Cocky Prince

by Jules Barnard

  “He harasses me.”

  Mira’s face scrunches in disbelief.

  “He argues with me nonstop,” I add.

  “That’s not harassment,” she points out.

  “It makes me want to throw a stapler at his head, so I consider it pretty darn harassing.”

  Mira balls up her napkin and spins her legs over the metal picnic-style bench, which causes every male head to swivel in her direction. “I’m just saying, in addition to your background check on Blackwell, be…a little more open to a friendship with Adam. He’s a resource you’ve yet to tap.”

  “Tap?” What exactly does she want me to do with him?

  She rolls her eyes. “Poor choice of words. You know what I mean.”

  I dab the corners of my mouth with my napkin and stand. “I’ll try. But I make no promises. If he bugs me enough to consider strangling his handsome neck, I will not be held accountable for murder.”

  She chuckles. “You two. You should have gotten a room months ago.”

  Get a room? Is she crazy? “I don’t care how good-looking Adam is; he drives me nuts. I’ll remind you when disaster strikes that this was your suggestion.”

  She grins. “This should be interesting.”

  After parting ways with Mira in the Blue cafeteria, I head to my office, speed-walking past Adam’s door, just in case he’s out loitering. I said I would try. I didn’t say it would begin today.

  I’m a few steps past his office when I hear my name called. My shoulders slump. I groan quietly and turn around.

  “Do you have a moment?” Adam asks, his hands tucked into his suit pants, coat opened to a dress shirt stretched over an athletic chest and trim waist.

  I am strong. I can do this.

  Maybe Mira is right. Maybe now is the perfect time to start being more civil toward Adam. I plaster a smile on my face. “Sure, what’s up?”

  Adam’s eyes widen marginally. Okay, so maybe that was a little too cheery compared to my normal demeanor around him.

  “I thought you might want to know that I found an assistant. I hired her this morning. She’s ideal.”

  The glint in his eyes can’t be a good sign. I saw Adam last night. How the hell did he find and hire someone in a few hours? “She?”

  “She.”

  “How did you recruit her?”

  “Let’s just say she’s a customer service professional. She’ll be perfect in hospitality.”

  Civil, friendly, I remind myself. “Well, congratulations. I look forward to meeting her.” My civility has its limits. “But you know, you haven’t won the bet yet. We agreed on two weeks. If she’s still here after that, then we can talk.”

  He grins, but his eyes narrow. “You can’t fire her, Hayden. That would nullify our deal.”

  I turn and continue walking down the hall, saying over my shoulder, “Oh no, that’s your job.”

  Chapter Seven

  Adam

  All is going according to plan. I hired an assistant faster than I thought I would, and the girl’s perfect—exactly as Paul and William indicated. A perfect ten for sure, but she’s also mercenary as hell. She grilled me on salary before I’d even offered her the position. She’s got to be good if she negotiates like that.

  I rinse the pasta I started after I got home from work, and turn off the burner that’s heating the sauce. Most of the time, I grab takeout, but sometimes even that’s a pain in the ass. Over the years, I’ve taught myself to cook the basics. A particular skill my brothers, as self-sufficient as they claim to be, enjoy taking advantage of by stopping by unannounced around dinnertime.

  I put out a place setting and crank up SportsCenter, preparing to dive into a mountain of pasta and sports highlights, when the doorbell rings.

  Jesus, how do my brothers always know? Their sense of timing is uncanny.

  I mute the TV and cross the great room to the front door. Only, it’s not one of my brothers.

  “Are you Adam?” The woman standing on my porch is wearing heavy makeup and so many sparkles near her ears, breasts, and shoes that I’m momentarily blinded.

  I glance at her friend—a brunette with a black choker and painted red lips. Both women are in mile-high heels and dresses that delve just below the sweet spot of their thighs. I’m pretty sure I could guess cup sizes as well, with the view I have.

  “Sure, I’m Adam. What can I do for you?”

