Chapter 21 Keaton
KEATON
“Ladies and gentlemen, the man of the hour, the man of the house, Cato Everett!” the MC says, and the crowd erupts like they are at a fucking concert.
I look around at them, wondering how many of them know. How many of them are involved with it. I know certain members of the board were at the “meetings.” I’ve had my eyes on them since I walked in the house. Fucking pigs.
I’m so mad, so disgusted at what my father has become—or maybe, what he always was.
I just chose not to see it. He walks down the grand staircase like a fucking king, his third wife clung to his arm like an expensive piece of art.
He waves at his admirers, people whose loyalty he has bought over the decades.
They clap and wave and laugh and smile like the blind followers they are, and it’s not until Evie taps my hand that I realize how tightly I’m clutching on to her.
How hard I’m gritting my teeth. How shallow my breaths are.
How much pure hatred is radiating off of me.
“Breathe,” she whispers. “It’s his birthday, remember?”
I draw in a few long breaths, blowing them out slowly.
Calm down, Keaton. Play this off.
I nod back at her, looking down into those big green eyes. I feel my jaw unclench as she kisses the back of my hand. Cato takes the microphone, and I feel myself go rigid again. I look at my brother, but he is strong, collected, stoic.
Be like Julian.
“Thank you all so much for being here tonight,” Cato says, and the crowd claps.
“Angelina and I really are so grateful for each and every one of you. Everett Enterprises has never been more lucrative than it has been over the last decade. We are constantly growing, even when the rest of the world is stagnant.”
How like him to turn a birthday celebration into a fucking commercial and to toot his own fucking horn.
“But more than that, we are blessed to be standing here with our family.” He turns to us, raising a glass. “Boys, there is no greater joy in my life than getting to be your father. I am so proud of each of you, and I rest easy at night, knowing that the Everett legacy will carry on because of you.”
My brothers and I look at each other, and I freeze. I feel nauseated. Julian raises his glass, and Brooks does the same. Evie nudges me, and I finally will my hand to follow suit. The room erupts with applause again.
“Still waiting on some grandchildren, though!” he adds, and the room bursts into whoops and laughter.
We look at each other awkwardly, Julian feigning a smile and Brooks running a hand over his neck playfully.
I take another swig of my drink. Jesus Christ. Grandchildren.
If I have kids, they may never know this man.
If I can help it.
“But seriously,” Cato goes on, “thank you all for joining me to celebrate. Here’s to the next decade!” The crowd erupts again, and the five of us turn back to our table. Brooks’s date just looks on, completely unaware of anything that is being communicated amongst us. The head waiter approaches us.
“Pardon the interruption, but dinner will be served shortly. Your father has reserved your seats at the head table.”
“We need an extra seat,” Julian says. The waiter looks at me then nods.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Everett. Please follow me.”
“Think we know the way, there, big guy,” Brooks says, putting an empty beer bottle on the table. “But thanks.” He flips an imaginary cap. The waiter walks away, and Julian turns to him.
“Don’t be a dick,” he says.
“Yeah. It’s not his fault. None of this is,” I growl.
Brooks holds his hands up.
“Chill out, dudes,” he says. “Lighten up.”
I whip around to him.
“Maybe if you ever took anything fucking seriously, you would realize what the fuck is going on here,” I quip. His eyes grow wide.
“Easy,” Julian warns under his breath. “Now is not the time. Smiles on. Show time.”
We walk into the main hall, and I can’t help but notice what feels like every single head turning in our direction as we go.
The event photographer snaps photos of us, and I feel Evie sliding behind me.
I look down at her, but she just smiles back up at me.
I tighten my hold on her hand. We get to the table as the servers are finishing setting up the additional seat.
I know that was probably a big fucking deal.
These things are planned down to the last fucking morsel of food.
The last ice cube. Gift baskets for every guest in attendance. So it tickles me a bit to disrupt it.
Julian takes the chair next to the head where my father and Angelina will sit.
