Chapter 21 - Conrad
Conrad
Three more overdoses. Three more dead college kids, and three more sets of parents who are wasting no time shopping for ambulance chasers to calculate the worth of their dead child.
We’re fucked.
That’s the jist of the text that lights up my phone before my first sip of coffee. No names. No details. Just a number, a disaster in progress, and my lawyer’s less than tactful assessment of the situation. I got the remaining earful after I called him.
You mean to tell me you thought it would be a good idea to host a party bundle for the university?
You four—after you were expelled from the same university and it was only through some very creative legal maneuvering and a good deal of your daddies’ money that you managed to stay out of jail?
In what fucking world does this make sense?
I know the rest before I make it to the office.
Cops are stomping through the resort like they own the place, grilling staff who don’t deserve it and who are already terrified Storm is coming after them.
They’re sniffing for an easy scapegoat to slap cuffs on, and honestly, it’s hard to blame them when I have a steady stream of corpses leaving my hotel.
Worse, we still have no idea where the drugs are coming from, or who is in our systems deleting CCTV footage. Or trying to kidnap our fucking staff after drugging them.
I can’t decide which is more obnoxious—the police thinking they can harass my staff and get away with it, or the fact that I still don’t have the supply line nailed down. Both are a testament to how wholly I’m failing.
My entire world has fallen into chaos because I can’t stop thinking about the one girl who has fucked everything up so goddamn much.
I want to get rid of her, but I can’t. She’s my favorite addiction.
Someone’s working hard to build a drug kingdom on the back of my resort, and every day they get away with it makes me look more like I don’t know how to run my own empire.
I shove open the door to my father’s office and feel the air shift in my chest.
This office is mine now. It has been for weeks, ever since he left. But it still smells faintly of his cologne and old bourbon. The wood-paneled walls, the heavy desk, the floor-to-ceiling shelves—everything about it screams his space. Even stripped of his things, it remembers him.
My father.
Now more than ever, it feels like I’m trying to fill a space, an expectation that’s simply too big for me. Like I was made to fill my father’s shoes, but they don’t fucking fit.
I run the flat of my hand across the surface of the desk, letting the coolness of the wood seep into my skin.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows behind the desk, the Savannah River winds sinuously through buildings and landmarks I could recognize with my eyes closed.
I’ve been in this office, at this window, beside this desk a thousand times over the years.
This is my home. My legacy. And yet, just sitting behind this desk feels a little like trespassing, even though legally and practically it’s mine.
That’s the legacy my father has left me. One of hesitancy and insecurity.
A flash of anger winds through me as I stare down at the river, and I stand a little taller. Fuck that.
It’s not trespassing. More like playing pretend. I’m playing at being master of the universe. None of this feels real. It’s like I’m fantasizing about a life where I’m in charge, and Phoenix Jones is actually mine, this empire is mine, and my empress actually wants me.
I’m no more cut out to rule this world than I am to keep her. She left me once, and as soon as this resort fails and I’m left with nothing, she’ll leave me again. It’s who she is. Except now, when she leaves, I won’t be the only broken man she walks away from.
Until then, I guess I’ll keep living my little fantasy, lying to myself, telling myself I can break her first.
I sit and smooth both hands over the desk once again. I’ve taken my father’s seat in every way but one—he wouldn’t have tolerated this chaos. I won’t either, not any longer.
After another long sip of coffee, I get to work, even though Sisyphus has a better chance of getting that boulder to the top of the mountain than I do of beating this shit.
I dial the lawyers first. They pick up on the second ring.
“Morning, Conrad,” the senior partner says, like I’m not calling at seven a.m. “I’ve been expecting your call.”
“Your associate should’ve filled you in. He’s an ass, by the way. How do I control the police before they harass my staff into quitting?”
He makes a noise, pen scratching. “Can you prove harassment? Any documentation I can use?”
“If I had time to shadow every interaction, maybe. Right now I’m getting complaints from managers and watching good people walk out the door. Three of my top people left yesterday, and I have a feeling more are planning to walk today.”
“Then you need documentation. I can’t do anything based on hearsay. Cameras, audio—the works. Anything that shows a pattern and harm to your business. Every single time they set foot on your property, they should be on tape. That way, if this escalates, you’ve got leverage.”
Leverage. I roll my eyes. Everyone keeps using that word like it’s comforting. I don’t want leverage; I want results.
“And the drugs?” I press. A knock sounds on the door, interrupting my train of thought momentarily. “Hold on a sec.”
I open the door to discover Phoenix on the other side.
Her hair is damp from a recent shower, her face is bare of makeup, and she’s dressed simply, in an oversized shirt that belongs to Atticus, if I’m not mistaken.
I wave her in, holding the phone up so she can see that I’m mid-conversation, and return to lean against the desk.
“I’m back. What do you suggest I do about that? ”
Phoenix nods and follows me to press a chaste kiss to my jawline before moving to sit on one of the overstuffed leather Chesterfields. My gaze follows her, bemused.