  “Paul sent us.” Blondie rattles off Paul’s last name and description. “He told us to show you a good time tonight. Of course, if the cops ask, his name wasn’t Paul and he was a tall Viking-looking guy.” She grins in a kittenish manner and pulls out a velvet drawstring pouch. “He wanted me to give you this. Said you’d love it.”

  I take the pouch and peer inside—at a sealed bag of white powder.

  Fuck. Leave it to the jackasses I work with to send over prostitutes and cocaine.

  I get it that Paul and William are happy I’m on board, but this is going above and beyond. In fact, it screams of some kind of test.

  If this were a true celebration of my promotion, Paul and William would be here. This is something else. I’m not exactly sure what it is, but turning these girls away would be a bad move. Knowing Paul, he’ll take it as a personal insult. And if this is a test, I can’t fail. I need their confidence if I want bonuses that will cover the income I receive from the family fortune.

  I grin and step aside. “Come on in, ladies. Make yourselves at home.” I pull out my phone and shoot off a quick text message.

  The women walk in, and they do make themselves at home. And I mean really at home. They take off their dresses and bare themselves down to sequined bras and G-strings.

  I pour glasses of wine, discreetly checking the time. I keep my expression bland and friendly.

  The brunette with the black choker walks over. I reach to hand her a glass, but instead of taking the wine, she palms me. A spark of life that can’t be helped occurs below. I’ve been celibate for I don’t know how long. Months? Too long.

  My smile is confident. “Why don’t you have a seat at the table? You can join me for dinner.”

  Blondie eyes the bulge in my pants from across the island. “I see my serving right here.”

  “Me too,” says Choker Girl, inching closer.

  “Ladies, what kind of gentleman would I be if I took you straight to bed?”

  “A normal one.” Choker Girl giggles, which comes out warped, given she’s painted up like a naughty Elvira.

  Checking my phone beneath the counter, I grab one of the plates of pasta. “Well, call me old-fashioned. Besides, you’ll need the energy.” I wink and hand the plate to Blondie before grabbing the other one and checking my cell again, even though I just did two seconds ago. I pass the food to Choker Girl, who’s sitting now.

  This time, she reaches around and palms my ass. “Maybe we don’t want old-fashioned.”

  I gotta give her props for assertiveness.

  Holding the plate between us, I don’t budge. She pouts and finally takes it.

  I move to my end of the table, and just as I drop into my seat, the door swings open. Well, bursts is more like it. My wayward youngest brother throws it open so hard it crashes into the opposite wall.

  I sigh and shake my head. Hunt’s chest is rising and falling, his breaths heavy. By the disheveled look of his hair and half-tucked shirt, I’m guessing he didn’t waste time looking in the mirror before he headed over.

  Hunt’s gaze homes in on the half-naked women at my table, and he fingers his hair back. “Well, hello there, ladies.”

  Hunt lives up to his name, and aren’t I happy he does? I’m not interested in entertaining these women, though I can’t very well send them on their way and fail Paul’s test. But my slut of a brother would be happy to oblige.

  “Right on time. Ladies, this is my brother, Hunter. He’s very friendly, and he enjoys spending time with beautiful women.”

  Blondie licks her lips and strips my baby brother bare with
her gaze. “Yummy.” If I didn’t know Hunt ate women like her for lunch, I might worry about him.

  Hunt kicks off his shoes, because he knows I don’t like his dirty shit in my house, and saunters over. “Tell me your names.”

  Choker Girl uses her trademark gesture and palms him, which my slutty baby brother leans into, cupping the breast she’s blatantly shoved beneath his nose. Blondie stands and rubs on him from behind. Hunt reaches back and grabs her bare ass cheek… And this is my cue to leave.

  I pound my red, grab a small box from the junk drawer, and exit the dining room, heading for the bathroom. Once inside, I pull out the velvet pouch and dump the white powder into the toilet. I flush three times to make sure it’s all gone, then pull out a match from the small box and burn the plastic bag over the toilet, flushing that next.

  I collapse onto the covered toilet seat and wait until I can’t hear talking. But even then, I wait. No talking means other things, and I’m hoping my slut of a brother has the common sense to take that shit into the spare bedroom. I give him another minute or two.

