Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
FELIX
The red poker chip.
I retrieve it from the desk in my office and take a seat, remembering the night I stole it from a speakeasy with Tyler when I was nineteen.
The house always wins. I read the inscription on one side, flipping it over to see the rest. Except when we play.
The same words are written on Tyler’s Zippo lighter, stolen the same night. A brotherly pact. A promise that we would open a speakeasy together.
Once the three of us ended, I tossed the poker chip away on a beach out of anger, knowing our brotherhood was over. Before leaving the beach, I slipped the chip back into my pocket.
I don’t know why I’ve kept it all this time or why I’m holding it now. Perhaps because I have a meeting with Mitchel Gregor tonight—the potential developer to help expand The Scarlet Mirage.
My hand tightens around the chip in frustration. In an ideal world, Tyler would be here with me. Not some random man I’ve never met. This is supposed to be our business.
I return the poker chip to the drawer, trying to shake Tyler from my mind and shift into business mode for this meeting.
The Scarlet Mirage is packed full of life tonight.
A bustling success. But the evening feels off without Harper by my side.
She’s been mine for two weeks now. Two blissful weeks of making her laugh and smile.
We’re constantly having sex. I follow her everywhere she goes, praising the ground she walks on.
Harper opened Romeo and Juliet last week. I was backstage, tucked within the theater wings, watching her perform. She was magnificent. The following day, I got my Juliet tattoo. I’d be with her at the theater now if I didn’t have this meeting.
My head isn’t in the right space to be discussing business. I’ve barely spent time at The Scarlet Mirage unless my presence is required. All I can think about these days is Harper, how perfect our life is together, and how I hate being away from her even if it’s only for a few hours.
I bring her breakfast in bed every morning.
Each day, when she styles her hair and applies makeup in front of the bathroom mirror, I lean against the door frame, admiring the sight of her.
I help Harper sew her pointe shoes. She’s busy with daily rehearsals.
I always attend, watching her from the sidelines.
After her performance each night, I bring her back to our home and take care of her with dinner.
We shower together. We have sex. Then I fall asleep with her in my arms and her hair wrapped around my fist.
Everything is perfect except…
I sigh with concern. She slept blissfully during the first week we were together. This second week… Not one night has passed where she hasn’t woken in a panic.
Harper says she can’t remember a thing about her dreams. I asked Ally in confidence if she knew anything about these night terrors.
She mentioned Harper doesn’t sleep well, plagued with a recurring nightmare of the day we broke up.
But something didn’t sit right with Ally’s explanation.
I couldn’t figure out why Harper would hide information like that from me.
For a second, I considered asking Tyler if he knew what the issue is. I instantly shut the thought down, never wanting to rely on him for anything. Then the answer clicked into place.
Harper isn’t having nightmares about losing me anymore. The nightmares are about losing Tyler.
Deep down, you know she’ll never truly be satisfied without both of us.
Fuck Tyler and what he said. I will make this relationship work with Harper.
And yet, ever since the conversation with Tyler in the lobby, I can’t get the thought of the three of us out of my head. Sharing Harper with Tyler was always hot. The best sex of my life. I hate that I’m turned on by us fucking her together.
It isn’t just the sex I’ve been thinking about. Some of the best times I’ve had were with Tyler and Harper, even if we were just sitting around talking. Harper asked me if I miss him.
Every fucking day, I miss my brother.
I miss how happy we were as a trio.
“Blackwood.” Theo knocks on the door. “Mitchel Gregor has arrived. He’s seated in the front row.”
“I’ll be right out.” I push Tyler from my mind.
I’m about to leave my desk but get sidetracked by an incoming phone call from my father.
I have a hunch why he’s calling, given the message Killian sent me earlier in the evening—What the fuck, bro?
You and Harper are together? He attached a screenshot from the home page of a gossip site featuring a photo of me and Harper kissing on the street.
The headline read Brothers Sharing a Girlfriend: The Blackwoods Really Are a “Forever Family.”
It was news to me that my relationship with Harper has hit the media. The public can talk all they want; I only hope the gossip doesn’t have a negative impact on Harper’s career.
