by Gigi Black
I huffed out a breath and headed for the concrete front steps. I let myself in and was greeted by the tinkle of the bell on Mr. Piddlywump’s collar. I bent and scratched under his chin, receiving purrs from the ginger in return. He bumped his head against my palm.
“Hey,” I whispered. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”
“That you, Nut?” My father’s voice croaked from the living room. Blue light flashed from the open doorway.
He sat in his recliner, a tartan blanket half on and off his lap. He was pale, his cheeks gaunter than they should’ve been, and his smile was… not the joyful one I’d grown up with. Gone was the man who had lifted me on his shoulders, played the guitar for me, taken me to dance recitals.
This man, Frank McCutcheon, was ill. Wasting away.
“Hey, Daddy.” I walked over and kissed him on the forehead. “Thought you’d be sleeping by now.”
“Staying up for a special.” He pointed to the TV. “Besides, I couldn’t sleep till you got in, Nut.” It was his special name for me. Short for “hazelnut.”
“You don’t have to wait up for me.” I shot him a small smile. “Can I get you anything, Pop? Something to drink? I can make that tea you like.”
“Naw, naw, I’m good.”
I gave him one last kiss on the head then headed for the hall—it was time to wallow in the bath and forget about Damien and the horror of the day. I would worry about Kara, but it was pointless. My sister wouldn’t let me baby her, even though she was younger by a couple minutes.
“The deal went through,” my dad said, as I reached the doorway.
I froze, a shock of relief and sorrow passing over me in waves.
“They’re giving me what I need,” he replied, “to pay the hospital bills.” A silence. “I’m sorry, Nut. I know running the café was your dream. I’ve let you down.”
“No, Dad.” I turned, forcing a too-bright smile. “No way. I’m glad you sold it. If it means you can get the treatment you need… That’s amazing. I’m so happy. You can go back to Dr. Mathew now.”
He let out a sigh that carried the weight of years spent working toward a future for his children and seeing it taken away. The cancer had eaten it away. Eaten all the funds through hospital bills and doctors’ visits, just as it had eaten away my father’s body.
“Dad,” I said, slowly. “Dad, I can make more money. I can open a restaurant. Your health is more important than memories and sentimentality.” And my childish dreams of running our family café and turning it into the place I’d remembered.
“Thanks, Nut.” He held my gaze for a second, his eyes watering, his balding head shining in the light from the TV. “You go rest. You work too hard.”
I gave him one last sweet smile before rounding the corner and heading for my bedroom, my heart threatening to tear into millions of little pieces. It was gone. McCutcheon’s was gone. Just like Mom was gone. Like my dreams were gone. Like…
Stop. Be positive. You’re going to get through this. Dad is going to get through this. You’re not going to lose him or anything else.
I let Piddlywump follow me into the room then shut the door and pressed my back to it. For the first time in years, I fetched the old shoebox from the top shelf in my closet. I brought it to my bed, sat down and popped the lid.
Memories yelled for attention, but I brushed aside the old letters, a hairband, dried flowers, and pictures until I found the Polaroid I’d been looking for.
It was worn with age and being touched, folded, and once, crumpled and thrown across the room.
Damien stared out at me from the picture, his arm around my neck, the cocky grin he’d worn as a badge of honor on full display as he snapped the one and only picture I had of us together. The one he’d taken on the day he’d snatched up my virginity and my heart.
I tucked it back into the box, snorting at myself, then carried it back to my closet and squirreled it away.
Nothing but a faded memory.
3
Damien
Hazel had wedged herself in my mind, wormed under my skin, stuck me like a fucking emotional splinter. Jesus, it was like the woman had magical powers. I’d whacked off to the thought of bending that sweet ass over the coffee table and going to town on her wet, pink pussy.
Just the thought of it sent a thrill through my balls. My cock rolled over in my suit pants, and I forced myself to think of anything else. Grandma, grapes and mayonnaise, my father. Ah! That worked.
My father killed the mood like a bullet to the brain, which was part of the reason my mind was wandering to more pleasant things right now. I was in the glass elevator in Woods Enterprises’ office building, heading up to Mortimer’s corporate den of snakes and ladders.
Except all the ladders led down into the pits of hell.
Maybe I’ll call Hazel. That’ll piss him off.
My father wanted me to focus on work and nothing else—a punishment for the shitty behavior in my past. He’d tried turning me into his corporate drone and had failed miserably.
The elevator dinged and the doors peeled back, revealing a polished wood floor that led toward his receptionist’s massive desk. Seriously, she looked like the only person who’d turned up to the Last Supper. Jesus included.
Maybe that was because the devil waited behind the gilded doors.
I strolled out, tucking my hands into my pants pockets, and the receptionist looked up. I’d already forgotten her name, but she was Karen in my mind. Blonde hair clipped close to her severe jawline, skinny and tall, young and pretty. Just as my father liked them.
“Good morning, Mr. Woods,” she purred. “How are you today?” She leaned over, presenting her cleavage through the gap in her button up blouse.
I ignored the blatant flirting. “He alone?”
