Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
gunner
D oes this windbag ever shut up ?
Seriously. Does he ever come up for air?
Seated at the head of the conference table, I glare at my senior VP of global quality assurance. He’s discussing the rollout of new government regulations, and I swear he hasn’t paused for a single damn breath. Has he always been this long-winded? What the fuck?
As he launches into another spiel, the last thread of my patience snaps.
“Enough.” My voice cuts through his babble, shocking him into frozen silence.
Nervous laughter sweeps around the Texas-sized conference table.
“Thank you for your update, Prentice,” I say with strained civility. “It’s been informative, but we need to move on to the next item on the agenda.”
“But I wasn’t finished,” he blusters, tapping his watch. “I still have two minutes allotted?—”
“You can email us the rest of your update,” I snap. “We’re moving on.”
This draws snickers from several other members of the senior executive team. We meet every Friday to review company priorities and address any issues that may have cropped up over the week. It’s a good way to keep the lines of communication open and make sure everyone’s on the same page. I implemented the practice when I started the company six years ago. The temperature check meetings—aka “temp-checks”—are absolutely essential to our organizational effectiveness.
So why do I feel as antsy as a Catholic schoolboy forced to sit through catechism class? Why do I want to strangle every last person at the table?
I rake an annoyed glare over their faces. “Whose asinine idea was it to schedule these meetings at two o’clock?”
There’s a ripple of uncomfortable throat clearing.
“Yours.” Maverick smirks at me from the opposite end of the table. “It was your asinine idea.”
I glower at him.
His pale blue eyes gleam with smug amusement. I hear a few furtive coughs and snickers.
Leaning back in my chair, I let my eyes circle the table, resting briefly on each face. “From now on, we’ll meet at ten o’clock.”
Surprised exclamations erupt around the room.
Maverick merely chuckles and shakes his head.
Sedonia Larson, our chief financial officer, rolls her eyes as if to say The crazy white boy is acting up again . Which is what she’s been saying about me since college.
“Ten o’clock doesn’t work for me,” protests our senior VP of corporate development. “I have a standing weekly appointment with my acupuncturist.”
“Not anymore. Pick another time. That goes for all of you,” I growl, looking around the table. “I’m making an executive decision, and I expect you to adjust your schedules accordingly.”
There’s a general murmur of confusion and disagreement, but one look at my face warns everyone to back down.
I don’t particularly care if they get angry. My brother and I have made them richer than their wildest dreams. They enjoy the best corporate perks and the prestige of working for one of the top global security firms. If they have to put up with my occasional bouts of assholery, that’s merely the price of admission.
I drum my fingers on my tablet. “Does anyone have anything else to add before we wrap up?”
Twenty pairs of eyes stare back at me. No one speaks.
“Good. Meeting adjourned.” I offer my most charming smile. “Have a fantastic weekend, folks.”
This draws some good-humored laughs and grumbles.
Sedonia leans over in her seat to poke me in the arm. “Was all that really necessary?”
“Absolutely,” I retort, earning another eye roll.
Sedonia and I met in freshman physics class at UT. She was beautiful and brilliant with a ruthless competitive streak that rivaled mine. We spent the next four years competing for the best grades, becoming friends somewhere along the way. When Maverick and I launched our startup, Sedonia was the first person we hired. She’s the perfect CFO. Mentored by business icons, she’s a financial wizard and a skilled strategist who reins in our worst impulses. To say she’s an integral part of the company would be an understatement.
“One of these days,” she says, rising from the table, “I’m going to walk out those doors and never look back.”
I chuckle at the toothless threat. “C’mon, Nia. We both know you’d never leave us.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“For one thing, you’d miss me too much.”
She snorts. “That’s what you think.”
“It’s true and you know it,” I say, smirking. “Besides, I’d personally make it my mission to decimate any competitor that tried to poach you.”
She shakes her head at me. “Crazy ass.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing.”
“Whatever.” Full lips twitching, Sedonia flips her long braids over her shoulder and struts off, heels clicking, leaving me to grin after her.
As the room clears out, Maverick remains behind to bust my balls. “What was that all about?”
“What?”
He gestures around the conference table. “All that dick wagging.”
I shrug. “Friday afternoons are a lousy time for meetings.”
“I’ve been saying that for years. Glad you finally saw the light.” Maverick grins, leaning back in his chair with his arms folded behind his head. “As much as we all secretly enjoyed your smackdown of that humorless gasbag, you really shouldn’t antagonize Prentice like that. He’ll defect to a competitor and spill all our company secrets.”
“And he’d be sued into oblivion. Which he damn well knows.” My lips twist into a narrow smile. “Believe me, he’s not going anywhere.”
“Nope,” Maverick agrees with a chuckle. “For all the grumbling he does, that old curmudgeon knows he’s got it good here.”
“Exactly.” I stand and prowl restlessly to the span of windows overlooking the downtown skyline.
Shoving my hands into my pockets, I ponder the evening ahead. I’m supposed to be having dinner with some bigshot investors from out of town. The thought of schmoozing over Wagyu steaks and caviar holds zero appeal. I’d much rather go home and dine with my smart-mouthed housekeeper. I’m already missing our verbal sparring matches, and the memory of her snatching my dessert has me smiling. Pretty little thief.
“Whoa. What was that? ”
I glance over my shoulder at Maverick. “What?”
