2. Peter Is On a Mission
2
Peter Is On a Mission
“ H e’s not going to go down easy, Dad,” I say, making sure I call my stepfather by his preferred name. He used to get all salty when I’d forget, but I haven’t screwed that up in a long time. I know he’s not my dad, and he knows it, too, but we play this game, and honestly, now that I’m older, I get it. His own son wants nothing to do with him. That slight feeling of wrongness when I call him Dad has never gone away, though.
Baldwin huffs. “That’s not what his school reports said,” he grumbles.
“Excuse me, what?”
Baldwin looks at me, trying to decide how much to say. I can see the calculations go across his face. “My first son is very stubborn, as I know I’ve mentioned before. Despite several warnings in more than one school, he was found in compromising positions with other students. Other male students.”
I blink in surprise since this is new to me. I know my stepbrother doesn’t have a girlfriend, but that’s hardly an indictment.
“Yes,” my stepfather continues, “Kristoff is gay. It’s disgusting. You’ll need to be careful.”
I already know Baldwin’s views on homosexuality are archaic. It’s the main reason I’ve never come out. I’m an aromantic pansexual. In my head, at any rate. As far as the greater world is concerned, I’m straight and uninterested in anything beyond brief hookups that feature incredibly mundane vanilla sex. So far I’m getting away with it. My stepfather likes to jokingly tell his friends that I’m sowing my wild oats, but one of these days that’ll stop sounding cute and he’ll expect me to be in an appropriate relationship. That, however, is a worry for another day.
“I’m pretty sure it’s not contagious,” I say dryly.
Baldwin looks at me in a way that makes me want to squirm, but I suppress the impulse with the ease of long practice. “I should hope not,” he says, then changes the subject. “Do you have a plan of action prepared?” He asks it like we haven’t been over this a billion times.
“Everything’s in place for Monday. Kristoff won’t know what hit him.” If it was anyone else, what I’ve got planned would be considered something between psychological torture and workplace harassment, but this is Kristoff Minola, and he deserves everything coming his way.
He’s a monumental asshole and the worst kind of spoiled. After his father married my mom, Kristoff ran away from home, rich kid style. He demanded to be sent to a prestigious boarding school on the other side of the country and then spent every single vacation with his grandparents. He rebuffed every single overture from his father to have a reconciliation. Instead, he connived to take Minola Corp from of my stepfather’s rightful hands like the cheating little thief he is. I know that’s why he always sucked up to Baldwin’s father. It’s obvious he didn’t do it because he had any kind of feeling for his grandparents. He’s just one of those creeps that prey on old people then steal all their stuff from their rightful heirs, only instead of it being grandpa’s house and Cadillac, it’s a multi-billion-dollar corporation.
The only way to stop him, per the terms of his grandfather’s will, is to get him to quit. That’s where I come in.
Kristoff hates me and has from the moment his father married Mom. It’s not like either one of us had anything to do with his mother’s absence, but he still blames us and has refused from day one to have anything to do with us or his father. Well, except for Baldwin’s money. Kristoff likes that just fine. The amount my stepfather paid to put him in the best schools meant that sometimes things got a little tight around the house for us. Don’t get me wrong. I know how privileged I am, growing up in Lake Forest in a beautiful house. It’s not like we ever went hungry. I always had new clothes to wear and a car to drive when I was sixteen—even if it was Baldwin’s five-year-old Volvo Cross Country station wagon. A babe-magnet that was not, and my friends all got brand new Jeeps and Corvettes and Cayennes. Cool shit like that, while I got a used Dad-mobile. Boo-fucking-hoo, right?
Yeah, I get it. But because of the money it took to enroll Kristoff in some exclusive school in California, Dad had to let all the help go. Before meeting Dad, Mom had been an executive secretary working at Minola. Of course she quit her job so she could focus on raising me, but she also had a huge mansion to keep clean and garden to keep maintained. Mom also cooked every meal, did all the shopping, and even learned to fix things around the house, because we couldn’t always afford a plumber to fix every tiny leak.
