Chapter 3
Three
Dare
I stand near the window in my grandfather's study, my brows drawn low. I should be scowling, but I keep my face as blank as I can so that my brother can’t read what I am feeling.
That’s the longstanding game between us. We have been playing poker for our entire fucking lives.
Burn looks at me, a tiny smirk on his lips, his tall frame perched almost jauntily on the corner of our grandfather’s desk. His well-muscled arms are framed by a white dress shirt with the cuffs shot. He has on a pair of charcoal gray bespoke slacks and looks as though he was born in them.
Burn and I both wear the extreme wealth and privilege we have grown up in like a king wears his mantle. He is cocky and handsome, presumptive and eerily self-assured. Practically perfect.
I want to fucking strangle him.
Burn arches a brow, his expression practically screaming in my face. You’re wrong. I’m right. It’s the same story as always.
If I flinch, if I so much as let a sneer rise to my upper lip, he wins. We've been playing this game since we were born; he was born only twelve minutes after me. And lately, I’ve been on a losing streak.
My fists bunch at my sides, and I cross my arms to hide my anger. My losing streak can’t go on for much longer.
Not with so much at stake.
"Just hold on a second here." My grandfather, Remy Morgan, grouses. He flips through a couple of sheets of paper that are spread out on the desk before him. "What page are we on?"
I run a hand down my crisp white button up and dark silk tie, pursing my lips.
Remy controls the room without a thought, pulling his reading glasses out.
Everyone waits for him because he said so.
He’s the big swinging dick around here and he won’t hesitate to use it to publicly fucking humiliate anyone who steps out of line.
Remy’s navy sweater and blue button up are rumpled, his shock of white hair is finger combed back, his skin sallow and papery.
He narrows his eyes at the papers before him, his mouth puckering in concentration.
Eighty-eight years’ worth of wrinkles begin at his temples and pour down his face like sluggish water, culminating at his lips.
"This is fucking gibberish," he mutters. He slices his gaze at me, skewering me. "Did you put this packet together, Dare?"
My neck heats, and I straighten. I can feel my twin brother grinning at me, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of my attention. I gesture toward Dr. Phadreet, a tiny man who seems to be doing his best to blend in with the navy wallpaper.
"I brought a scientist to walk us all through exactly what I have planned for the drilling project."
Dr. Phadreet steps forward, raising his hand as though he needed to be allowed to speak. But Remy waves him away before he utters a word.
"Bahhhh," my grandfather growls. "I’d rather hear what the accountant has to say first. At least he works for Morgan Oil. He wants what’s best for all of us. Don’t you?"
The accountant clears his throat. "Ah, yes, sir."
Remy looks up at all of us—his two grandsons, his two sons, Dr. Phadreet, and the accountant. We all wait for him to speak, like he’s doing us a favor by letting us be here. Like we don’t all work for him because he is the owner and CEO of our billion dollar company.
A bitter feeling sweeps through me, proving very hard to stifle.
"Well?" Remy asks the accountant. "Let’s hear it. What has Dare been working on for half a year? Why would buying mineral rights off the coast of Maine be such a fucking fantastic idea?"
The way he tosses it off tells me everything I could ever want to know about how Remy feels about the project.
I try to guard my expression and not give away my anger and frustration as I prepare myself to listen to the accountant tell the group of men gathered what a bad investment deep sea drilling off the Maine coast would be.
The accountant stands before the members of my family, looking rather nervous as he gestures to the large map on the easel in front of him. He has a funny way of clearing his throat before he speaks that makes me want to punch him in the mouth.
"You see in this area," he says, pointing to a sliver of blue water just off the green land. He clears his throat, making me tense up. "This area is where the most valuable resources would be for us. Studies have been done with ground-penetrating radar and sonar—"
"For God’s sake, man. Hurry up. Time is money!" Burn snaps.
Remy purses his lips and then inclines his head. "He has a point. Get to the good stuff."
