by Rye Hart
Terrance cleared his throat and opened a file on the desk in front of him. He pulled out a couple sheets of paper and slipped both Adam and myself a copy of Dad's last will and testament. Just seeing the words at the top of the page sent a jagged bolt of pain through my heart that I wasn't ready to deal with. “I'd encourage you two to look everything over,” Terrance said. “And if you have any questions, you can call me anytime. I'll help you through all the legalese and get you pointed in the right direction.”
Dad stood with mom's help. “That should be all, thank you Terrance,” he said. “Let me walk you out.”
The two men walked around the desk, and dad patted me on the back as he passed on the way to the door. Before he passed me completely though, he leaned close and whispered in my ear.
“It's about time you put a ring on that young lady's finger and a baby in her belly anyway,” he said and gave me a wink.
Danielle. He meant Danielle. Fuck me. He didn't know.
Dad and Terrance left the office, leaving the three of us alone. I sighed, running a hand through my hair, still not able to absorb everything that had just been said. Still not able to absorb the inevitability of my dad's impending death.
“Mom, he can't be serious.”
“Oh, but he is, Malcolm,” she said. “He's wanted grandchildren forever, but we figured he had plenty of time. Shows what we know. This diagnosis obviously changes everything.”
Granted, I'd always wanted children of my own. Someday. I'd assumed that one day, Danielle and I would get married and have a bunch of kids. That dream had come crashing down in a flaming heap around me though. There was no way I would ever produce a child with her after what she'd done. Not even if she begged me to take her back. Never again.
“Did you read the rest of the contract?” Adam said. “If we don't give the old man what he wants, we forfeit our right to any inheritance. And if one of us succeeds, the winner gets it all. The whole shebang.”
“But if you both succeed,” mom countered, glaring at Adam with open hostility, “you split everything fifty-fifty, with Malcolm getting ownership of Crane Enterprises, and Adam enough shares to be a controlling member.”
That was it. I slammed my fists down on the desk, anger and outrage coursing through me.
“You mean, I have to get a girl knocked up to take control of the company I've been working for my entire life?” I asked.
“Hush, we'll talk later,” mom said.
I opened my mouth to argue, but she stepped around the desk and took my hands in hers. She met my eyes and I knew she was trying to tell me something. Hell, she didn't even have to say the words, I knew what she was telling me.
I needed to do this. I needed to be the head of the company. It couldn't go into Adam's scheming little hands, not if we wanted my father's legacy to live on. If the company went to Adam, he'd destroy it. Piece by piece, he'd run the company my father built with his own two hands into the ground.
“There are other ways to have a child, one that doesn't involve love and marriage, Malcolm.”
Her voice was low and careful, her gaze steady on mine. Adam wasn't paying attention to us. He was reading the will, no doubt going through a mental list of names of women he could knock up. My mom cut a quick glance at him and then turned back to me, careful to keep her voice low.
“The woman does not need to be part of the family, Malcolm,” she said. “So, you can – ”
“Knock some girl up you meet in the bar,” Adam said, leaning against Dad's desk casually. “Easy peasy if you ask me. I should have an ankle biter running around for the old man in no time.”
I cringed, and my mom scowled, a look of pure hatred on her face when she looked at Adam. But, I had to give her credit – she stayed quiet. She didn't counter Adam's obnoxiousness in the least and bit back the scathing replies I knew were on the tip of her tongue.
Instead of lashing out at him, she continued speaking to me, “Surrogacy is also an option. Your father just wants grandchildren to carry on his name and legacy,” she said. “We can look into agencies for you.”
I nodded, but my insides were churning, and I felt like they were eating me alive. I was going to be a father, sooner than I'd ever imagined. Sooner than I wanted. By surrogacy or some other method, I was going to have a baby.
There was no way I could let my legacy, my company – everything I worked my ass off for all these years – to fall into the hands of another. Especially somebody so reckless and irresponsible as my brother; somebody who didn't know the company the way I did. Somebody who didn't care about it the way I did.
