on the desk, my chest slamming against the wood. This will be as far as the beating goes for my insolence. However, if I do it again, even in private, there will be more awaiting me.
“Stand,” my father growls.
Placing my palms against the warmth of his wooden desk, I push myself up to stand, straighten my shoulders, and take a few steps backward, my eyes flicking down to the shiny wooden top of the desk.
“The reason this is such an issue is that we already have a tenant for this building. Contracts have been signed, and we will be held in breach of contract if this does not continue through. That breach will be with the government, and I want this deal. This will give us a sense of security that we cannot simply buy.”
I don’t know why he didn’t lead with that shit. It would have saved us all the dramatics and me being slapped like a bitch. But it doesn’t matter, and I’m not about to question it, either.
“What do you need from us?” Coleman murmurs.
“I need you to ensure that he decides to go through with the deal. However that gets done, it doesn’t matter. I am trusting you boys to handle it without police or death.”
So, threats.
I like that.
Coleman dips his chin, taking a step backward. I do the same and turn away from my father’s desk, moving toward the door when he calls out my name. Instead of just looking over my shoulder, I turn completely around and lift my head, my eyes finding his.
“Wells, you’re a good boy.”
Dipping my chin, I turn from him and make my way out of the office just before I hear my uncle and father’s voices in a low murmur. I don’t know what they’re saying. It doesn’t matter because it doesn’t concern me.
With the mission on our minds, we make our way out of the house and toward our cars. Coleman stops beside my driver’s door and waits for me. He lifts his eyes, his gaze searching mine, and I can tell he feels sorry for me being slapped like a bitch, but he has the good sense not to mention it.