  Hunter is the brother with no shame. Not that the others haven’t whored themselves out, myself included, come to think of it—I was a Club Tahoe cabana boy, after all. Hunt just took our errant ways to a new level of depravity.

  I texted him as soon as the girls arrived, but he surpassed my expectations and arrived within a few minutes. Must have driven like the wind.

  I lean forward, forearms on my knees. This better not be a mistake, passing off the women on Hunt. Oh, I’m not worried about my brother. He’ll be thanking me tomorrow. I’m more concerned about what Paul will think. Sleeping with the women he sent holds no interest for me. I’m not a cabana boy anymore. My tastes have refined since then.

  After a few minutes, I peek out the bathroom door to an empty living room. This is ridiculous, hiding in my own house… And yet I walk out silently, and sneak past the kitchen.

  The fact that I can’t see my brother or the women doesn’t mean they aren’t still here. In fact, the closer I get to the living room, the louder the thumping sounds come from down the hall. At least Hunt didn’t use the master bedroom. I would have to kill him slowly when I saw him next.

  With the women occupied and the coke disposed of, I grab my keys and escape the hell out of my house. The night air is warm as I jog down the stairs to the dock. The place I’ve been renting over the last year costs me an arm and a leg, but being able to take out the Chaparral whenever I want is worth it. And now seems like a good time, with my brother and two prostitutes defiling my home.

  I unhitch the boat from the dock and climb on board, reaching for a windbreaker inside the bow storage. I start the motor and cruise past the no-wake zone.

  My home is on the eastern shore, slightly north of the California/Nevada border. I steer south, the blocky neon outlines of the casinos coming into view against the night mountain backdrop.

  Paul never struck me as an upstanding citizen, but I’m redefining my opinion of him by the minute. The guy is bad news, but bad news or not, I need him. And I need Blue Casino.

  As long as no one gets hurt, how wrong can all of this be? So Blackwell wants me to hire a few less-than-discerning individuals to fill positions for the new venture. Who am I to judge?

  I can do this.

  I glance up at the patchwork of stars. Out here, I am no one and anyone I want to be. Out here, away from the world, the pressure drains. I can separate myself from my family, from my work, from everything.

  And for the first time, it’s not enough. I want more, and that scares the hell out of me.

  I roll out of bed the next morning and throw on a T-shirt and jeans. The women and Hunt were still here after I returned from my boat ride, but glancing out the front window, I only see the girls’ sports convertible. A nice sports convertible. Paul wasn’t playing around. He paid good money for these women.

  Shaking my head, I make it into the kitchen. Better scramble some eggs. The disappointment will go over easier if the women have been fed.

  Minutes later, the ladies roll out, their faces less made up than the night before, hair a bit worse for the wear. I’ve never heard of a prostitute staying the night. Which goes to show the effect Hunt has on women. Bastard.

  Blondie looks around. “Where’s your brother?”

  I dish eggs onto two plates. “Gone. You take your coffee with milk?”

  The women glance at each other. “Gone?” Choker Girl asks, minus the choker this morning, a desolate look on her face. “He left without saying goodbye?”

  Perfect. Hunter breaks even call girls’ hearts. “Were you hoping for his number?” I ask dryly.

  The women reluctantly sit at the bar and pick at the breakfast I’ve set out.

  “Just so we’re clear,” I say as I refill their coffee, “you had an excellent time last night, correct?”

  “Oh yes.” Blondie’s eyes are dreamy. “Your brother is a god in bed.”

  I cringe. “Yeah, I don’t need to hear that.” I pull out the stack of bills I grabbed from my nightstand before I came out. “If anyone asks, your services were utilized and most welcome. Are we clear?”

  Blondie’s eyes narrow. “You don’t want Paul to know you didn’t sleep with us.”

  I smile. “Smart girl.”

  “Are you gay?” Choker Girl asks, taking a bite of her food, eyes curious but without judgment.

  I chuckle. “Uh, that would be a no.” In fact, there’s one woman who’s speared her pointy heels into my chest and is becoming a pain in my ass.

