Tiebreaker: A Dark Romance (Darker Nights Book 1)

by KT Strange

  The way she bats a dark cluster of eyelashes at me, I’m pretty sure she's talking about sex. But with women like her, especially around men like me, it's always about sex. And I’m not buying. Not today. Not in this place, this ode to death and fucking misery. They say that the music industry is filled with pimps and criminals… well, so is corporate America, and I’m currently standing in one of their citadels of infamy.

  “Nah, I’m good.” I wave her off. “In there?” I point towards the boardroom.

  “Oh, he’s not ready for you yet…” she trails off as I blow past her, not in any way or shape willing to wait. He dragged me here, he can damn well put up with me whenever the hell I decide to show up. I shove the door open with my boot. It leaves a mark on the wood. Fantastic.

  “All right what the fuck—” and I stop in my tracks.

  So there was a reason he wasn't ready for me. I lift my sunglasses up to perch on the top of my head .

  “What?” I ask. “You get bored of fucking your secretary?” Because there he is, ass out, hitting some poor, thin, emaciated thing to the enormous glass conference table.

  Everett Fucking Leighton the Fucking Third, everybody.

  She shrieks when I come in, but he claps a hand over her mouth to silence her. His hips thrust once, twice, and he grunts, eyes on me the whole time. There’s a defiant smirk on his face and he's not even out of breath.

  He’s out of her, though, in an instant, tucking his cock back into his pants as she lays on the table panting, her breasts pancake-pressed into the glass surface. I bet that looks pretty fucked up if you're underneath… actually, I’m vaguely into it. Maybe I should get a glass-top table in my apartment and let some groupie finger herself on top of it.

  “Well, this is nice,” I say. “But I don't do threesomes anymore.” I sit down in a chair across from him and kick my feet up onto the conference table, ignoring the girl, to save her any more embarrassment than she’s already suffered. Also to let her know I don’t give a shit about her. Anybody who fucks Everett is immediately on my shit list. They’re dead to me.

  He lets her go and she gets up shrugging herself back into her shirt dress, trying not to look at me as she skitters out of the room.

  “Thanks for the free porno. Don’t you know they have the Internet for that shit and, like, I don't need to spy on you? I pretty much have access to whatever I want to watch, whenever I want to watch it. Live, and in person too. So… thanks, but no thanks.” I glare at him, shifting my tone. “So, what gives with the meeting?”

  He shrugs.

  “It wasn't me who called.” He adjusts the knot of his tie and looks over at the windows floor-to-ceiling, Los Angeles spilling out in front of us like oil. It’s a dirty gem, in an old setting. That’s the kind of ring Los Angeles is. A pawn shop engagement ring. Gritty and pretty and probably cursed.

  “No, you can’t go in there yet!” I hear the secretary outside shouting and the door bangs open.

  I spit out the words before I even mean to. “Well, look who the dog dragged in.”

  There he stands. Vincent King. I haven't seen him in, hell, I don't know, maybe ten years… maybe more. He left before I did.

  If I’m smirking, or if I look in any way amused, it’s because I want to kill him, and my body might be trying to deal with this new development. I glare at Everett.

  “Is this a fucking joke?”

  He stares back at me and then shrugs. “I'm not laughing. Are you?” he mutters.

  “Boys, boys.” That familiar voice, although it's worn down a bit with age since the last time I heard it, cuts through the ice in the room. He enters, in all his glory — but he looks… old. It shocks me how his cheeks have sunken in, how the salt-and-pepper in his hair has been blanketed in a near white-out. His shoulders are hunched low where they used to jut proudly north.

  But, here he is. Our lodestone, the albatross around my neck, the CEO of this godforsaken investment company: Lansing O’Connel.

  “Sit,” he says.

  All three of us remain standing. It’s even odds who’s going to go for who first. I’m pretty sure that I can take out Everett. Vince, though? Not so much. My emotions are gonna get the better of me with him. I’d better stay away — I don't need a scandal or stint in actual jail to ruin everything I've been working on.