He might have been my brother, and he was owed his inheritance by right of his birth, but I'd worked for my father since I was fifteen years old, sacrificing so much, so that I could stand at the head of this company. There was no way in hell I was going to let someone take that away from me just because he could impregnate some random woman.
“I got this, mom,” I said.
My voice sounded calmer than I felt. I gave her hand a quick squeeze before picking up the documents, and ushered her out of the room, leaving me alone with Adam. He seemed smug, arrogant, and overly confident. He was smirking as we left my dad's office. Danielle stood up as we walked down the hall and stepped into the parlor, and she walked over to me.
I walked by her, not even listening to what she had to say. My mother fell into step beside me, leaving Danielle in the parlor with Adam.
CHAPTER TWO
CASEY
“Yo, Casey, can you hand me that glass over there?” Tommy called out from behind the bar. “Guess someone forgot to wash it last night.”
“Sorry, we were here late,” I called. “What do ya want from us?”
My eyes were heavy with sleep and my body ached in places I'd forgotten it could ache. It felt like I'd just gotten off my last shift, and there I was again. The money was good, but the hours sucked. My feet hurt like hell and my shift was just beginning. Yeah, this was going to be one fun night.
“Chill, darling,” he said, grinning at me, holding his hands up in surrender. “Didn't mean it that way.”
“Yeah, well, I'm exhausted,” I said. “Sorry if I'm a little bitchy tonight.”
I handed him the glass and his fingers touched mine as he reached out to take it, sending a little electric charge through my body. Tommy must've felt it too because he winked at me. Being the son of the owner came with major benefits – like working only when you wanted to, not to mention getting breaks and shit the rest of us didn't get.
He also had his dad's rugged good-looks, which paid off pretty well when he worked behind the bar. Strong jaw, dark hair, and pale gray eyes. He was a man who could make the panties drop with minimal effort. The problem was, he knew it too. The cocky bastard.
“You know, one of these days, after the bar closes, we should – ”
I held up my hand and cut him off right there. I knew what he's going to ask, and the answer was always the same. A resounding no.
“You know I can't,” I said.
“Because you work too damn much.”
“Bills don't pay themselves, Tommy,” I said. “And I don't have a rich daddy to take care of me and pay my way.”
“But if you play your cards right, you could have a sugar daddy,” he said, tipping me a wink.
I snorted with laughter, nearly doubling over from it. Tommy wasn't so impressed, and his face darkened. He wasn't a man who liked to be laughed at. No, he was a man who wanted to be fawned over and adored. He wanted to be held up and admired.
Oh well, life, as they say, is a bitch.
“Sorry, it's just – you're cute and all, but Tommy, you can't be a sugar daddy when you're living off your parents,” I said. “That's not how it works, kid.”
I turned and walked away, still chuckling to myself. I could feel Tommy's gaze on my ass. I gave my hips a little extra swish just to tease him.
“Who you calling 'kid'?” he called after me.
He was r
ight. He wasn't much younger than me, but it felt like we were separated by decades. That's what happened when one person had to live in the real world and the other person got to live and party like he was still in college. Not that I was bitter or anything.
Sometimes it was easy to forget that I was only twenty-three myself. Some days, I felt more like I was forty-three; worrying about a mortgage, making sure my siblings had clothes and food, paying all the bills. It took a toll on me. Tommy might have only been a year younger than I was, but life experience-wise, he had a long, long way to go before he caught up with me.
“Hey, chica,” Raya called out to me, her long, hennaed hair falling down around her bare shoulders. “How was it last night?”
“Boring without you here,” I said, playfully punching her in the arm.
She was off the clock still, sitting at one of the booths. Her feet were up on the seat and she moved them away, motioning for me to sit down. I was still technically off the clock too, for five more minutes, anyway, so I joined her. She was munching on some celery and what looked like some disgusting orange mush, and it smelled strongly of garlic, which was almost a blessing since it covered up the strong patchouli scent wafting off her. Almost.