I can’t stand Angelina, but if anyone can’t stand her even more, it’s Brooks.
So I decide to be a good big brother and take the seat next to her, pulling out Evie’s chair before I sit.
Brooks sits on the other side of her, his date on the other side of him.
After a few more agonizing moments, Cato and Angelina approach the table.
“My boys,” he says, clapping his hands together. We all stand, and he hugs us one by one, Angelina following suit, until he gets to Evie, and I feel my pulse quicken.
“My, my, my,” he whispers, staring down at her. “Genevieve Dawson? Is that you?”
She swallows and nods.
“Hi, Mr. Everett,” she says. She sticks a hand out to shake his, but instead, he takes it softly, bringing it to his lips, his eyes locked on hers. I fight every urge in my body to yank her from his grasp.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing you again after all these years?” he asks ever so smoothly. My heart is pounding in my chest. Every inner thought is yelling at me, screaming for me to take her and run. But I stand still.
“Keaton,” she says matter-of-factly, looking up at me with a smile that could fucking bring me to my knees.
I know he’s looking for more, but she doesn’t offer it.
She just stares up at me, smiling, letting me know she’s got this.
Cato’s eyes bounce back and forth between us, but he decides against pressing the matter at his birthday party.
Instead, he invites us all to sit just as the wait staff begins bringing out the first course.
Dinner goes off fairly easily. A video montage plays that takes up a good chunk of it, filled with photos that make Cato look like the most loving father and greatest philanthropist in the world.
I can’t help but notice how no photos appear that show my mom or Brooks’s, despite them giving Cato the heirs to his kingdom.
After the montage, video messages from his celebrity friends that couldn’t be in attendance play, and I throw back another sip of my beer.
As the final course is taken away, I let out a breath, knowing that this will all be over soon—until my father claps his hands together.
“Okay, boys, one more favor,” he says. “Portrait time.”
My eyes flick to Julian then to Brooks.
“Come again?” Julian asks.
“We haven’t had a family portrait taken in years. Not since Angelina and I got married.” Angelina beams next to him, and I roll my eyes. Evie kicks me under the table. “As a birthday present to me, I’d like to get one taken tonight, while everyone is so dressed up.”
I look at my brother, waiting for his lead. He clears his throat then nods.
“Sure, Cato. It’s your day,” he says. We all stand slowly, and I make eyes at Evie. She just nods and smiles.
“I’ll be right here,” she says.
As we follow Cato and Angelina out of the main hall and down toward the fireplace, Cato turns to me.
“You know what would be the best birthday gift ever?” he asks me. I look at him. “If you would come back to New York. I have some projects I think you would—”
“You’re getting your portrait, Dad,” I say coldly. “Let’s not push it.”
Julian glares at me, and I clear my throat as the photographer directs us all where to stand.
“Right,” Cato says, a stiff smile on his lips.
“Cool down,” Julian growls at me under his breath. We pose for what feels like four hundred photos, any sense of a genuine smile diminishing with each one. When we finally get back to the main hall, I plop down in the seat next to Evie, my shoulders immediately lowering.
She reaches a hand up and cups the back of my neck, pulling me down to her.
“Why don’t we take a quick break?” she whispers. I raise an eyebrow. She bites her lip. “I might not be wearing any panties.”
I can’t fight the smile.
This girl.
I look around. People are finishing their food and starting to mingle more. The room is getting more crowded, and more importantly, my brothers are preoccupied with entertaining other people. I stand up, take her hand, and practically yank her from the table.
I lead her out of the main hall, smiling and nodding at people as we go, then turn down one of the longer corridors that heads to the family wing.
My grandfather had the family wing renovated when he decided to open the house up for tours so that we always had a place in Bedell House that was just ours.
But I’m skipping the sentimentalities tonight.
I bypass our wing, heading up one of the side staircases until we reach the west garden doors.
I type in a code before exiting so the alarms don’t trigger, and we slip out.
I lead her out onto the terrace then down the big stone steps to the garden path.
I bend down to scoop her up, and she giggles.