I remember Mom wanting to go on some trip with friends of hers and when it came time to buy Mom her plane ticket, my stepfather shook his head when she asked if she could fly first class with her friends.
“Not right now. Kristoff crashed his car—yes, again—and I had to buy him a new one. Things are tight right now, and Dad won’t increase my salary, but once I take over the company, everything will be different. Right now, we just can’t afford it. Not with the mortgage on the house and all our bills. Plus, Peter needs braces and his school fees will be due soon. And don’t forget that new fridge I bought you. It all adds up, Eileen. But I’ll tell you what. I’ll shuffle some things around and I’m sure I can squeeze something in economy into the monthly budget. How does that sound?”
And Mom had been thankful. Of course she had been. Being grateful wasn’t something I ever forgot to be. I wasn’t some entitled asshole who got every single thing he demanded and never once said thank you. Mom and I were very thankful. I took care of my toys and my bike and even my clothes. I made sure everything lasted. I saved my allowance instead of spending it. I went to a university near home to save on expenses, since tuition was sky-high, and we were still paying off Kristoff’s school debt. I got a job when I was sixteen and kept working the whole way through college.
And yeah, I know it sounds like I’m whining that my diamond shoes are too tight. Seriously. I get it. I had to economize growing up instead of having every last thing handed to me. Big fucking deal. But Mom is tired all the time and has a bad back from bending over and picking up stuff too heavy for her. Or at least that’s what we thought until she went to the doctor and found out that it’s not her back that’s the problem—she has kidney cancer. Her doctor said they would do a biopsy and have a clearer picture of what was going on, but she shouldn’t worry because kidney cancer was generally slow growing and very survivable.
Unfortunately, Mom didn’t get that kind of cancer. Hers is a fast-moving kind and because she’d put off going to the doctor for so long, it had already metastasized. She can’t just have surgery to fix it. She’s been getting radiation treatment, but it’s making her more sick and tired than she was before she got diagnosed. There are some cancer drugs she could take that would be easier on her than radiation, but they’re crazy expensive. We have super good insurance through Minola, but they still won’t pay for the medication and it’s almost thirty thousand dollars a month.
The answer, according to Baldwin, is to take Minola from Kristoff completely. Then he’ll have the power and money to pay for Mom’s medicine. She might be able to stop radiation entirely. Her tumors might even start to shrink.
But first I have one mission: make Kristoff Minola quit his job and take away his inheritance. What happens to him after that is not my problem. I’ve got my mom to think of and besides, Kristoff is such a huge dick that being mean to him won’t be hard. He’s always acted like Mom, and I are nothing but dirt beneath his Ferragamos, so fuck him. He deserves what he gets.
It’s eleven months until Kristoff’s birthday, but the sooner he quits, the sooner Mom can start her drug therapy. I want him gone yesterday and I already have the wheels in motion, starting with HR.
“So, what’s he like?” Veronica asks, taking a delicate sip of some bullshit froufrou sugary beverage that might, if you squint at it hard, be called coffee. “Spill. I demand it.”
“He’s a stuck-up asshole, obviously,” I reply, after making her wait while I drink my own flat white. Most people go out for drinks after work, but Veronica prefers coffee and dessert instead. She always orders four desserts and eats two bites out of each one. I never order any for myself, knowing that there will always be her leftovers to polish off.
Veronica gives me a look over a forkful of tarte au chocolat . “No, dumbass. This is the first time you’ve actually met him, right? Which is so weird. Your whole family is weird.”
“Right,” I say. “Because having two moms and one dad is normal.” And by that, I mean her parents are a throuple. But not in a “sister-wives” kind of way. It’s more of a “married lesbian couple fucks some random dude they find in a club and then later run into him at Trader Joe’s by complete coincidence and they go out for drinks and eventually he moves in and impregnates both women” kind of way. “Your life is a telenovela.”
Veronica shrugs. “The heart wants what the heart wants.”
She’s absolutely gorgeous with her dark hair and eyes and has curves that won’t quit. She’s like a living pin-up model, and dresses like a librarian in her forties. She’s happy, though, and that’s what counts.