“Your father has a previous appointment before yours,” Karen replied, squishing her tits together for all she was worth and fluttering her eyelashes at me. “Why don’t you take a seat?” She gestured to the two remarkably uncomfortable chairs off to one side—egg-shaped white things that looked like a mixture between modern art and the type of toy kids fished out of value meals.
“Hard pass,” I replied and walked past her desk for the doors to hell.
I opened them and entered.
My dad wasn’t on a conference call or in a meeting. Thankfully, he wasn’t boinking one of his assistants either. He sat behind the desk in his executive chair—no eggs for him—cutting an imposing figure.
He was tall, but not as tall as me, with a crop of silver hair, a salt-and-pepper beard, and sharp blue eyes. He wore a suit and pored over papers on his desk, finger and thumb pinching his chin.
“You called?” I said.
He didn’t look up but turned a page. “Your manners haven’t improved. I hoped sending you to France would instill some culture in you.”
“Wrong again, Mortimer.” I hadn’t called him “Dad” since I was a kid.
He sniffed and turned a page. “If you’re not going to take this meeting seriously, leave.”
I turned on my heel and walked for the door.
“Damien,” he snapped. “You know that wasn’t a serious request.”
“A man can dream,” I replied, facing him again. “Why am I here?” I brushed off the sleeves of my suit jacket. “I was busy with something.”
“Drinking? Drugs? Women?”
“Try all three.” Lies. I didn’t touch drugs. And women? That was an occasional fling. Nothing that truly sated my sexual appetite, but I was too lazy to pursue women for long, not when there were more important matters to attend to.
In truth, I’d spent my “time away” in France working on a business idea my father would never approve of. As the founder of Woods Enterprises and one of its board members, he had the final say over which businesses we bought, when, and why, and funding my idea wouldn’t fly.
I planned on using the money in my trust fund and that I’d inherited to separate myself from my father for good.
“You’re a failure.”
“Mortimer,” I said, walking over to the significantly smaller chair in front of his desk. “Stop it. You’re making me tear up.” I gripped the back of the chair and sent him my signature shit-eating grin. It was the one thing I did that annoyed him more than anything else—not giving a shit about his disapproval.
But my father didn’t go red in the face or slam his fists on the desks today. He offered me a small, tight smile. “The next month is going to be the most important one of your life. If you make the right choices, you will reap the rewards, but if you continue failing as I know you will… well, then—” He cut off and picked up the phone on his desk. He pressed a button on its sleek black platform. “Melanie? Is he here yet?” A pause. “Then send him.”
I was intrigued for once. I was used to my father’s idle, bullshit threats, but this was different. Was he calling in a companion to try to shame me? It wouldn’t work.
The office door opened, and my brother entered. Seth was the older of my two brothers, but younger than me. Blonde, blue-eyed, similar in height and stature to my father—a successful pilot, still wearing his uniform.
“Father,” he said, walking over to the desk. He put out a hand, and they shook. “It’s good to see you.” Seth turned to me and gave me a brotherly hug. I grinned and patted his back.
“Good to see you, bro.” It had been too long, but all three of us had been busy the past couple years.
“It’s been too long.”
“That’s enough,” Mortimer said. “I didn’t call you both here for a reunion.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Here I was thinking you were about to break out the barbecue and beers.”
“I’m retiring.”
Silence range through the room.
“Father…”
Mortimer lifted his palm, forestalling my brother. “I want a replacement as CEO of Woods Enterprises. Someone who the board of directors will approve of. Naturally, Damien would be the natural choice if he actually applied himself to the work we did here instead of flitting around with women in foreign countries.”
I laughed. “You were the one who sent me to France.”
“The board doesn’t approve of him. They’ll need proof that he’s settled down. Put his wasteful, playboy ways in the past.”
“Do they want my nutsack too?” I asked.
Seth snorted.
“If you want to prove yourself to the board and to me, you will find a wife within the next thirty days. I’ve set a date for a meeting of the board of directors then. They’ll expect you to turn up married and settled,” Mortimer said.
The humor was sucked out of my soul.
“Or I’ll cut you off,” my father continued, “completely. No more trust fund. No more salary. No inheritance. No property. You’re out. You’re done. That’s it.”
I blinked.
“Dad.” Seth didn’t follow it up with anything. He was just as speechless as I was.
My dad had never swung the big dick gavel down on me before. Well, once, but that was years ago.
“And if you don’t find a woman to marry, to prove that you are someone I can support, someone that this company can get behind, Seth will become the CEO instead.”
“Father,” Seth said, louder this time. “I have a career. I can’t—I don’t know the first thing—”
“Regardless, you will do your duty.” Mortimer turned cold eyes on me. “If your brother here can’t do what’s right, then you will have to do it instead.”
Seth would do it too. He’d let Mortimer get away with this because this was family to him.
“This is fucked,” I replied. “You’re insane.”
“You’ll do it.” He didn’t have to say the “or else.”
It was already in the air—or else Seth would be punished, or else I would lose everything, or else the business I’d been building would be over before it’d begun.
“You’re dismissed,” Mortimer said, flicking his fingers at us.
I grabbed the screen from his desk and flung it across the room. It smashed into the wall and shattered into pieces. “You don’t fucking control me,” I thundered.