  “I said, sit. That was not a request.” The elderly man stares at the three of us until, reluctantly, we take our seats. I'm not happy about it, but there's gotta be a good reason he dragged us here, knowing how much we all hate each other. How much we all want to literally kill each other.

  At least, I hope there is one.

  I take a drink of my coffee to hide how pissed off I am. I don't want them to know how much they get to me. How much I’m compromised by them — the way being in the same room as them is just begging to have me flip the goddamn conference table on its side. Thankfully, as I roll the warm cup in my palm and think about the fact my wallet is a Benny lighter, I remember the spicy coffee shop girl who… assaulted me this morning when I was nowhere near awake enough for a good comeback. It’s enough to bring a slight curl to my lips, for as briefly as that lasts.

  “So, the time has come.” The old tycoon’s silver hair glints in the harsh glow of the artificial light as he nods, sitting down himself at the table. He moves slowly, carefully, his antique joints clearly giving him trouble.

  “Are you gonna get to it?” Vince grumbles. “I don't got all day.”

  “I'm sorry, do you have a corner-store to rob? Some poor immigrant family’s business to set aflame?” Everett spits, and the two of them tense up. I exhale. It looks like Vince is about to launch himself across the table and strangle Everett right where he sits. You know, I wouldn’t put it past him, actually.

  Instead, the Colonel — at least, that's what we’ve always called him — bangs his fist down on the glass in a show of force I’m shocked didn’t shatter bone. That's when he notices a smear of skin oils across the pristine surface, right at the head of the table. He glares at Everett.

  “I told you to stop fucking women in here,” he snaps.

  Everett shrugs again. It's his signature move, and he’s good at it.

  With a shake of his head, the Colonel looks toward the screen, hits a few buttons on the remote, and up pops an organizational chart. There are four empty boxes at the top. Four empty titles, where normally his name would occupy one.

  “This is what this company will look like in three months’ time,” he says. “Me, gone. Golfing, hopefully. Not the other thing,” he adds quickly, before anyone can make a cheeky comment. “I would actually like to enjoy some of my retirement while I'm still alive enough to do so.”

  My eyes flick between the screen and the Colonel himself. That explanation doesn’t add up to four empty boxes at the head of the company’s hierarchy.

  “So, who's gonna be running this joint?” I ask. That's when I start to notice Everett scowling, staring at the chart on the screen, his face a mixture of shock and fury as it changes from pink to red to a color I’d definitely describe as purple.

  “Sure isn’t Ev, apparently,” says Vince with a sneer.

  The Colonel coughs. He hits a button and three of the boxes are instantly filled, each with one of our names. The fourth remains blank. That sets something on edge in the very back of my mind, like an object being pushed akilter. There was only ever supposed to be three of us. Three names on the door, three heirs to the throne, three potential new owners and operators of one of the biggest investment companies to ever come out of Los Angeles. Of America, with the right leadership.

  He must be staying on in some capacity. That's the only answer I can think of that makes any sense whatsoever. Unless one of his little cronies is taking his place… maybe we’ll all get to duke it out…

  Vince scoffs under his breath, interrupting mental images of me suplexing the same pencil-pushers who made my life hell a decade ago.

  “What the fuck is this,” he asks.
“You think I'm gonna put on a tie, come into work, have a corner office?” He looks at the three of us in turn. “Like some kinda sad desk jockey?”

  “Yeah, it’d be a real shame if you had to shower more then once every six months, is that how you keep escaping prison?” Everett curls his upper lip. “Oiling up gets you right through those pesky bars?”

  There's a vein on the Colonel’s forehead and it's pumping along with the flush of redness in his cheeks. I know he's about to blow off. We can’t help who we are, though. We definitely can't help hating each other. It's only natural and only normal. From the way we were raised, to who we are, to what we are.

  The three of us are as opposite as any three guys you meet could be. I'm the only good one, if you ask me — I work my ass off for what I have. Unlike Everett, who was given everything from day one, and Vincent, who’s a fucking petty thief just taking what he needs when he needs it. I work my fingers to the bone every goddamn day, and what do these assclowns do? Peddle drugs and knock over street food carts — and for one of ‘em, that ain’t a metaphor.