Neither scent was particularly pleasant. But, that was Raya. Take her or leave her.
“What in the hell is that?” I asked, scrunching up my face.
She pushed the container over to me, and I pushed it right back.
“It's hummus,” she said with a laugh, and when that explanation didn't help, she continued, “Chickpeas with some garlic and tahini.”
I looked at her blankly. She might as well have been speaking Chinese to me. She scoffed and rolled her eyes.
“You've seriously never had hummus?” she asked as if I'd just told her I'd never seen a car before.
“Sorry, I'm not familiar with vegan foods,” I said. “I mean, if that actually qualifies as food.”
“It's not just for vegans, silly,” she said, dipping a piece of celery into the mush and holding it in front of me, making pretend airplane sounds like parents do with a toddler. “Try it. You know you want to.”
I shook my head. “No thanks, it's a hard pass,” I said. “I think I'm allergic to chickbeans.”
“Chickpeas, silly. Not chickbeans – oh, whatever, more for me,” she said, munching on the celery loudly, a wide, goofy smile on her face.
“Working in the back again tonight, eh?” I asked.
“How can you tell?”
I motioned to her attire. Instead of the typical waitress uniform – which consisted of a short black skirt and a white crop top – Raya was wearing a maxi skirt and a sleeveless shirt. Which meant there was no way she was working the front of the house.
“Yeah, after I protested about the uniform, they shoved me to the back,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Typical patriarchal bullshit. But at least I still have a job, so there's that.”
“You'd prefer to wash dishes over wearing this uniform?”
“Hell yeah,” she said with a laugh. “I don't need to be eye candy for thirsty, handsy men to pay my bills.”
“If only all of us had that option,” I muttered.
Dishwashing might pay Raya's bills, who like Tommy, had parents who could help her out – and often did. The real money in this place, however, came from tips – which you only made if you were working out here on the floor.
Raya's newfound distaste for skimpy clothing came only recently, when the owners decided the wait staff needed to show even more skin than we had before. They'd switched out our regular tops, which weren't exactly conservative to begin with, for crop tops and shortened the skirts by several inches, making it impossible to bend down without showing off your panties. Which, was probably the idea. Gotta keep the men drinking and gawking at us.
That was when Raya moved to the back of the house and got stuck washing dishes. I couldn't say that I blamed her some nights. I often felt like a piece of meat by the end of my shift. Not to mention the fact that some of the damn grope-monkeys who came through the door thought the price of a beer entitled them to a little squeeze of my ass. Yeah, no thank you.
The trouble was, I needed the tip money. It was the only way I was going to keep things afloat on my end. So, as much as I would have loved to have told the owner to take his crop tops and micro-skirts, and shove them, I didn't have that luxury.
“So, did Mr. Handsome come in last night?” Raya cooed, munching on another piece of celery.
“That rich guy, you mean?”
“Uh yeah, the one who only has eyes for you, girly.”
“He doesn't have eyes for me.” I rolled my eyes. “He has a girlfriend. She's even come in with him a few times.”
“Doesn't mean he's not into you.”
“Sorry, not into that free love, polyamory thing,” I said. “And I highly doubt his girlfriend is either. She seemed like the possessive, bunny-boiling type to me.”
“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. “Free love is a beautiful thing. You don't know what you're missing, babe.”
We both looked at our phones at the same time.
“Shit,” I grumbled. “It's time to clock in.”
“Here's to another night in hell,” Raya mumbled.
You could say that again.
~ooo000ooo~
“Hey, hot stuff, here's your drinks,” Tommy said, pushing a tray of cocktails toward me.
“Thanks, Tommy.”