We’ve known each other pretty much forever, as we both went to school together in Lake Forest from kindergarten to high school. We dated once upon a time before high school but then settled into being besties. Veronica doesn’t date. She’s far more interested in her law career and wants a baby like a hole in the head. She maintains that she has enough siblings to cure her of wanting any crotch fruit of her own. She makes it sound like her parents are some pornographic version of the Duggers but she’s got three brothers, not an entire army. I envy her, to be honest, but I’ve never told her that because then she’ll feel sorry for me and I’ll take a pass on the pity party, thanks.
We’re alike in that I’m not interested in fatherhood, and while I fuck people, I don’t date them. Dating leads to relationships and then everyone will expect us to get married and produce progeny. Meanwhile all I want is to get my dick wet occasionally. I never ever ever have sex without condoms and thus remain free of both children and diseases. I’m also free from romance. When I said I was aromantic I meant it. Why some people require feelings before they have sex is a total mystery to me, and ending up married with children to one of those weirdos for the rest of my life is my own personal circle of hell.
That’s more or less how Veronica and I ended up pretending to date each other. The small world we live in thinks we’re childhood sweethearts destined to one day get married and that suits us both perfectly. We do date, technically. We go out together for coffee and dinner and sometimes we go to clubs. We’re each other’s plus one when necessary. I’m aro and she’s ace. We don’t belong together, but we’re pretty useless for anyone else. Taking ourselves out of the dating pool is our mutual gift to humanity.
Veronica pokes me. “You didn’t answer my question. That’s not at all sus.”
“There’s nothing sus about Kristoff. He’s pretty open and unapologetic about being an asshole. When you get right down to it, he’s just this guy. He’s nothing special at all. Just the spoiled asshole bio son of my dad and he wants to steal the family company.” My stepfather might be Baldwin in my head, but I always refer to him as Dad out loud, even to Veronica. It’s safer that way and reduces the chances that I’ll ever slip up.
“Didn’t you tell me that your stepdad’s father left it all to this brother of yours once he turns thirty-five?”
“He’s not my brother. Not even a tiny bit.”
Veronica sighs, sounding put upon. “Whatever. Not the point, darling. I mean your stepbrother is family and sounds like he was pretty much raised by his grandparents. It’s not really shocking that the grandfather would leave the company to him. It’s not what your stepdad wants, but that’s life, right?” She doesn’t give me time to interject. “And while you’ve tried to explain this whole plan you and your stepdad have come up with to get rid of your stepbrother, no matter which way I look at it, it sounds like your dad is trying to steal the company from his son and not the other way around. Also, this scheme you’ve cooked up to get Kristoff to quit is shady as hell. You’re so much better than this, Petey. But you’re still my BFF so when you’re arrested for fraud, I’ll find you an excellent lawyer to represent you.”
“You spoil me,” I say sarcastically. “And giving the company to my dad only in trust until Prince Asshole becomes a real man was a dick move on the old man’s part. It’s not fair. The business should go to Dad with no strings. He’s the heir. Or should have been the heir.”
“So, he can make you, his heir?”
I shrug. “That wouldn’t suck, but it’s not like Dad would retire any time soon. Mom’s the problem.”
Veronica looks stricken. “How is your mother? I should have already asked after her. I’m sorry.”
“She’s…” I start to automatically say she’s fine but that’s a lie of monumental proportions. “…not doing well. It’s the radiation. It always makes her tired and sick.”
“I thought you told me they were going to give her pills instead. Ones that wouldn’t make her feel so bad or lose her hair.”
“Well, yeah, but the cheaper of the two options costs more than twenty thousand a month and our insurance doesn’t cover either one. The only thing they do cover is radiation. But if he was CEO, rather than just interim CEO, Dad would have more money and more power. Then Mom can get those pills. So the sooner I can get Kristoff to quit, the better.”
Veronica looks both sympathetic and worried. “There are ways to get medication covered. Especially life saving medication. You should look into it.”
“Dad already did. He said the insurance company won’t budge.”
“And your father can’t just pay for the medicine?”
