Chapter 7
SEVEN
Nash
No matter how many times I get to put someone in their place, it never gets old. As I breeze through the office of Fowler Enterprise, the anticipation of the feeling is almost enough to give me a semi.
Every time I come here, the guy has his door wide open, probably to advertise what a nice guy he is. ‘My door is always open,’ I’m almost certain he tells all of his employees. Gag me.
I don’t bother announcing my presence before stepping into the office and dropping into one of the leather chairs in front of Colt Fowler’s desk.
“Fowler,” I greet him as I pluck a framed photo from his desk and turn it over in my hand. Of course he would have a cheesy, posed picture of his kids on his desk.
Snatching the photo from my hand, he says, “Nash Montgomery, to what do I owe the…pleasure.”
“That boy of yours is trying to cause you trouble.”
That catches his attention.
His brown eyes snap to mine, narrowing as he studies me, and I challenge him with a smirk, crossing an ankle over my knee.
“What did he do?”
“He reneged on our deal,” I reply, picking a piece of lint from my slacks, flicking it over the side of the chair. “He brought some of his friends into one of my clubs with him on Friday night.”
“My son doesn’t break his word,” he tells me. “You’re mistaken.”
“I saw him myself. Now, does this need to be an issue between us, or…?”
His eyes lock onto mine once more and I bask in the silent challenge behind them, meeting him blow for blow without either of us even speaking a word. Long moments pass before he finally reaches forward to pull the receiver of his phone to his ear as he dials out a number.
“Emmett, I need to see you in my office,” he says, his eyes not leaving mine.
His son walks in no less than two minutes later, and I turn in my chair to greet him, watching as his eyes widen and his throat bobs when he sees me.
“Uh,” he stammers, forcing his eyes over to his father. “What’s up?”
“Nash was just telling me about Friday night.”
I barely put in the effort to hide my amusement as the kid’s face pales. “Friday night,” he echoes.
Patting the chair next to mine in silent invitation to sit, I tell him, “You and a group of your friends visited Arcane.”
“Oh,” he says. “Yeah. Just for a couple hours though, we didn’t do anything crazy.”
It sounds almost as if he’s trying to placate his father; I figured that the kid was troubled, but isn’t he grown?
This is pathetic; it’s like watching a teenager try not to get grounded over getting a little rowdy at a house party.
What’s next, Daddy’s going to take his phone away for breaking curfew?
“Nash,” Colt props his elbows on the desk, linking his fingers, “you can go. Thank you.”
Letting out a laugh, I shake my head. “Oh no,” I say, cozying myself further into the seat, “I’m just fine here. In fact, why don’t you have that little wife of yours bring me a cup of coffee? Be hospitable.”
“She will not be doing that,” he tells me through gritted teeth.
Silently, the kid moves toward the seat next to mine and lowers himself into it, and I turn to face him, leaning closer.
“Do you have something you’d like to say to me?” I ask.
“Nash,” Colt warns, and it makes the corner of my mouth twitch.
“Well?”
I watch the kid’s chest rise and fall with heavier breaths and his index finger starts to pick at the skin at the side of his thumb, which is already red and irritated, as if this is a frequent habit of his.
He sets his sharp jaw, turning toward me, and he levels his gaze to mine.
Honey-colored eyes; just like his father’s.
“Sorry,” he barks.
I can’t help myself. “Sorry for…?”
“That’s enough.” Colt places his hands down onto the top of his desk and stands, pushing his chair out behind him. “I can handle this. You’ve brought it to my attention, now leave.”
Satisfied with successfully getting under his skin, I lift myself from the seat and bend down until my face is mere inches from his son’s ear.
“Nothing?” I push.
“Nash,” Colt hisses. “Leave.”
Come on, kid, give me something to work with. Where’s your fucking fire?
When he doesn’t respond or so much as glare at me, I straighten with a disappointed sigh and pull my wrist up to check the time on my Rolex before slipping out of the door and down the hall toward the building’s exit.
I think I’ll be making another visit soon.