  I should have taken these women up on their offer last night, considering I’m not interested in strings, especially strings with strong emotions. And anything with Hayden would be intense. I don’t need or want that.

  The women finish their breakfast, and fortunately, there’s no need for me to usher them out. They grab their purses and head for the door.

  Blondie turns back. “Next time Hunter wants to party, tell him to call Celia. I left my number in the back pocket of his jeans.”

  I raise my eyebrow. “You knew he wouldn’t be here in the morning?”

  She shrugs with a light smile. “Guys like him don’t stick around. But they do come back for seconds.” And with that, she and her friend leave.

  Chapter Eight

  Hayden

  I jam a handful of chocolate-covered peanuts in my mouth and eat through my stress. I’ve found jack shit after searching the casino, but scrolling through the online news releases on my laptop, my feet nestled in fuzzy socks, I’ve come across articles on Blackwell’s past that paint an interesting story.

  Joseph Blackwell, heir to the Blackwell real estate fortune, uses his San Francisco connections to make a name for himself in Lake Tahoe real estate.—The Lake Tahoe Merchant

  * * *

  Joseph Blackwell, heir and owner of the Season Hotel in San Francisco, has lunch with his godfather and Mexican businessman Jose De la Cruz. De la Cruz has been linked to drug trafficking, but never convicted.—The San Francisco Tribune

  Right, linked. That’s the media’s way of saying, We’re pretty sure he’s a psychotic drug lord, but since he’s so clever at not being caught, we have no hard evidence. It’s not a direct hit, but then again, I didn’t think I’d find one, or Blackwell wouldn’t be our CEO. Mira and the others are on their way over to talk about where to go from here, and this gives me something to show them.

  Maybe Blackwell isn’t running some kind of drug and prostitute ring at Blue. Maybe it’s this De la Cruz guy? As I ponder the connection, a face appears on the other side of the window right next to my head.

  “Helloooo,” Mira says through the screen, cackling.

  I jump back, nearly falling off the couch. “Holy shit.” I hold my laptop precariously with the tips of my fingers as I brace myself between the couch and the coffee table, catching my breath.

  I carefully set the computer on the table and scramble to open the front door. Mira is bent over lau
ghing and clinging to a large paper bag. “Not funny,” I say. “You could have given me a heart attack. I should fire you for that.” There’s absolutely no truth to my words, but dammit, she gets me every time!

  She straightens, a look of innocence on her face. “Hayden, you love me. You’d never fire me.”

  Mira enters the house, followed by Gen, Lewis, and Tyler. “You do make life easier at Blue,” I agree. And she’s right; I love her like a sister.

  When I returned to Lake Tahoe, the house I grew up in felt smaller, but with the guys filing in, it’s bursting at the seams. Lewis’s head is only a few inches below the low-beamed wood ceiling, and standing shoulder to shoulder, Lewis and Tyler might actually be able to touch the walls on either side.

  My parents originally bought this place as a starter house. After a few years, they loved it so much we stayed. And with only one child, two bedrooms never became a problem. But that’s not the case with two overgrown men and their girlfriends inside. Any minute now, we’re going to be bouncing into each other like pinballs if I don’t put these guys somewhere.

  “Have a seat.” I gesture to the small L-shaped sectional next to the wood-burning stove my dad installed when I was five.

  Lewis and Tyler take up the couches, and Mira, who’s been here before, heads for the galley kitchen I remodeled six months ago. I hear her clanking around in the refrigerator. When she returns, she’s juggling cans of beer and handing them out. I take a seat in the rocking chair across from the guys.

  Gen pops the top of her can and sits on the arm of the couch Lewis’s large body is taking up. “I spoke to my dad today.” Gen’s famous ex-quarterback dad was instrumental in getting Drake Peterson behind bars after her attack. “His lawyers say that unless we have more evidence against the casino or Blackwell, we can’t do anything. Which is pretty much what we already knew. I can’t believe Blackwell has managed to keep the relocation of those suites a secret. It’s been weeks since Drake’s conviction.” She nudges Lewis with her elbow. “Can’t you tap into the security cameras while you’re working on electrical or something?”