“No, he can’t just pay for the medication. Most of the money was left to Kristoff and his grandmother, not Dad. It's not like Kristoff’s going to be begging on the streets if he quits Minola. He’s already inherited millions and he’s got a fat trust fund. The only thing he loses by quitting is the stock, and that’s worth a lot, but Kristoff will be fine. Meanwhile Dad only has his trust fund that got set up when he was a kid and that’s it.”
Veronica bites her lip then says, “I guess. Just make sure you don’t do anything to get yourself into trouble. If things go sideways, you’ll need to be able to find a position with a different company.”
“I’ll be fine. Besides, I have an ace up my sleeve.”
“Is it legal?”
I think about it then shrug again.
Veronica makes a face at me. “Fine, I’ll change the subject. Tell me more about the mysterious Kristoff.”
“Like what?” I ask, poking at Veronica’s abandoned crème br?lée with my fork until the sugar cracks. “This is not the change in subject I was promised.”
She laughs lightly. “Well, for starters, what does he look like? Does he resemble your dad?”
I shake my head. “Same pale eyes, but that’s about it. Kristoff is taller, thinner, and has got really dark hair with some silver in it. Not a ton, but you can see the sparkle when the light catches It. He’s also got this five o’clock shadow going on. It’s probably the Italian in him.”
“Ooooo,” Veronica coos. “Daddy.”
I can’t help but shudder. “Don’t call him that ever again. It’s gross.”
“Lame,” she says, then digs into a slice of clafoutis and pulls out a cherry. “Is he hot? You know, in a non-Daddy kind of way? Like, would you fuck him?”
“I wouldn’t touch him with a ten-foot pole. Stop being disgusting.”
“It’s not like you’re related or anything, which you’ve only told me a million times. Anyway, I’ll rephrase the question. Is he, by the normal standards of most healthy adult people who are into such things, fuckable?”
I eat some caramelized sugar shards to give myself time to consider the question. Is Kristoff fuckable? It’s difficult, but I try to think about it objectively.
“Maybe? He wears a suit well, but since I’m sure it’s bespoke, that’s not hard. He’s got a pretty mouth, I guess.”
Veronica’s eyes get big. “Go on.”
I shrug. “That’s it. If you could be sure he wouldn’t bite your dick off, he’d be a great skull fuck.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm what?” I ask.
“Sometimes hmm just means hmm,” Veronica says in her lawyer voice, then reverts back to how she normally speaks. “Take a fucking seat and chill, ‘kay?”
I give her massive side-eye until she breaks down laughing.
“Just so you know, I’m already low-key shipping you two.”
I make an involuntary face. “Gross.”
She shakes her head. “He sounds like a total snack. Fuck him fuck him fuck him,” she chants. Veronica sounds like the cheerleader she used to be, only pornographic. Luckily, the chanting is pretty quiet, and the restaurant isn’t full.
“As I’m trying to get him fired?” I say dryly. “Sure. Makes total sense.”
“No, I’m serious. And it would be totally legal. I’m not talking coercion or anything like that. Get him to jump your bones. Then, after he falls for you, dump him. Bonus points if it’s both public and humiliating.” She gives me a mischievous smile then eats another tiny sliver of the chocolate tart.
“That’s evil,” I say. “And brutal. Your brain scares me sometimes.”
“I know,” Veronica says cheerfully. “It’s why I became a lawyer. It’s always smart to play to your strengths.” She points her fork at me. “Think about it. Not one part of my plan has the chance of getting you put in jail, and a civil lawsuit would be unlikely and difficult to prove. Oh, and if you can break up with him at work in front of witnesses?” She touches her fingers to her mouth. “Chef’s kiss. And completely legal.”
“I don’t care how ‘legal’ it is. I’m not skull fucking my evil stepbrother.” I get a nasty look from a lady one table over and it occurs to me I said that a little too loud. “Ever,” I add in a hiss. “Stop shipping us.”
Veronica smirks at me and takes a sip of her sugary bullshit. “We’ll see.”
I hate it when she’s like this because she only gets this level of smug happiness when she’s right about something. “No, we won’t.”
Veronica doesn’t bother to reply, but that stupid smirk doesn’t leave her face.