“You sighed. A long, wistful sigh.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You totally did.” He joins me at the window, his eyes scanning my face. “You’ve been acting weird and distracted all day. What’s up with you?”
“Nothing,” I lie. “It’s been a long week.”
He snorts. “You’re a workaholic. Every week is a long week, but that’s never bothered you before.” His eyes narrow speculatively. “Come to think of it, you were acting restless last weekend at Granddad’s birthday party. As much as you love that old man, it was pretty obvious you were itching to be somewhere else. Even Mom noticed, and she never notices anything that doesn’t involve her or that spoiled furball of hers.”
I snort. “Ain’t that the damn truth?”
Our mother has all the maternal instincts of a box of thumbtacks. She reserves her doting affection for her precious Persian cat, an evil-eyed monster pretentiously named Charlotte Bront?. Mom has never read more than a few pages of classic English literature, which makes her cat’s name even more eye-roll-worthy.
“So what’s eating you?” Maverick persists, bumping his shoulder against mine. “You still thinking about that hottie from the bar? You never did tell me what happened after you snuck off with her that night.”
“Nothing happened,” I grumble.
“Is that why you’ve been in such a pissy mood? Because you didn’t get laid?”
I scowl. “Fuck off.”
He laughs. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
I glare at him. “Don’t you have another meeting to attend?”
“Not for another twenty minutes.” He grins, enjoying my irritation as only a twin brother can. “What aren’t you telling me, Gunn? You know I’m gonna find out sooner or later, so you might as well come clean.”
He’s right, of course. As close as we are, we’ve never been able to keep secrets from each other. It’s futile to even try. But Marlowe isn’t some sorority babe I banged at a kegger back in college. She’s not some one-night stand I met at the club. She’s different, and as crazy as it may sound, I want to keep her to myself for as long as I can.
“I don’t feel like getting into it right now,” I finally say. “It’s a long story?—”
“So there is a story,” Maverick pounces triumphantly.
“Yes, asshole, there’s a story.”
He laughs, gleefully rubbing his hands together. “Can’t wait to hear it.”
I throw him a dark glance.
He grins and props his shoulder against the window, looking suddenly reflective as he stares outside.
I wait for him to speak again, hoping he’ll move on to a new topic.
After several moments, he says reminiscently, “Remember how Mom used to take us to Dad’s office on Fridays? Remember how he’d put his arms around our shoulders, point out the window and say proudly, ‘If you boys work hard and stay out of trouble, someday you can have an amazing view just like this.’ Remember that?”
“Of course,” I murmur.
Maverick smiles with satisfaction. “Our view blows his out of the fucking water.”
I merely chuckle, gazing out over the bustling cityscape.
Once upon a time, our father was a senior executive at one of the world’s largest oil companies. He was powerful, well connected, a shrewd and highly respected businessman. He worked hard and raked in more money than he could ever spend. But it was never enough for him. He was always looking for more. After losing a fortune on a bad investment deal, he started drinking and whoring around. When his erratic behavior became a liability, the company severed ties with him.
Plunged deeper into depression, he began gambling, gradually pissing away our family’s remaining wealth. We had to downsize to a cramped two-bedroom apartment. By then we were social outcasts, our last name tainted by Dad’s ignominious fall from grace.
As his gambling debts piled up, his relationship with Mom grew more strained. They were arguing almost every day, their shouts echoing through the paper-thin walls of our apartment. The more they fought, the more Dad drank and gambled and cheated. When Mom couldn’t take it anymore, she filed for divorce and took Maverick and me to Dallas where she grew up.
It wasn’t long before Dad followed us, claiming he wanted to be near his boys. Unfortunately, he didn’t leave his reprobate ways behind. The drinking and gambling consumed him, destructive demons he couldn’t outrun. My brother and I have been cleaning up his messes ever since.
“Enough daydreaming. Back to work.” Maverick claps me on the shoulder, his eyes glinting with humor. “Try not to stab anyone at your next meeting. Having our CEO arrested for murder would be seriously bad for business, know what I’m saying?”
I grunt something unintelligible that he somehow understands, making him laugh on his way out the door.
I remain at the window, my thoughts immediately straying back to Marlowe. I can’t get her out of my head. Every time I close my eyes, I imagine her puffy pink lips wrapped around my cock. I fantasize about bending her over a polished table and fucking her from behind while spanking her deliciously round ass.
But it’s not just her sexy body I crave. I want to know the inner workings of her mind. She intoxicates me. Exasperates me. Fascinates me in ways no other woman ever has.
The background check I ran told me that she has decent credit, no unpaid traffic tickets, an outstanding academic record and generous charitable contributions despite her meager earnings. But it didn’t tell me her favorite color, her fondest childhood memory or the name of the first boy she kissed. It didn’t tell me where and when she lost her virginity, or why she hasn’t. It didn’t shed light on her obviously strained relationship with her mother.
In other words, it didn’t tell me the things I’m dying to know.
A deeper dive into her background will require the services of my private investigator. Though I’m highly tempted to call him, I’ve refrained from going that route. I already violated Marlowe’s trust by lying to her about my identity. If I want to get to know her better, I’ll have to do it the old-fashioned way: by earning her trust and respect.
Easier said than done , I muse wryly .
I feel half out of my mind whenever I’m around her. But I can’t stay away. She’s absolutely captivating, and I want more. So much fucking more.
Before I can stop myself, I’m pulling out my phone and making a call.