Chapter 25 Aston
Chalmers slides the thick pile of papers in front of me.
Night falls outside as the two of us sit in my office. It’s been an incredibly long day, and the last thing I want is to spend my night here in the city, but my father left me no choice.
He’s been on my back all week about wrapping up outstanding deals and insisting I spend time with Roland Whitney. One moment, he wants me to do one thing, and the next, another. He’s giving me whiplash.
My eyes reluctantly scan the first page to see the Whitney Group name in bold on the front. As I continue to read silently, the contract’s content becomes apparent.
My father will get his hands on the land he has so desperately wanted over the last two decades.
And Madelina is his bargaining tool.
The children she will be forced to bear in exchange for land to be transferred to the Beaumont name. All Roland and Georgina want is to be grandparents, which will grant them their wish as well as please my father.
I push the contract back to Chalmers, then stand up to pace the room with a fresh swell of anger rising within me. “I don’t understand why my sister must be involved,” I bellow.
Chalmers sits back in his chair, keeping the smug expression on his aging face.
“C’mon, kid. You know your father by now,” he chides.
He’s right.
I should know my father by now.
My arms cross over my chest as I stare out the window, trying to think of ways to end my father’s irrational thinking.
This week alone, I closed one deal and secured our investors for two more in the works.
The stock market rose in our favor, and we are tracking solid growth in this fiscal year alone.
“I will deal with this after the wedding,” I mutter while pinching the bridge of my nose. “My sister’s happiness is more important to me.”
Chalmers tips his head with an arrogant smirk, then says, “Don’t think the old fella will let this one go. Be careful. If you don’t play nice, you’ll pay the price one way or another.”
He leaves my office, only for me to slam my fist on my desk the second he is gone.
I sit in my chair, staring at my screen until a headache spreads across my temples, forcing me to close my eyes. My mind drifts to a time when life was simple and the weight on my shoulders was less because I was naive enough to think my life belonged to me.
My phone dings with a text message alert. I retrieve the phone from my pocket and see Everleigh’s name on the screen.
Everleigh
There’s a loud banging sound coming from my neighbor’s apartment, and I’m not sure if I should tell her to keep it down.
Me
It depends. What do you think she’s doing?
Everleigh
What do you think she’s doing?
A smile spreads across my lips as I type quickly. The headache slowly dissipates, the tension easing.
Me
Oh, I see. You’re in a bit of a pickle. I guess you could go over and politely ask her to keep it down, but you do run the risk of seeing her in sexy lingerie. How old are we talking?
Everleigh
Old enough to be your grandmother. She has a new boyfriend who is half her age. Kudos to her, but seriously, he’s a machine, and she’s the cowgirl having a good time.
Me
So, what you’re really trying to ask me is to come over so you can give her a run for her money?
Everleigh
I’m serious! I have an early start tomorrow and am exhausted from today. We got boxes of supplies in, and I’ve been moving stuff around. All I can say is we better start picking up more business, or I’m out of this town and this building.
Me
Don’t stress. Cinnamon Springs always peaks during spring break when people are traveling. As for your neighbor problem, you know where to find me.
Everleigh
You’re all the way in the city.
Me
Yes, I am. It takes me exactly two hours and five minutes to get to you.
Everleigh
I’ll remember that… after the wedding.
I reread her text, releasing a drawn-out sigh. Every part of me is desperate to touch Everleigh and lose myself in her again. The thought of not being inside her until this wedding is over will drive me to the brink of insanity.
My fingers type before my brain can think clearly.
Me
For you, I’ll wait.
The three dots appear forever. What the hell is she typing?
As I wait, I shut down my computer to head back to my apartment for a quick rest so I can drive back to Cinnamon Springs early in the morning to meet Roland.
The bachelor party is tomorrow night, but thankfully, I’ll be done with all my urgent business before it starts.
My computer makes the shutdown noise, and at the same time, my phone pings.
Everleigh
Thank you.
Two words that make me stop my movements.
I’m not sure what the hell is going on, wondering why my chest is rising and falling at a rapid rate and why my stomach flips, leaving me queasy.
I contemplate texting back but decide some things are better left unsaid.
