Katrina, having watched me walk up, turns and faces me. Her expression is amused. "Hello, Theo." She sucks in a deep breath between her teeth. Her eyes gingerly look up and down my body as if she dislikes what she sees. I do the same. "What? No, Brielle tonight?"
I narrow my eyes at her poor attempt at trying to get a rise out of me and lean over the railing. "Katrina, always a pleasure," I lazily say, choosing to ignore her question. My hands fold together as I peer down at the dance floor below us. The bodies upon bodies of club goers are completely oblivious to the dangers perfectly poised above them.
She slides toward me, and her shoulder brushes mine. "My father tells me that you're my escort to the All Hallows Eve Ball next week. Is that true?"
I feel a muscle in my jaw clench as I grind my teeth shut, trying to keep myself from saying anything before I have the chance to think. "So I've been told," I sigh reluctantly. "You wouldn't happen to know why that is now, would you?"
"I may have an inkling." She giggles, seeming pleased with herself. "Really you should be thanking me." She smiles and tilts her head toward the side. Her blonde hair falls down my arm like a curtain. The annoying prickle it leaves behind causes my nerve endings to jolt, making me feel on edge.
"And why is that?" I dare to ask.
I already know whatever it is she's about to say is only going to further piss me off, but I also know she's only saying it because she's hurt. I may not remember every little detail that transpired that night, but I do remember seeing the hurt behind her eyes. In all honesty, if I had known how she truly felt, I wouldn't have let it go on as long as I did. I'm a fucking dick but I'm not heartless.
"Because if I hadn't talked Daddy into the idea, then just think about it. You could have walked in with that troll on your arm instead."
The fuck? "Easy," I growl at her. "Leave Brielle out of this."
"Or what? Who are you, but a pawn, Theo? Just like me." She giggles to herself. "It's like you said, this is all just for fun. Only now, I've got the advantage." She leans further into my side. Her lips graze my ear as she breathes her words into my mind. "I know who Theo Wescott loves most in this world."
I reach out and grasp her arm when she moves to walk away from me. She wriggles under my touch, but I don’t care at this point. Unlike my father, I couldn't give a fuck what the hell her daddy thinks.
I know our little struggle has caught the attention of our fathers when I feel eyes on my back. My father beckons us to join them, obviously choosing to keep a closer eye on me, but I hesitate to move. "For your own good, you’d better keep that pretty mouth of yours shut," I whisper before releasing her.
As if it’s fallen asleep, Katrina lets her arm fall limply down her side. Her free hand lifts to massage the soft skin where my hand had held her. "I seem to remember a time when you quite enjoyed my pretty mouth.”
I roll my eyes. "I enjoyed a lot of pretty mouths, but don't get it twisted. You were merely a means to an end."
I fully expect to see some kind of hurt but she surprises me. She drops her eyes to the tiny handbag she’s carrying, a slys mile tugging at the corner of her mouth. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she wants me to admit it to her that it was all a lie—a ploy for my father to get what he wants. But what comes out of her mouth is, "You disgust me."
"Likewise."
I leave her and walk over to my father, sitting down on the empty seat beside him.
"Oh, good." He flashes a smile, then clamps a hand down on my leg. To everyone else, it would seem like a normal thing to do. Something casual. Only I can see it for what it really is, a fake gesture.
My father is a smart man. He knows that when it comes to business, you have to play the game to win. And Mr. Overshire is a big family man, thus, my father's miraculous transformation into father of the year—a title he plays so well.
"Jameson said someone should be up soon with some drinks from the bar."
Fuck me. I squeeze my eyes shut. Well, so much for discretion.
"Are you two excited about the ball next week?"
It's then that Katrina decides to join the conversation, taking a seat next to me. Her long leg crosses over the other as she presses her heel under my calf. "Of course we are!" Her voice rises a couple of octaves. She wraps her arms around my bicep and leans into my side. "It's all this guy can talk about."
My father turns to me.
"Elated." I feign enthusiasm.
I roll my eyes before spotting a blonde bun out of the corner of my eye, bobbing up the stairs, and immediately my heart sinks. An image of emerald-green eyes and pink, full lips flashes across my mind. Without hesitation, I rip my arm from Katrina and stand up. The gesture leads a thin expression to form along my father's face. But much like before, I couldn't give a fuck. I’m preparing myself for the worst, when I catch the blonde take the next step and two dark brown eyes slide into view.
Oh thank God. I breathe a sigh of relief, then turn back to the group and catch my father's steely gaze. Shit. "Sorry. I . . . uh. . . I thought there was a bug," I say, well aware of how completely fucked I might be—especially when I watch my father's eyes trail behind me to the waitress as realization washes over him.
"I see," he murmurs along with something I can't hear.
I feel my fingers curl into fists.
"Hey y’all!"
I step to the side as the server walks up behind me with a tray of drinks. Jessica? Jasmine? Jeanine? Whatever the hell her name is steps up to the table.
"Sorry it took so long. The bartender said she was making them extra special tonight," she says with a heavy twang.
I bet she did. I shake my head, trying not to imagine just what Becks meant by “special.”
Damn it. It looks like getting drunk is off the table. I'll just have to suffer my way through this one.
"Can I get y’all anything else before I go?"
Mr. Overshire reaches for a glass and takes a small sip before setting it back down on the table. “This tastes like sewer water. I’ll take a beer. Bottled.” Mr. Overshire spits out, reaching forward to grab a handful of napkins, which he uses to dab his tongue.
Katrina offers me a sly smile.
Ever the bitch, I see.