  I lean forward.

  “I don’t want it,” I say. “I have my own career, my own life. The literal last thing I need is to spend any more time doing time in this place. I’ve got my own money.”

  “Oh, and don't we just know it,” Vince says. “Riding around in your fucking stretch SUV. The fuck d’you think you are, Justin Bieber?”

  I glare at him. If he knew what I knew, he’d be shutting the fuck up before I reach over and end him with one hand.

  “So, how much time will you be taking off from the golf course to come visit us, if you're staying on to consult?” Everett asks pointedly, nodding up at the empty box on the far-right side of the chart. He’s come to all the same conclusions as me, and, like me, he’s also now choosing to ignore Vince. Probably for the best. It’ll only end in a brawl if we don’t.

  “When this agreement was originally reached by your parents,” the Colonel says, “each of you was to get 33.33%. However, I recognize that none of you would be willing to work with one another… after things played out the way they did.” He clears his throat. “And,” he adds quickly, “since the company was left to me to give to you, if you had earned it — if you deserved it — I decided that you needed some oversight to get the ball rolling.”

  I sit back in my chair and take another sip of coffee. Huh.

  “Doesn't matter to me. I’m never gonna set foot in this place again. Once I'm out here, I’m done. I’m gone. I’m fine to sell off my portion or whatever, cash out. Hell, give it to charity, I don’t give a fuck.” I savor being able to say those words, and the way the other two avoid looking at me.

  That’s right. I earned what I got, legally, above board, the whole shit. My stretch SUV? Paid for with my last album. Sure it’s extra, but I’ve got enough stashed away. I get plays, I get spins, and I sell merch while I’m sleeping. I’m good. I’m settled. And I don’t owe a dime to anybody.

  The colonel's next words threaten to change everything. “I'm stepping down,” he says, “and in my place I have found someone to take on 1% ownership. The remaining piece of the puzzle for this company. That person will be the tiebreaker for all decisions that the three of you cannot decide upon.”

  My gut goes cold. Decisions? I ask myself. I'm not making any decisions for this place, this shit-heap infested with maggots disguised as business men.

  He looks across the table at me specifically, raising an eyebrow.

  “The three of you will run this company together. There are tens of thousands of employees depending on you.” His smile turns sinister. “And I will do whatever it takes to turn you three into leaders who can work together.

  “I’ve got my career,” I remind him, pushing back from the table.

  His smile never wavers.

  “Do you?” he asks.

  There’s something in the way he says it makes me pause. What the fuck does that mean?

  “Yeah,” I say. “I'm not gonna be a corporate stooge like him.” I jerked my head towards Everett. “And if you think you're gonna make this motorcycle bro here in some kind of executive, you gotta be kidding yourself. What are you doing, micro-dosing psilocybin?” I get to my feet. “Get this through your head.” I point at the screen. “I want my name wiped. I left this place for a reason. I’m not a death merchant, and I’m not going to become one of you fucks, got it?”

  Lansing’s face is turning red, and he sputters. That thrills me. I never was this disrespectful as a kid, but maybe if I had been, things wouldn’t have gotten as bad as they did.

  Now I’m old enough to know better, and big enough to not let anybody fuck with me.

  I laugh and walk towards the door. Vince tenses as I walk by him and I sneer. As if I’d waste a second launching a punch at him.

  “Fuck you guys, see you never,” I say and with one boot, I kick the door open and stride right through it.

  Three

  Olivia

  Pay-day is probably the best day of the month. It's the one day that I can go out and get everything that I want to get and need. I mean, I don't get everything that I want. But at least I can get myself a little something. Maybe a chocolate bar or something else like that. Last month I got myself a new pillow-case. It’s the little things that count.

  This time though I’m not going to get a present for myself. Toby needs a gift. It's hard to be a cat living in an eight by ten room. But my bedsit is only about $700 a month, and it's pretty much what I can afford working at the coffee shop.

