Flawed (Hunt Brothers Saga)

by Timothy S. Allen

For being the adopted son, I found it strange that I was paying so close attention.

  At the Hunt Manor, in the kitchen, Edwin Hunt spoke with a potential client that, based on the house chatter, he’d been pursuing with some healthy degree for some time. I wasn’t actually in the kitchen, of course—Edwin Hunt had only recently begun to allow Morgan in there during meetings, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to get that same opportunity—but I sat near the wall separating it from the rest of the place. If anyone looked at me, they’d see a young boy reading a math textbook.

  But if they looked closely, they would see I wasn’t even on the chapter we were covering in class and that I hadn’t flipped the page in a good hour. That, and I had no paper by my side to scribble my math notes on.

  No one did, of course. That’s because Mrs. Hunt, as her custom was, had gone out to do some shopping while her husband completed the business transaction. It worked well; it removed any potential for distractions in the house, and Mrs. Hunt got to avoid the sometimes tense, sometimes aggressive conversations that filled the air. If there was one thing Mrs. Hunt loathed, it was those fiery arguments that could make her flip a switch and suddenly turn into a zombie.

  Of greater peculiarity, if not surprise, though, was Morgan.

  He could have sat in that room with his father and the potential client. He could have studied them closely, but instead, he had chosen to flirt with the client’s daughter. The daughter was cute, a redhead with a skinny frame, but she wasn’t even among the ten cutest girls in our school. That, and I really didn’t have much interest in trying something.

  On the surface level, it was because Morgan would always have first dibs in the family. Even though he was quite cool about it, there was no secret that if I ended up prying a girl away from Morgan, he would get upset, the family would side with the biological son, and all hell would break loose. I would wind back up in the foster home, and my life would be ruined.

  But on a deeper level... the past three years had sucked. I hated girls. Well, that wasn’t true.

  I hated the effort and the process of pursuing girls. I had grown tired of knowing the inevitable rejection would come when they learned I was adopted, and if they didn’t reject me, well, I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell was wrong with them.

  Fucked up, I know. But I couldn’t help it.

  Still, I did have some interest in flirting with her, but not so I could get her. No, it was for a much simpler reason.

  Boys liked to compete for girls. Morgan and I made no bones with each other about pursuing the same girl and seeing who would win out. Sometimes it was an overt challenge, and other times it was a little more nuanced.

  Today, at least until the transaction finished, I would stay back.

  “... you see, Clark, I think you have a mighty fine business,” Edwin Hunt said. I kept listening. “I am bedazzled by what you have to offer. I truly believe that if I invest in your business, I can use my network to expand what you have. So it’s not just me you’re getting. It’s everyone in my circle you’re getting.”

  Classic. And a bold faced lie.

  Mr. Hunt invested in many businesses and provided cash on an almost endless basis, but the idea that he would introduce his businesses elsewhere was just a lie. It was, as he described “the art of the business,” but I had silently taken to calling it “the art of the con.” Lie and make promises that most normal CEOs and investors would, and then just say you’re busy.

  Mr. Hunt lived for one reason and one reason only, and that was to make money. To him, the easiest path forward was to invest and let things grow to a certain point before selling them. He spent little time actually networking his companies and practically no time mentoring. That was a payoff too far down the road, and given that Mr. Hunt was close to his late 60’s by now, he didn’t seem interested.

  “A man like you is a man I wish I could have become in my heyday,” Mr. Hunt said with a chuckle.

  Another part of the art of the con. Charm, charm, and charm. And laugh so it looks self-effacing.

  “So what say you. $50 million for 20 percent?”

  The bargaining went back and forth, and I honestly didn’t understand everything, but I knew that the man felt pinned by Mr. Hunt. He did not want to leave without a deal, but the deal did not seem to be in his own best interests.

  Nevertheless, as usually happened, Mr. Hunt won. The two shook hands, I heard the scribble of signatures, and the two retreated somewhere for a drink—the only drink Edwin Hunt would have with his clients, his one indulgence in them.

  I had seen enough. I headed over to Morgan and the daughter, whose name I thought was Tracy.

  “Looks like a party over here,” I said.

  “Oh, no,” Tracy said. “Morgan is just being silly.”

  No girl ever calls a guy she likes silly.

  “Silly, eh?” I said, slyly shooting Morgan a look. I could see the disappointment and frustration. “Where are you from, Tracy?”

  “Seattle,” she said. “I hate it there, though. It’s so rainy all the time!”

  “You should persuade your father to move here,” I said. “You’d already have me to hang out with. And not just me, but all of my cool friends. You should see the things we do.”

  “Really,” Tracy said, a fire in her eyes flickering.

  Like... role model, like son.

  I guess I’m more of a Hunt than I ever realized.

  Present Day

  AS TYPICAL FOR MR. Burnson these days, he had disappeared to the golf course for an escapade that did not involve work or a potential client. I half-expected him to just up and announce his retirement, but then again, that probably would have cost him money in some fashion, and just like Mr. Hunt, Mr. Burnson never lost money if he could help it.