“Careful!” she cries. “I’m not as light as I used to be.”
I glare at her in my arms.
“You’re gonna pay for that comment,” I tell her before busting into a light jog through the
garden until I reach my destination: the pool house.
I type another code in on the door, open it, and step inside, bolting it behind us.
I set her down, eyeing her fully for the first time. I let my eyes scour her body from head to toe again, really taking her in, letting myself revel in just her—no cameras, no Cato, no anybody else.
“Now,” I say, taking a step toward her, “what was that you were saying?”
She swallows, biting her bottom lip.
“Just that I…I’m not as…” she says, her throat bobbing. I step closer to her so our chests are touching. I bend down so my lips are just centimeters from her neck. I cup the back of her head, tilting it back farther.
“Not as…what?” I ask. I drag my lips up and down the length of her neck without letting them touch her skin. She swallows again but doesn’t speak. “That’s what I thought,” I tell her. “Stop talking about my woman the way you’ve been talking about her. Do you understand me?”
She looks up at me, eyes wide.
“This body,” I say, my hands moving up and down her sides, her hips, her ass, “this perfect fucking body, belongs to me. And no one, not even you, will talk about it that way. So now, you’ll sit here while I take every inch of it, until you see it the way I do. Understand?”
She nods again slowly as I reach up and grab the skinny little silk straps of her dress, tugging them down her shoulders. I spin her around, undoing her clasp and zipper slowly, leaving little kisses down her spine that make her bend backward.
When I get the zipper to the tip of her ass, I realize she wasn’t bluffing. No panties on my girl. Easy access.
“That’s my dirty little girl,” I whisper in her ear as I tug the fabric off over her hips. “No panties for me? Were you hoping I’d get you alone like this?”
She doesn’t say anything just lets out a quiet moan and nods.
I spin her back around, reaching to unclasp the strapless bra she’s wearing. Her perfect tits spill out, and I reach a hand up to cup one, squeezing it so I can gently suck her nipple into my mouth. She moans again, biting her bottom lip.
“I’m thinking I might need to teach you a lesson for that little comment you made,” I say, moving over to her other breast, nibbling on her nipple before sucking it into my mouth. “What do you think?”
She nods again.
I take her hand gently, leading her across the room to the large couch that sits in the center. I take a seat, then I pat my lap.
“Lie down,” I tell her.
She swallows, but she listens.
She crawls across my lap, face down, ass up. I feel my cock stiffening beneath her. I palm her ass gently before pulling back and giving her a light, smooth tap. She moans under my hand.
“You’re not going to talk about yourself like that anymore, right?”
She shakes her head. I smack her ass again. “I can’t hear you, Evie. Use your words.”
“No,” she breathes.
“Good,” I tell her. “That’s a good girl. Because we don’t say anything about this beautiful, round ass other than how perfect it is, right?” She nods, and I spank her again. “Right?”
“Right,” she says.
I nod.
“Good girl,” I say. I reach a hand underneath her and flip her onto her back, sliding out from under her.
I crawl up her body, caging her in between my arms. “And we don’t say anything about these tits,” I say, taking one into my mouth again, “unless it’s about how fucking perfect and perky they are.
How perfectly they fit in my hands. Right? ”
“Right.” She nods, her cheeks flushing.
“And this,” I say, sliding my hands down her sides and placing one on her stomach.
“This beautiful stomach,” I say, kissing one side of her belly button then the other.
“We don’t say anything about it unless it’s about how fucking beautiful it is.
How safe and comfortable it makes me feel when I lie on it. How it feels like home.”
Her eyes widen as she stares up at me.
“Right?” I ask her. She nods shyly.
“And this,” I say, sliding my hand down to cup her pussy. She hisses and presses her head back into the couch cushion. I slide one finger in and out of her folds, gliding through her juices. “This pretty fucking pussy,” I growl. “What do we say about this pretty pussy?”
“We say that it’s all yours,” she breathes, writhing, pushing into my touch further.