  I'm on my way home from the pet store when my phone rings. The only person who ever calls me is my boss so I pick up immediately. She really hates when I don't answer her calls right away. And I can't handle with her being passive aggressive toward me. My nerves are too raw.

  She's been more cheerful in the last little bit because she got that $100 from the tip that Kai Brooks gave me.

  But I still know I'm pretty close to being fired. I really don't know why she fucking hates me so much. It can’t be just the boyfriend’s t-shirt thing, right?

  “Hey,” I say on the phone sounding as happy as I possibly can. I guess answering Oh, it's you. Go fuck yourself, is probably a good way to actually get fired, even if that’s how I feel.

  “So this is going to surprise you, but I thought you could use a little pick me up,” she says, sounding sweet as pie at the other end of the line.

  I stop in my tracks and frown.

  Some guy passes me, giving me a weird look and I shuffle off to the side of the pavement to get out of the way of other pedestrians. I might be poor but I can still afford to have manners.

  “Okay. What do you mean by that. That's nice,” I say, trying not to sound suspicious. But I am suspicious.

  Nothing she can be giving me is good. Usually it's unpaid overtime. That's the only kind of present I ever get from her.

  “Well, it seems like our little coffee shop impressed him,” she says. “And we got tickets to a meet and greet with him.”

  I pause. Wait, what? As in…

  “Seriously,” I say, I don't even ask her who, because I know exactly who she's talking about. Those piercing blue eyes.

  They've haunted my dreams the last few nights. Kai Brooks, rockstar.

  It's one of those stupid little fantasies, you meet someone in a coffee shop, your hands touch, your eyes meet... all romance novels start that way.

  Not that I read a lot lately.

  I don't have much time anymore, between working and sleeping.

  I'm kind of just existing.

  “Are… you sure you’re talking about the right rockstar? And he’s talking about the right coffee shop?” I ask. The last I remember, I’d insulted him, and as much as he’d seemed to laugh it off and try to tip me with a hundy, that doesn’t exactly spell out do nice things for the coffee shop girl.

  “Oh it was definitely Kai Brooks who delivered the tickets. Or rather, his manager’s assistant’s assistant. Bu
t still…” She trails off quietly.

  “Mariah?” I ask her, my heart yanking at my pulse in my throat..

  “Yeah, and unfortunately it was gonna be on one of your days you had to work, but there was a little fire at the coffee shops so it looks like we're going to be closed down for a couple of weeks…” She bombs me with that and then continues on as if it isn’t that big of a deal beside the news stealing my breath away. “And I figured since you're going to be out of pay I may as well give you something nice like this meet and greet ticket. Of course you could sell it too, but I think… you should come.”

  I race through emotions faster than a hamster runs on a wheel in its cage.

  “The shop’s closed for a few weeks,” I say, the dread seeping into my voice.

  She laughs and there's a cruel hint to it.

  “Yeah. So you're going to be a little short on hours, obviously.”

  “Is everyone okay?” I ask.

  “Yeah everyone's fine. It's not a big deal. Just do you want this ticket or not because I could totally sell it.”

  There's something in the way she says it to me that sparks, a flame of fury inside my chest, she really doesn't want me to go.

  “You got two tickets right,” I ask.

  “Yeah, that's right,” she pauses. “My best friend was thinking about coming. If… you didn’t want to. But again, totally up to you.”

  And just like that, that tiny silver lining is being snatched right out of my hands.

  How much money do I have left in the bank? I look down at the bag that I'm carrying; it was only a few little mice for Toby, but it totaled $10.

  I can't return them.

  I don't want to. He deserves nice things too. I’m close to broke but…

  But I also don't want her to have the satisfaction of taking something from me either. And this meet ticket is… well, after the news my hours are being cut…

  “No, I want to go,” I say impulsively. I should sell the ticket. It makes financial sense to sell it to her friend or whatever. Plus do I really want to see Kai Brooks, up close and in person again after I’d basically told him to get fucked last week?