I would have grumbled about being called ‘hot stuff’ and put him in his place, but at the moment, I had bigger things to worry about. Like the group of men who'd just sauntered in and were getting a little handsy with the waitresses.
A tall man with no neck grabbed Sasha's ass, and then looked over at me with pure lust in his eyes. He looked familiar, and while I couldn't place him, I knew he was famous for one thing or another. His entourage parted like the Red Sea as I walked over with the drinks they'd ordered – originally from Sasha.
I took over the group for her when I found her hiding behind the bar, nearly in tears. Sasha was just a petite little girl, too shy for her own good. She couldn't handle a rowdy group of guys groping her. No one should have to, but, some of us were able to handle it better than others. Some of us knew how to put them in their places.
“Vodka tonic?” I called out, handing out the orders from the tray of drinks in my hand.
They'd moved over to a private table, clearing the middle of the bar they'd been clogging before, and proved what I suspected – the guy with no neck was someone I should know. Or at least, somebody I should've heard of.
“Charles, I think that's yours,” No Neck called out. “I had a scotch on the rocks.”
“Yes, sir, right here,” I grabbed the drink from the tray and handed it over to him.
“Where's Sasha?” he asked, meeting my gaze with a cocky-ass grin I want to smack off his dumb looking face.
“She's on break,” I lied, feigning a smile. “So, you have me now.”
“That's fine with me,” No Neck said, giving me a once over, his eyes sliding up and down my body so intently I could almost feel the touch. “I like curvy brunettes as much as I like petite blondes.”
As he spoke, he reached out and stroked my dark brown hair, twirling it around his thick fingers. Everything about this guy was huge. From his chest to his hands, he was one of the largest, most muscular men I'd ever seen in real life. He was like a paler version of the Incredible Hulk or something.
I ignored his comment, moved my head so I could get his fingers out of my hair, and returned to handing out the drinks to his party.
No Neck asked, “What's your name?”
“Casey,” I answered.
“Do you know who I am, Casey?”
I smiled sweetly, placing the now empty tray down on the table, and faced No Neck.
“I assume you're someone important. Probably someone who thinks very highly of himself,” I said. “But I have a feeling you're goi
ng to tell me exactly who you are.”
The guys around him laughed uncomfortably. One patted him hard on the back.
“She got you, Johnny-boy,” he beamed.
No Neck, otherwise known as Johnny, cringed. As he looked at me, he clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together. I turned to leave, but he grabbed hold of my arm, forcing me to turn back around and meet his gaze. He was clearly not amused by my antics.
“I'm Jon Lincoln,” he hissed. “Does that name ring a bell, now?”
“Ah yes, it does,” I said, slipping my arm free from his grasp. I smiled, leaning toward him. “I've read all about you.”
Jon Lincoln was a football player, for either the Rams or the Chargers – one of the LA teams. I couldn't keep them straight. Honestly, I never really cared for football. I just knew the name. More than that though, I knew his reputation, and it wasn't a good one.
I knew I should stop myself. Knew I should have just walked away right then and there. But, the little devil that sat on my shoulder – I'm relatively certain he killed the angel because there was no balance there – egged me on. My mouth was open, and the words were falling out before I could even think to stop them.
“I hear you like to beat women, Johnny-boy,” I said. “A big, strong man like you against your five-foot-three fiancé? No wonder she ended up in ICU. You must be very proud of yourself for handling such a big threatening girl like that.”
His face dark with rage, Jon stood up, nearly knocking the table over with him as he moved. He was at least six-foot-five, if not taller, and had at least two hundred pounds on me. He could have crushed me like a grape with one hand if he wanted to. But, if there's one thing I don't do, I don't back down.
Men like him don't scare me. Especially in public. As I stared up at the mammoth man, not flinching, and not giving an inch of ground, a voice called to me from behind. My boss.
“Casey, come here, will ya?”
I winked at Jon and his friends, “Sorry, I have to get back to work,” I said. “I don't make millions of dollars playing a game.”