When you have money, planning a bachelor party is a walk in the park. The sky is the damn limit.
A business buddy of mine, Eli, owns a houseboat bordering Cinnamon Springs and Cherry Tree Creek.
When I pitched the idea to Myles, I explained it wasn’t an ordinary houseboat.
This one is a crossover between a private yacht and an apartment, moored next to a private sandbar with its own pier.
The space is around 4,350 square feet and comprises four en suite bedrooms, a terrace, and a swimming platform.
Not that I expect anyone to jump in the freezing-cold water, but then again, bachelor parties always have a way of getting out of control.
It’s decked out like a luxury apartment and offers unparalleled waterfront views of Peppermint Lake and the mountains surrounding it.
I have a yacht moored at Safe Harbor, but it’s nothing compared to this vessel—there’s no way it could fit everyone on board. Eli made a fortune from cryptocurrency, and this is just one of his many toys scattered across the globe.
Myles’s guest list comprises thirty guys. Most are college buddies, a bunch from work, and some family acquaintances. Unfortunately, my father insisted on joining when he found out Roland would be there.
Unlike Everleigh and her bachelorette planning, I delegated most of this task to my assistant.
She planned the catering and liquor, and organized a poker table.
As for the other entertainment, I called for reinforcement.
Will’s father has connections in the industry.
I didn’t ask why or how but simply paid the invoice to ensure the girls would be there on time and entertain the men.
Madelina had already warned me to keep it somewhat clean.
I’ve been to several bachelor parties, all ending in pandemonium. The worst ones are those in Vegas. Sin City never ends well, not when rules are made to be broken.
The night starts relatively relaxed. The boys throw back a few shots, urging Myles to drink away his second-to-last night of freedom. Most of the guys are already married, leaving only five still single.
It’s always the married ones who party the loudest.
Gino, Myles’s buddy from college, cranks up the sound system and dances out on the terrace without a care in the world.
I take a few shots myself, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders and arms from the golf session with Roland.
I don’t mind the guy, but golf isn’t a sport I’m fond of.
It’s a sport used to talk business, something my father taught me earlier in my career.
Give me a football any day over a club and golf ball.
“Hey, Beaumont, come out here and smoke with us,” Gino yells over the music.
It doesn’t surprise me someone brought weed to the party. The last time I smoked it would have been at college at some frat party while I fucked whoever would spread their legs for me.
How times have changed.
The only woman I want to spread her legs for me is at my sister’s bachelorette party, hopefully behaving herself and not allowing any male stripper to touch her. Everleigh saw my jealous streak when Dr. What’s-His-Face attempted to touch her and should have learned her lesson.
“I’m going to check on a few things,” I tell Gino as Myles begs me with his eyes to take me with him.
“Be nice to the groom,” I warn Gino playfully. “He better come out of this alive, or my balls are on the line.”
A few of the guys stay outside to smoke, while others sit around the large poker table inside. My father is leading the game, counting his chips with a cigar resting between his lips. The bastard is impossible to read, his facial expression blank until the last minute when he reveals his cards.
Steven, Myles’s groomsman, pushes half his tall stack into the middle of the table. Carefully, he watches my father, waiting for a reaction. It’s down to the two of them, and the stakes are high.
My father stares blankly at his stack, counting his chips quietly as everyone waits in anticipation. After what feels like the longest minute ever, he pushes his entire stack farther to the middle and calls, “All in.”
Almost everyone gasps except for me.
This won’t end well for Steven, and the poor guy has no clue just how cunning my father is.
Steven begins to sweat, beads dripping from his curly black hair onto his forehead, and after much deliberation, he finally concedes and sputters, “I fold.”
My father grins while bringing Steven’s stack toward his own and doesn’t show his cards, much to Steven’s annoyance.
“C’mon, Harvey. Take me out of my misery,” Steven begs.
“Rule number one in poker,” my father preaches with a satisfied smile. “Always make your opponent believe you hold the better hand.”
“Dammit,” Steven mutters, only to reach out and drink his whiskey in one go. “I’m broke as fuck now.”
Another game starts, but I opt to walk away. Glancing down, I check my watch. A waitress comes over to advise me the entertainment has arrived. I thank her and meet the three girls at the door.