I lean back in my chair and fold my ankles over the edge of the table, answering the phone with a level tone. “I know why you’re calling. If you have an issue with me and Harper being together, keep it to yourself. I’m not interested in your opinion.”
“I’m trying to be understanding.” My father sounds stressed.
Even a little frustrated. He’s on a mission to become a better father to his sons and my relationship with Harper is testing him.
“If I’m being honest, I don’t understand at all.
You and Tyler had a bit of fun messing around with Harper when you were young, but you were kids.
There are serious repercussions now. I’m not trying to dismiss you and Harper.
I made that mistake with Dan and Ally, prioritizing Forever Families over my own kids’ happiness.
But if being with Harper is some ploy to make Tyler suffer, I need you to think about your actions and how this impacts others. ”
My feet lower to the ground and I sit up straight, pissed off.
“You’re so full of shit, trying to be a better father, yet not once have you ever spoken to me about the breakdown in my relationship with Harper and Tyler.
You knew how important they were to me. I was never just messing around and ‘having a bit of fun.’ The three of us were unconventional but had found a way to make a relationship work.
We would have been together for life. You interfered and I lost them both.
When I returned from Westbridge and you saw the rift between me and them, did you not once think to check in on me?
Did you not once realize you’d gone about everything wrong? ”
“Felix…” He sighs, my name filled with the weight of regret, yet no words follow.
“Felix, what? You still have nothing to say?”
“I was protecting you in the only way I knew how. But yes, I should have been more attentive on your return. We need to speak in more depth about this.”
I close my eyes, cursing that I answered the phone. Unpacking emotional trauma with my father is the last thing I want to do. “Some other time. I’m late for a business meeting.”
We end the call with no resolution. I’m burning inside, jittery even, never having experienced such a raw conversation with my father. Somehow, I need to pull myself together for this meeting with Mitchel Gregor, but I have no clue how I’m supposed to concentrate.
Tables are packed when I step into the entertainment area. The bar is busy and couples are slow dancing. Smoke hangs in the air, swirling in the amber spotlights that illuminate a female singer.
Mitchel Gregor sits alone in a front row booth of the seating section.
I observe him for a moment before approaching, getting a read on him.
He came highly recommended and I’ve done my research.
On paper, he’s the perfect man for the job.
But my intuition will be the deciding factor of whether we do business together.
Gregor is younger than I expected, early thirties at most, with the sharp, calculated look of someone who climbed the business ladder quickly. He watches the singer, his gaze analytical rather than appreciative. He’s not here to enjoy the fruits of the speakeasy but on strict business.
I wander through the crowd to him, sidestepping drunk couples and men laughing around a game of poker. Gregor’s cufflinks catch the light as he brings a glass of whiskey to his lips. There’s not a strand of dark hair out of place on his head. His jawline is sharp and he keeps a clean-shaven face.
Gregor’s attention flicks to me upon arrival at his booth. He wipes a napkin over his mouth, having been eating a steak, and stands. “Good evening. Mitchel Gregor.”
The man’s eyes throw me off, his gaze too intense upon me. Too keen. Too… something. I can’t pinpoint the reason, but I’m instantly wary.
Part of me wonders if I’m self-sabotaging, not allowing anyone to be good enough for this job because it was always supposed to be me and Tyler building this speakeasy together.
“A pleasure to meet you.” Gregor holds out a hand.
“Felix Blackwood.”
We shake hands. His grip is tight, battling against mine.
Noticing his empty whiskey glass, I signal for bar staff to bring us a round of drinks, then I take a seat opposite Gregor at the booth, needing a better read on him before making any final decisions.
“Incredible place you have here.” He places his fork and steak knife to the center of the plate and slides it to the side. “The atmosphere is electric. You serve exquisite food and the finest liquor. You’ve got yourself the best place in the whole of New York.”
A server sets down two glasses of whiskey then disappears. I take a sip, watching Gregor over my glass, suspicious of anyone blowing smoke up my ass. Something about his confidence rubs me the wrong way.