  I sat in my cubicle, for once not tossing the paper ball in the air. No longer did anything I do revolve around possibility, but now around execution. I finally had the opportunity to prove what I knew I already had—skills in business. I would close this deal with the Taylors, and I would get Burnson Investments a major asset to its portfolio. Fire me after that. Strip me of my intern title and make me a full time employee. You’ll regret it if you don’t, I thought with a smirk.

  About an hour into my work, I realized I had to get some documentation we kept in a file downstairs for security reasons. Without a care, I locked my computer, exited my cubicle, and made haste to the basement files, through which I’d have to pass through the lobby.

  All seemed normal.

  And then I saw her.

  Layla Taylor.

  I didn’t even have to think to remember her name. Someone as magnetic as her, you remembered everything about after a single visit. Of course, it probably helped that the only thing I knew of her was that she was the CEO’s daughter, her name, and her goddamn impressive physical beauty... but even still, she could have given me a novel of her life and I would have read it over twice.

  Sarah Hill was a distant, fading memory compared to the glittering gold that was Layla.

  “Fancy seeing you here,” I said with a smirk.

  She glanced up from her phone and shot me a smile that seemed anything but professional. It wasn’t quite sexual, but it was as sexual as you could get in a workplace environment.

  “Dad wanted me to run some stuff over to you, and you just happened to come in here,” she said with a smile. “How are you, Chance Hunt?”

  Something about the way she said my name... I’d been in these spots before, when girls would deliberately say innocuous things they would never say otherwise. They knew exactly what they did, but could plausibly deny what they meant. Of course my name was Chance Hunt. But would anyone call me that?

  Nope. But I sure didn’t mind. In fact...

  “Doing better now that you are here, Miss Layla Taylor,” I shot back. “I’ve been meaning to get this project moving along a bit, so it’s a bit for the best that you have showed up.”

  I added my own bit of
plausible deniability. This was going to be fun.

  What was not fun, though, was looking over her shoulder and seeing some coworkers come back from their early lunch break. No one would say anything, but the last thing we needed was rumors flying. I needed her to be coldly professional in the presence of others... but dangerously flirtatious when alone.

  “What brings you here, anyways? Your father is too busy?”

  “Dad always works,” she said with the beginnings of an eye roll. “But he’s also getting up there in years, even though he doesn’t look like it. There’s a certain level of fatigue and ennui he’s beginning to experience, and he wants to see me up to the next level. So he makes me get involved in this as much as he can. I guess he wants to see his only child take over the reigns of the company.”

  “Huh, doesn’t that sound familiar,” I joked.

  She laughed, but then I realized what I’d done.

  “What does that mean?”

  Damnit, she’s good. She listens. She reads between the lines.

  “My brother...”

  Could I say my adopted brother? Could I go that deep? She did seem awfully sweet, the kind of gal I could tell this to and not have it bite me in the ass.

  Except I thought that about Sarah Hill. I thought that about other girls. And every single time, I had gotten bit much harder than I expected. I would always convince myself this time was different, and then it was not. I couldn’t keep playing this stupid game. I had to be firm, be strong, and not give away my secret.

  “My brother wants to take over our father’s firm,” I said.

  “The Hunts,” she said.

  So she probably knows. Just don’t say anything in case she doesn’t. But don’t lie about it. Last thing you need is for this deal to fall through because the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen decides you’re not trustworthy.

  “Exactly,” I said without missing a beat. “I’m here because I wanted to do something different, you know? I love my dad—”

  I almost had to choke on those words, though externally I kept a cool facade, a skill I had practiced from listening to Edwin Hunt many times over.

  “But there’s something to be said for forging my own path, not relying on my last name for input.”

  “There is,” Layla said, almost wistfully.

  It seemed like she wanted me to do something or say something. The words hung in the air without her adding anything else, like she expected me to fill the void. I wanted to—oh, yes, I most certainly wanted to do something—but not here, not in this office environment. That was too risky even for me, and I was willing to do some stupid shit for pussy.

  “Well hey, you’re here for business, right?” I said. “We shouldn’t be discussing something like this out in the open. Why don’t we go talk about it at Jimmy’s right down the road?”

  Layla’s smile gave me the only answer I needed. I didn’t even wait for her to verbally respond, walking forward and daring to place my hand on the small of her back as I escorted her to the door. She did not fight it.

  In fact, maybe I was reading into it or trying to feel things that had not actually happened, but I could have sworn she gave a shiver of excitement.

  “So I take it you would want to forge your own path as well, Layla?” I said, feeling much looser underneath the noon-time sun and absent clouds.

  “Ehh, sometimes,” she said, shrugging. “I like my Dad’s company. It’s treated me well. So I’m not in a rush. But I would imagine that when I take over, I would do some things differently than my Dad.”

  “So you don’t want to forge your own path,” I said with a teasing smile.

  Layla shoved me gently as I laughed. I felt ridiculous, like I was back on the middle school playground flirting with Sarah, but what was I supposed to do, bury the feeling for the sake of business?

  Uh, yes, Chance. This is your shot. Are you gonna let your dick dictate what you do and ruin this for you?

  “I do want to forge my own path, but that path can still remain in the same park as my father, you know.”