The accountant flushes. "There is a lot of oil down here, along with natural gas and probably even other more traditional minerals. Tanzanite, lucite, and even titanium, maybe." He flips over a page on the easel, revealing two big columns, one on the left in black and one on the right in red. The cost of the drilling versus putting the hypothetical money into another already profitable project. He turns, a frown on his face. "It would take us seven to ten years to turn a profit, considering the immense cost of the drilling. We don’t even have the technology to extract everything that’s down there yet. And I don’t think I have to tell you that research and development can be quite a money pit. "
"So you’re recommending against the project," Burn announces, a barely checked glee in his voice. "That’s the gist of it, right?"
The accountant looks at his figures and nods. "Yes."
Burn smirks and crosses his arms, disguising a victorious fist pump. "I knew it."
"You’re being very shortsighted," I snap. "In twenty-five years, when we have tapped nearly all of the gas and oil deposits here on earth, deep sea drilling will be our only recourse. Then you’ll be wailing about how we should have been developing this exact project for years. I’m trying to anticipate our next move as a company. "
Remy’s head swivels, and he looks at me with a contemptuous expression.
"And what would you know about looking out for a company's long-term profits?
You barely made it through your fancy namby-pamby college.
And I am telling you right now that, as long as I am alive and I am still in charge, you will not get a dollar to put towards this fucking deep sea drilling project.
It's better that you just come to terms with that right now. "
Embarrassment floods my system. I grit my teeth and look at Remy. He isn't even looking at me anymore, though.
He looks at Burn instead, rolling his eyes. "So, what are you grinnin' about? I don't see you trying to move the company forward at all."
Burn's eyebrows raised slightly. "I'm just being realistic.
We're making a killing off of the oil rigs and natural gas rights that we currently have.
Now, we are about to venture into strip mining in Columbia.
We are the country's richest company outside of the tech world. What more is there to do?"
Remy looks disgruntled.
"Get out of my office,” he says, jabbing his finger at the door. “All of you. At least Dare is willing to dream big. Even if that means falling flat on his fucking face."
He shoves himself away from his desk, standing up with an accusatory gaze that sweeps the room. Everyone shuffles their feet until Remy snarls and chucks a book from his desk at the wall.
Apparently that gets us all to move.
Turning on my heel, I gesture at Dr. Phadreet, flicking two fingers to indicate that we are leaving. Burn is right on my tail, squeezing through the carefully studied doorway just as I step through it. I grimace and brush off my sleeve, as though he's dirtied it somehow.
“Pussy,” he whispers as he moves past me.
My whole body tenses, but Burn just keeps moving with a grin on his face. His immaturity always blows my mind.
That, in a nutshell, is why he can’t take the reins of Morgan Oil when Remy kicks the bucket.
We step out into the wide hallway, all lined with dark paneling.
Portraits hang all along the hallway. A portrait of my great-grandmother’s father looks down at me from the wall, looking right at me with his insane person’s hair and his massive jowls.
My distant relative has massive, florid cheeks and judging from his expression, he terrorized everyone in his path back in his day.
I avoid his glare as I look around for Clive, the mansion's butler.
Burn lies in wait and then falls in step with me, jostling me with an elbow. It takes everything in me not to snarl at him. But that would be losing the little game we play. Instead, I just look at him.
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" I ask, gesturing to the front door of the mansion. "I thought for sure you would be out trolling for your next hookup. Or is that not of interest to you anymore?"
He sticks his tongue out at me, making a wickedly taunting face. "I have other things to worry about, brother. Like Daisy, for instance.”
I come to a halt, my gaze narrowing on him. “Don’t tell me that she already figured out that you’re useless and is ready to break up with you?"
His lips twitch. "Not a chance. It'll be a cold day in hell before I let her slip away. I'm not about to repeat the mistakes that you made."
Resentment, bitterness, and no little portion of anger slide through my gut. I'm riled by his words, but I can’t let him win.
Not ever, not after he stole Daisy from me.
I shrug a shoulder. "I'm just waiting for you to fuck up and step over the line. You will eventually. And then we’ll see who Daisy comes running to."
Burn rolls his eyes and turns away toward the front door. "Yeah, we'll see. You have to catch me first, don't you?"
Before I can respond, he whirls and merges toward the front of the house.
I watch him go, my face contorting. It's so strange to see my own reflection acting completely differently than I ever would.
Even though I've been alive for almost thirty four years, watching Burn move around the world with such ease, such daring, still makes me uneasy.