13. Anderson
13
ANDERSON
“… s
o the question becomes, who gave her the idea to do the Grainger picture?” Dad asks, while he already knows the answer.
There are times I hate being a West. Staring at my father is one of them. He looks like me but thirty years older. It is disconcerting to know my blue eyes, black hair, and strong jaw come from him. I like seeing the gray in his hair these days. It makes me feel less connected to him, given my hair remains black. But if I had my druthers, I wouldn’t be connected to my father at all.
Sure, we’ve become a little closer since I got shot. The old man worries about me in his own way. I can’t say how much of that is from him or from Mom, though. I have never doubted her love for me. She never gave me a reason to doubt her. His love, on the other hand, has been in question since the day I was born.
None of that matters now, though. I still want to destroy Elliot West for everything he’s done to June. And to me.
“We both know it was my idea, Dad. Why are you drawing this out?”
With his elbows on his massive desk, he steeples his fingers and huffs. I’ve never enjoyed being the target of his ire, but being the source of his irritation? No one does it better than me. But right now, I have too many things on my mind to enjoy getting his goat.
For one, the police harassing June. Two, being at my office feels like being a sitting duck, and I don’t like it. So, three, dragging things out with Dad means I don’t have to be in my office. The police would never barge in here. Aside from the fact Dad has a lot of powerful friends, enough of them know to steer clear of him.
I really wish that fear translated to me, but I doubt that it does.
He snarls, “Because, Anderson, that was my attempt to gracefully encourage you to explain yourself. In what reality is it a good idea for a teen actress to show her breasts? Maybe more, actually, given Grainger’s reputation. His excuse for arthouse is little more than pornography.”
“You mean, why is it a good idea to devalue her topless paparazzi pics? Aren’t you the one who taught me that move?”
He remains unconvinced. “It is the right call?—"
“See?”
“For an adult actress. Trina Malark is practically a child! We do not engage in that kind of thing, and we certainly do not encourage others to do so!”
“She is nineteen?—"
“Exactly!”
I laugh, shaking my head at him. “If she can be tried as an adult, she’s not a child.”
“I am not speaking in legalities, Anderson. I am speaking in morals.”
My second laugh explodes out of me. “Are you fucking kidding me with this shit? Since when do you, Elliot West, give a shit about morals?”
“All that money spent on a proper education and still you pepper your sentences with curse words like some drunken bar patron,” he mumbles to himself.
“Because you’re such a saint?”
“We both know I am not, but I save my spicier language for when it is appropriate.”
I smile, sitting back. “You a fan of that family show Trina was on?”
For once in my life, I see my father taken aback. It’s refreshing to see him on the shocked side of the equation. In fact, I’m practically giddy over it.
But his stunned expression vanishes in a flash. “We both know I do not watch television. Who has time for that nonsense?”
“So, if I text Mom right now and ask about it, she won’t confirm that you?—"
“Do not pester your mother with such things. She does not have time for your nonsense today.”
That doesn’t sound good. “She okay?”
“Fine, fine. Kitty has her annual doctor appointments today. All routine, nothing to worry over. But she’s too busy to entertain you.” He lets out an exasperated huff. I can’t tell if it’s for me or something else. “Fine. I liked Trina’s show. Are you happy?”
“I really am.” The thought of my father watching some family sitcom tickles me. The man, who has had countless people killed and beaten down, has a soft spot for the world’s most generic show. “Who’d have thought Elliot West?—"
He cuts me off with a flick of his hand. “Enough.”
“Is that why we rep for her?”
“No. We were hired to do a job. Her father, Abe, is a friend. He is none too pleased about my son recommending his daughter get naked on camera for money.”
“Ah. So, here’s the real answer. Your pride’s been bruised, and now you’re trying to save face with a friend.”
He leans over the desk, glowering. “Trina is a child, Anderson. I watched her grow up on that show. She’s not doing the Grainger film. Period.”
“This has nothing to do with your pride, does it? Is it because it grosses you out?”
“Get her to quit the film. That’s an order.” He resumes his normal position now that he’s laid down an order.
As endlessly amusing as I find this situation, I do not want to renege on my advice. It looks weak. “She’ll think I don’t know what I’m doing?—"
“Lie to the girl, Anderson. It doesn’t matter how you get her out of it. Just get her out of it. Tell her you heard the film is going to tank. Stir a rumor about Grainger himself. I don’t care how you do it. Just see it done.”
“Fine.” I shrug a shoulder. Now that’s over, I have other business to attend. Mostly to figure out what the hell I have to do to get the police off our backs. I give a tight smile, unsure what I’ll tell Trina about the Grainger film, but I’m pretty sure I could tell her anything, and she’d do it. She trusts me. “I’ll take care of it.”
But as I stand up to leave, he shakes his head. “We’re not done.”
“There’s more?”
“Sit.”
That can’t be good. I struggle not to keep standing just to annoy him. His office chairs are lacking in the comfort department. In fact, everything in his office is. It’s all cold, hard surfaces, gray-on-gray. One of the first things I’ll change about his office, if I ever take the mantle of CEO like he wants.
But I sit down to make whatever else he has to go over easier. “What is it?”
He checks his phone, looking pleased, before he glances at me. “While I am certain you had your reasons for killing Neil Johnson, they are immaterial to me. What I need you to do is to clean up your mess. As such, I have hired Otto Pym.”
My face feels cold. Makes sense. All the blood has rushed away from it. With three simple sentences, Dad told me everything I needed to know. He knows I’ve killed someone. He doesn’t know why and doesn’t care. And he’s hired the sharkiest lawyer in this hemisphere to handle it.
I’m not sure when I stopped blinking, but my eyes are dry. So is my throat. I don’t even know what to say, and the only thing that comes out of my mouth is, “What?”
He smiles like the cat who caught the canary. “You seem to think you can keep me in the dark about your life. It would be funny if it didn’t prove to me how ill-prepared you are to live life without my help.”
“I didn’t?—"
“Now, now. I thought we were past lying to one another. Tell me what June told the police.”
So, he knows about that, too … just not what she said. Does he have a spy at Andre’s office? That would track. I imagine he has spies in the confessional at the Cathedral of the Holy Cross.
“She didn’t give them anything?—"
“What did she say?”
“She made it seem like she was a ditzy bartender who flirts with everyone and that Neil was one of them. That we were on a break then and she was looking for some comfort. But when he went off about women telling him what to do, she sent him home for the night.”
He eyes me carefully like he’s trying to suss out whether I’m lying. But finally, his gaze settles. “Was that your plan or hers?”
“Hers. We couldn’t figure anything out, so she came up with it on the fly.”
“Smart. You have a good one there, son.” He pauses, almost as though he might retract that statement. “What did Neil actually do?”
Should I tell him? Is there harm in that? “He attacked June.”
Points to my father, he looks repulsed. I guess there are things that are beneath him, after all. “And you took him out, but instead of calling the police, you called Moss.”
Moss. That has to be how he knows. But Moss wouldn’t betray me. At least, I don’t think he would.
“Given my martial arts background, I thought it best the police stayed out of it.”
“I’d hardly call a few state championships a background, but at the moment, people panic … ” He takes a breath. “Which is why you’re not ready for this office yet. If you were, you would not have panicked. You would have called the police and let them handle things. You fucked this up, Anderson. It’s a good thing I called Otto. You need a man of his skill. Do whatever he tells you to do, without question, and he will save your life.”
A comforting thought. But, then again, I’d thought the same about Moss.
“The police wish to speak to you. Otto will be with you. Don’t fuck this up.”
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