“Don’t.” Seth grabbed my forearm.
“Fuck you!” I pointed at Mortimer. “Fuck you!”
My father stared at me, expressionless. “Get out, and come back when you’ve done what I want.”
I pulled my arm from Seth’s grasp, my fist balled up. Hatred sprang from years past, from the treatment of my mother, of me, and it bubbled at the surface, threatening to spill over.
“It’s not worth it,” Seth said.
“He’s not worth it.” I walked out, but I already knew what would come next. I would do what my father wanted. The alternative was losing what I’d worked toward for years.
4
Hazel
I’d lost my mind. That or I’d just let my sister twist my arm again.
Kara had begged and pleaded and moaned and groaned until I finally agreed to meet her at her favorite club—the Velvet Rope. It was one of the most exclusive places to be in Chicago, and it made my stomach turn.
I so wasn’t a party girl. The tight dresses, the sweaty bodies rubbing up against each other on the dance floor, the copious amounts of drinking, and heaven knew what else… it was nothing but a bad memory waiting to happen.
I’d squeezed into the only acceptable outfit I had—a slinky black number Kara had bought me for my birthday last year—and tottered over to the club to celebrate her successful audition. She’d gotten a callback for a toothpaste commercial. That was more than she’d achieved in two years, and I was all about celebrating her successes after ages of her being let down and depressed.
The line of waiting hopefuls stretched from the front door of the Velvet Rope and around the block, and after a half an hour of waiting, I was finally nearing the front of it. I shuffled along the red carpet, cursing my black high heels, and stepped up in front of the bouncer.
This dude was a mountain of bulging muscles and veins and possible steroids. He gave me the beady-eye, and I waited for his acceptance or rejection. My heart raced despite the fact that I didn’t actually want to be here.
Bouncer man ogled my boobs then nodded and jerked a thumb to the door. The rope lifted, and I was in, embraced by the smokey, boozy, sweaty bosom of the club.
Kara had told me she’d meet me at the bar, so I made my way over, avoiding catching anyone’s eye. The sooner I met up with Kara and had the celebratory drink, the sooner I could get out of here.
I didn’t have money to waste on alcohol, and though Dad had assured me he didn’t need my help at home, I wasn’t exactly happy about leaving him there alone.
Tension knotted in my chest, and I stood at the bar, looking up and down it for any sign of my sister.
Nothing. Nowhere to be seen.
I prayed for patience and brought my phone out of my pocket. I unlocked it and shot off a text.
“I’m here. Where you at, K?”
No answer forthcoming. Either she’d decided to ditch me—highly likely since she’d done it before—or she’d met some guy and was too busy grinding up on him to bother checking her phone. I turned, grasping my phone, and craned my neck, searching the sweaty bodies on the dancefloor.
The music changed, and “Streets” by Doja Cat came over the speakers, the baseline so heavy, my throat and chest vibrated with every beat.
Arms sloped around necks, asses were grabbed, dresses hiked up, and the steam level rose up about twenty notches. My cheeks flushed at the sight of it—women pressing themselves against the hot, hard crotches of their partners, or men they’d only known an hour, a few minutes, if that?
So not my style. I had to repeat it to myself and switch my gaze to my phone because god damn if the dancing didn’t make my mind wander to places it shouldn’t.
Damien. Damien. Da
mien.
It was a whisper of a memory. My voice screaming his name. A flutter started up in my pussy, and the heat in my cheeks doubled.
What the hell was wrong with me? I cleared my throat.
“If you’re not at the bar in the next five minutes I’m getting out of here, Ka.”
I sent the text, taking another step away from the bar and toward the dancefloor.
“Don’t go.” The voice spoke in my ear, a hot melting chocolate that dripped and flowed. Hands wrapped around my waist, large and warm, holding me in place. “We haven’t had the chance to catch up yet.”
I lost my breath.
Because it was him. Of course it was him.
The Velvet Rope wasn’t my type of place, but it was Damien’s. Likely, he’d come out tonight on the prowl for a fresh piece of ass to take home, sleep with, and abandon.
I spun around in his arms and glared up at him, my heart pounding out a tattoo against the inside of my throat and goosebumps running down my front. My nipples rose, betraying the effect he had on me.
Twelve fucking years and his sexual magnetism hadn’t dulled. If anything, he’d gotten even sexier and more dangerous.
“Fuck off,” I said.
“I’d prefer not to,” he replied, leaning in and lifting one hand, placing a thumb against my ear and tucking his fingers against the nape of my neck. “I’d prefer to stay right here with you.”
“You’re unbelievable,” I growled. “We haven’t spoken in years, and you think the first thing I’m going to do when I see you again is jump into your satin devil bed? Get real.” Still, I didn’t pull away from him.
“Devil bed? Are you saying I fuck like a demon?”
“I’m saying you’re an evil shit, and I’ve got better things to do than waste my time on you, Damien Woods.”
“I like it when you say my name.” His dark eyes flashed heat and sex and all the things he’d done to me in the past, the good, the bad, and the utterly fuckable. “Am I flattering myself to think you came here looking for me?”