TWENTY-FIVE | Fired Up | Mitt
TWENTY-FIVE
Fired Up
Mitt
“ I want the Miller case on my desk at noon,” I barked an order at my newest assistant. “Don’t disturb me before then. I’d hate to fire you.”
I slammed my office door before she could open her mouth. She was a nuisance anyway, and I didn’t even know her damn name. I didn’t care either. She’d quit just like the rest of them, and I’d be left with another useless person. Someone else to get on my nerves, making me wish I was in the courtroom. The one place I was superior and completely in charge.
When a case unfolded, I rarely ever lost, and I was on top of the world. Being a cutthroat lawyer was my destiny, and justice had always run in my blood. I grew up with my nose stuck in law textbooks after my mother’s death. Weeks after her disappearance, police found her dismembered and in pieces. The press had labeled her death a horrific incident, and the story was on the news for many months. Until her case went unsolved—law enforcement never found her murderer.
I wanted to avenge her, but I never could, and I obsessed over every case I won under the court of law. It had become a form of therapy for me to help heal a little boy’s heart who lost a mother he never should have. A young man who missed her love and couldn’t even remember her voice. Her face remained only in a few photographs my father gave to me because he wanted nothing to do with them, because he couldn’t stand the sight of her. Harsh words for a father to give to his grieving son, but I knew to heed his words. So, I kept those photos hidden away in my wardrobe at Morgan Estates, but I always kept my favorite in the breast pocket of my suit. Tucked away close to my heart. She was the only woman I had ever let inside. But my God, she was beautiful.
As stunning as Tinsley.
I took a seat at my desk and grabbed a black ball-point pen as I stared at the stack of paperwork awaiting my signature. I hated being at the office and loathed any task I had to do there. But as grumpy as I was, I had to get through them because this was part of my job.
My cell phone dinged with a text message, and I ignored it. I didn’t need the interference and just wanted to get this over with. With no need to read the fine print, I reached for the first piece of paper. I had staff to do the daunting task for me, leaving the paperwork for me to sign on the dotted line.
The black ink swerved as I wrote my name in cursive, and I reached for the next document. My phone made a sound for a second time and then a third. My eyebrows inched together in puzzlement, curious about what could be so fucking important. The sound became more consistent, so I grabbed the device with a grunt.
Several text messages popped up from my father.
Dad: Call me.
Two minutes later.
Dad: Son. This is important. Call me back.
A minute after the previous text message.
Dad: We need to speak immediately.
Not even a minute after.
Dad: Goddamn it! Call me right now!
Instead of calling my father back right away and listening to his demanding command, I waited and glared down at the phone. Any other grown child would’ve rushed to their father’s aid, but no way in fucking hell would I. Not after everything the son of a bitch had put me through.
I never grew up knowing what a loving touch was from my parents—only the sensation of searing pain from burning flesh. The smell of charred skin and the taste of my salty tears as they made it to my lips. He’d get mad at me for being a big baby and shout at me to be a man. His manipulation and constant threats were a world I could never escape. He was rich and could talk his way out of any situation. He got away with everything. My father was as callous as they come, and his sinful reality ruled my life. I’d do as he wanted or live through hell on earth. He controlled everything. There was no way around him, and yet I still sought my father’s approval. I wanted him to be proud of the man I had become, and I still hated him so damn much. He had abused me, and I had stayed silent because no one would listen. I knew I was all alone, but I still had moments where I could pick to obey.
And boy, did I enjoy toying with the mother fucker I called my dad.
I waited another two minutes before calling my father and he answered on the first ring. “Jesus Christ, Mitt! Fuck, Son! You need to get your wife under control!”
My dad was livid, and I could imagine his face as red as a fucking tomato. I pictured his hands raking through his messy hair. His reading glasses had probably slipped down because of the sweat on the bridge of his nose from some sort of chaos Tinsley had caused.
Fuck. Angel. What have you done now?
“I have her under control, Dad,” I explained as I tried to calm him down and take the heat off my wife’s back. “She’s been fine the last—”
“Fine? Nothing is okay about her taking thirty million dollars from my company and spending it on a goddamn car!” he yelled at me through the phone line, and I heard him take a puff of his cigarette.
“ Our company ,” I added and ran a hand down my face. “The company is as much hers now as it is ours.”
Sometimes reasoning with my father worked, while other times it didn’t. It was a risk I’d take in order to keep Tinsley safe. She was up against the devil, and he was ready to throw her into the fiery depths of hell.
Goddamn it! Why does she have to go fuck shit up?
“Well, this spending problem of hers will end. I’m on my way to pay her a brief visit and—”
“No, Dad. I’ll handle her,” I interrupted as I flew up out of my seat and panic coursed through me. “Like you said, she’s my wife, and I’ll be the one to control her.”
A moment of silence passed.
“Are you catching feelings, Son?” Cyprus asked.
I froze.
An icy chill ran down my spine as if my father was in the room, breathing down my neck. His powerful influence took hold of the situation as he sought the truth, and I gave him pushback. There was no way I’d have any affection for Tinsley Morgan while my father was around. He’d place a target on her and would shoot to kill. I couldn’t have that since I was the one who brought a monster into her life, and I’d do anything to keep her safe. Even deny anything I’ve felt for Tinsley all this damn time. From hate to lust to whatever this damn fluttering was in my chest. I couldn’t let anyone know. I’d bury my feelings in the depths of my soul. I was a selfish man for bringing her into my world, and I’d do whatever it took to keep her out of harm’s way. I owed her my life, and I was furious with her all at the same time.
“Not a chance in hell. I’d watch my wife burn at the stake before I ever let her near my heart. Love is for the weak,” I breathed out a bald-faced lie.
“Good. Because if you did, I’d burn you right along with her,” Cyprus threatened with the message loud and clear.
My blood boiled at the idea of my father even laying a hand on Tinsley. I quaked with anger not only at him, but at her for being fucking stubborn. She couldn’t let this divorce go and wanted out so damn bad. Well, she wouldn’t get it. My wife was in too deep, and there was no way out. This childish attitude had to stop, or my dad would come after her. I’d have to make her see that enough was enough.
I said with a clenched fist, “It won’t come to that. I’ll handle her.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Cyprus voiced and coughed on his cigarette smoke.
“She’ll be kneeling at my feet in the next thirty minutes,” I promised as I peered at my wedding band and swirled it around my finger. “While I prove to her, I’m in complete control.”
“God, I’d love to see her on her knees,” Cyprus sighed.
Fuck you, Dad.
The words echoed on repeat in my head.
She’s mine. My father wouldn’t have my wife. I’d kill him with my bare hands.
I almost growled through the phone line.
I kept it at bay and asked, “What kind of car did Tinsley buy?”
“A Rolls-Royce,” Cyprus answered and heaved a frustrated sigh. “It’s more fucking expensive than mine, and I won’t even get to drive it.”
“I’ll make sure I do and drive her crazy while doing it,” I pledged and hung up the phone just as my wife barged through my office door.