  I had so many smartass remarks to say, but in the interest of not quite wanting things to rush so quickly, I kept quiet. After a couple of seconds, I decided I had to steer the conversation to safer ground, at least temporarily.

  Between that moment and when we got our burgers in the private room at Jimmy’s, I mostly asked about her educational and career background. The topics could not have been safer and more professional. She was a graduate of Princeton from just two years before at just the age of 20, making her the same age as me. She had worked for her Dad officially for the last two years but had unofficially shadowed him and learned from him for many years before.

  She may have wanted to blaze her own path, but it sure seemed to overlap quite a bit with her father’s.

  Somehow, though, despite the topics being safe, everything else around our lunch did not. For example, her skirt seemed hiked up just a bit further than normal. I saw more of Layla’s thigh than a man at a gym might, and to say it send my mind scrambling would be an understatement. I fought like hell to remain focused, and I didn’t do a terrible job... but the fact that I had to do a job of any kind spoke to my infatuation and attraction to her.

  Second, she had very little shame in touching me and laughing at my jokes. Hands went on the arm, the elbow, even the thigh at one point. The heat was picking up, and I was doing a poor job of fanning the flames.

  When we had had our meeting just a few days prior, I had found her incredibly attractive, but it felt like looking at a woman from across the street—I had admired her beauty and even remembered it a few days later, but I had no belief I would ever get to act on that ever again. It was just too remote a possibility. Even if I saw Layla again, most of my interactions would be with her father, with her silently observing and learning.

  How glad I was to be wrong.

  We made our way back to the office and I took her to my private room. I shut the door and she sat on the desk. I had a private office, so no one would be able to see anything... and oh God how tempting things were... the way she crossed her legs...

  No, Chance! You will be good. What if she’s flirting like this for a reason?

  That she likes you?

  Well, yes, that seems to be the case. But just keep your head on your shoulders, damnit.

  “So, what was it you wanted to run over to me?” I said, jolting back to what she had originally come here for.

  “Oh, right,” she said, clearly having forgotten that she needed to do that. She rummaged through a briefcase that she placed on my desk, grabbing some papers and handing them to me. “This is some due diligence that Burnson Investments should evaluate, just for legal purposes. I don’t think it’ll be anything alarming or even unusual, but we’ll get in trouble if you don’t look at it.”

  “Gotcha,” I said, not thinking much of it.

  As she slid the files to me, we suddenly found ourselves standing extraordinarily close. So close, in fact, that if she leaned her chest or hips forward, she would be touching me.

  “Well, Layla, do you need anything else?” I said.

  I spoke calmly, but boy I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t close to sweating a bit.

  “I don’t think so,” she said, her voice a little low. “Do you?”

  I looked over at the door. It was shut. No one would ever know...

  I looked at the lock. It wasn’t locked, but no one ever came in without knocking. Even Mr. Burnson knocked before entering. It would take the building catching fire for someone to barge in without knocking.

  I looked back at her. She had moved closer.

  I didn’t need any more hints. I had covered my ass. No one would know.

  I leaned in and kissed her.

  As if our kiss had broken not a seal but a dam, it went from a moment to a frenzy, our hands all over each other. We reached for each other like two horny teenagers—which, given that the last time this happened was ten years ago,
probably wasn’t the most inaccurate statement.

  I pushed her up against the wall, my mouth moving from her lips to her ear and her neck. I could feel her hands running over my chest and stomach, reaching for my groin. Just like that, I thought. Chance Hunt never fails.

  SLAM!

  I moved back so quickly that I almost dropped Layla to the ground. I quickly spun to the door, thinking someone had kicked it open.

  No. Nothing.

  But the scare had brought a level of sobriety to both of us, and we realized that we’d engaged in some risky behavior...

  At least, in the context of an office, no matter how private I thought this was.

  “Sorry, sorry,” Layla said, though she seemed relatively calm all things considered. “Things got a little out of hand, I’m—”

  She was rambling, I could tell, no matter how well she faked being calm. And rambling usually indicated attraction.

  I put my hand on her shoulder.

  “We shouldn’t do this... here,” I said, my smile growing. “Let me take you out to dinner sometime.”

  Layla laughed, a little bit too loudly for my tastes, but at least it was a laugh and not a moan. She locked eyes and smirked.

  “We’ll see, Chance Hunt,” she said. “In the meantime, review those files, OK?”

  I nodded. I’d do anything to continue what we had just started. I’d even give her...

  OK, no, I wouldn’t give her some of the deal back to have her. That was career suicide. But damn if I didn’t think about it. Leave it at that. A thought. Nothing more. Nothing less.

  “I had fun, Chance,” she said as she moved out. “I’ll be in touch.”

  With that, she opened the door, smoothing out her shirt as she did, and shut it behind me.

  I refused to allow myself to believe this was different. I would not let myself get close to her, at least emotionally. She would make for an amazing time between the sheets, but I couldn’t let it go beyond that.

  And I definitely could not let it interfere with my work. This was a chance to become Chance, not stay as Chance Hunt. Nothing was worth sacrificing that.

  Still...