“You need to get ahead of the supply chain, Conrad. Find the point of entry, cut it off, and let the optics follow. Right now the optics are killing you. No other hotel is having this problem. It’s just this one property, which means the media will paint the place as unsafe.
Soon you’re going to bleed money and guests.
We can’t leash the cops until bodies stop falling. ”
I hang up without promising anything, because I’ve already been doing all of that. It’s not enough.
Whoever’s doing this is doing it under my nose and just out of reach.
For a second, temptation creeps in.
I could run. Wash my hands of this entire thing, burn it all to ash. Close the resort, gut it, start over somewhere else.
Maybe the Titans come with me; maybe they don’t.
My father would cut me off, but I have other assets he doesn’t know about. Money in offshore accounts. A stock portfolio worth an easy seven figures thanks to Atticus hyper-focusing on investments before he got medicated.
I have skills. I could take Phoenix and start over without the bullshit.
There’s a sick appeal in walking away and letting every toxic thing my father ever touched die. I watch her, debating and brooding.
She’s perched on the arm of the leather couch like she belongs there, one leg hooked under her, hair loose around her shoulders. The sleeves of the big, loose shirt fall over her hands as she scrolls through her phone.
This isn’t just a building, though.
It’s where she laughed so hard champagne spilled down her dress when we were stupid drunk teenagers. It’s where I kissed her for the first time, where we lost our virginities together, and where she broke my heart, teaching me how to protect myself in the process.
More recently, it’s where she pressed herself into my side during poker nights, where she soothed Storm’s demons, calmed Maverick’s rage, and even talked Atticus off a ledge.
Every inch of this place has a memory stamped on it.
Burning it would be sacrilege. Selling it would be worse. This has to be the place I take her down and leave her hollow. I’m going to make sure she never leaves this town, and the memories this place holds haunt her every move until her last breath.
No. For better or worse, this place is mine. Mine and the other Titans’.
Because it’s her home. As long as she’s here, I’ll never let another man run it. Not when he could grant her freedom.
Phoenix glances up and catches me watching her. “What?”
“Nothing.” I lean back in my chair. “Just making sure you’re not secretly running this place better than I am.” The lie is smooth. I am winning this goddamn bet.
She grins, but there’s something sharper in her eyes. She knows how bad this is. “Well, if I can take over this place by looking at the hours your housekeeping is logging, then this place is in worse shape than I thought.”
I roll my eyes, and she blows me a kiss. Before I can say more, the door opens without a knock.
Storm walks in, a folded sheet of paper in his hand. “I’ve got you a list.”
He drops it on the desk, then takes the chair and looks over at Phoenix. “Good morning, Angel.”
“Morning, Storm,” she says, moving to the chair next to him. He pulls her onto his lap instead, wraps his arms around her waist, rests his chin on her shoulder.
“What list?” I ask.
“People I think might be moving product for whoever’s behind this.”
Phoenix snatches it before I can reach. “Let me see.”
She scans the names, brow creasing. “No. No. Maybe. Absolutely not.”
I grind my teeth and swallow the urge to yell at her for being so brazen.
Storm arches a brow. “You’re sure?”
She taps a name halfway down. “Nicole? Absolutely would. She spends most of her time on social media pretending she’s got yachts in Monaco, but she’s living on maxed-out credit cards.
Always chasing the next get-rich-quick scheme or sugar daddy.
She’s absolutely the type. But no one else on the list is. ”
Storm’s smirk warms a degree. “You’re sure, Angel? What about that guy in security—Bill something?”
“He looks like the type,” she says, nodding. “Ten years ago, he would’ve been. Then he met his wife and had a few kids. Now he’s a born-again Mormon. Strict as hell. Been clean seven years. He won’t even go into the casino. Only works resort-side security.”
“Okay. How about Maryanna?”
“Maryanna…Maryanna I’m not sure about. She’s kind of an odd duck. Quiet and nice, but there’s something a little off.”
I watch Storm process that, his smirk turning genuine. “You just saved me a hell of a lot of wasted interviews.”
“You’re welcome. Anything else I can help with?”
“I can think of a few things,” Storm growls.
Then he does something that twists low in my gut. He kisses her—not a peck, but a slow, filthy kiss that lingers. Her lips curve when they break apart, and my hand tightens on the chair.
I expect jealousy, but it’s not jealousy that comes—only annoyance that Storm left the door open. No one gets to see her like that but us. Only us.
Storm pulls back, eyes still on her. “You deserve a thank-you for that.”
“Anytime,” she says, smiling like she knows exactly what kind of thank-you he means.
When he stands, he sets her back on the chair and leaves with his now much shorter list. The door clicks shut.
I’m already pulling out my phone, texting him. Storm’s infatuated with her, and I can’t blame him. I fell into that trap before, but maybe if I show Storm she’ll always want me more, it will spare him some pain.
Con
You want to take a break since your list is now much shorter?
Con
I think we need to thank Phoenix more properly.
The reply comes seconds later.
Storm
Do you have a plan for that?
I glance at Phoenix across the desk—still on my father’s Chesterfield, still scrolling like she has no idea she’s the reason my pulse is ticking higher. Her reward is going to be…thorough.
Con
Always.