I shake my head and offer the poor girl a smile. "Just the beer, I guess. Thanks."
The girl looks defeated as she turns and starts her descent back down the stairs. Little does she know that she's the lucky one. I'd give anything to get away from this shit. "Excuse us, for a second," I hear my father say as he stands up.
I let out a breath, following silently after him.
"Look, if you’re going to say something about the drink, it’s not what you think. It’s—"
"What are you doing?" he whirls around and asks through gritted teeth. "Are you trying to fuck this deal up for me, or are you just this stupid?"
I take a step back. "You want to try that again? It’s just a drink."
I turn my head to Mr. Overshire when my father tosses him a slight wave. I see Katrina is no longer sitting in the same spot but is nestled up beside her father. The two of them are whispering to each other like schoolgirls.
"Lower your voice." My father turns out toward the balcony and rests his elbows along the rail. "I thought I told you to handle the Sutton girl?"
Oh.
"I remember you making a lot of threats," I answer truthfully. I press my hands against my face and rub them over my tired eyes. "But you don’t have to worry about her. Brielle isn't going to be a problem." I wave my arms out in front of us. "I'm here. You won. I'm taking Katrina to the ball.”
I feel the air kick around us as my father whips toward me. His hands fists the material of my sports coat. "You think this is a game?" he spits out. The whites of his eyes seem to have disappeared completely.
I grab his wrists and remove his hands from my coat. The look on his face, while I do so, is not something I'll likely forget. Because for the first time, ever, I’m the one who’s in contr
ol. Not him. "Don't fucking touch me again," I say and step in his direction. “It wouldn’t be wise.”
My father brushes his hair back with his hand and cuts a look toward the two equally surprised figures of Katrina and her father. He licks his lips, tossing his head back in a fit of laughter. When their focus shifts, he waits for some time to pass before choosing to continue.
"Listen here, you little shit," he growls. His voice is as coarse as gravel. "The two of us are going to go over there, and you're going to fall in line. Do you understand? Because if you don't, well . . . I'm sure you can draw your own conclusions. You've always had a vast imagination."
He takes a small step to head back to the table, but I block his path. "Maybe I didn’t make myself clear." I clench my jaw. "I did what you asked, which means you’re going to leave Brielle alone. If you threaten her again, then this—" I motion between the two of us, the Overshires and my club—"this is over. You can come at me all you want, but if you go after Brielle, there is nothing that will stop me from ending you. She's off-limits, and you would do well to remember that."
With a puffed chest, my father narrows his eyes up at me. Like me, he's never been the type of man to back down so easily. "Are you threatening me, Son?"
"That's exactly what I'm doing."
Seconds pass as the two of us stand there, staring at each other. He curls his hands into fists, as if readying himself for a fight, but just as I think he's about to deck me, he releases them. A soft smile pulls along his face.
"Fine. Keep her." He nods his head, fixing his sleeves. "As long as she stays the hell away from family affairs. I’m happy."
He raises an arm to pat me on the back, moving around me as he does. What the hell was that about? I shake my head, distrusting how easily my father relented. He’s never been one to bend to other people’s wants or needs. I see Katrina rise from her spot beside her father and return to the other seat. I roll my eyes and join her. This is the last time. The last job. After this, I'm done.
I feel my phone ring in my pocket but I silence it. If I had to guess, I'm sure Becks has sufficiently filled Brielle in on what's been happening tonight. But hashing out this specific topic in front of my father isn’t exactly ideal. Shit. I'd rather not have it in general. My phone buzzes, again, and I reach in to grab it.
"Is that important?" I hear my father groan. My eyes tear away from the screen to find three sets of eyes watching me. "We were just about to start discussing the legacy of our two families with you both, but if you need to . . ."
I shake my head and bury my phone back in my pocket. Wait.
"I'm sorry. Legacy?"
"Yes." Mr. Overshire decides to jump in now.
The pride he's wearing on his face is suddenly annoying the shit out me. What the fuck do I care about their future partnership plans? They don't involve me.
"We've decided, well, your father suggested, and I agreed, that the only sensible conclusion to ensure our families’ ties remain untainted is to make the ultimate bond—a stronger bond between you and Katrina. . . in the form of marriage."
"I'm sorry, what?” “Fuck no!" Katrina and I exclaim at the same time.
The two of us turn to each other in shock. At least, we now have one thing we can agree upon—our mutual dislike of our fucking fathers’ dumbass idea.
"Yes, we're sorry to spring this on the two of you. And so suddenly," my father joins in.
Like fuck he is! I want to shout. No way. This is not happening. He can eat shit if he thinks I am going to just lie down and do this for him.
"Sadly, this is the only way." My father glares at me. His expression is tight as if he can read my thoughts.
You're going to fall in line. Do you understand? Because if you don't, well . . . I'm sure you can draw your own conclusions. You've always had a vast imagination, I hear his words echo in the back of my mind. But I’m already on my feet.
"Theo, wait. Get back—"
"No, fuck you!" I spit out as I whip around. "You've lost your damn mind."
My father rises from his seat. "Watch your tone, Son," he warns me, but I've had enough. This whole thing has gone on for far too long. "You wouldn't want to say something you can't take back."
I let out a chuckle and cut my eyes between the two of them. Katrina is still sitting dazed on the couch. Who the hell did they think they were?
"You know what? Go. Get the fuck out." I shake my head. "I'm done."
"Excuse me? Gerald. What is the meaning of this?" Mr. Overshire demands. His judgmental glare is giving my father the stress sweats.
My father marches forward and grips my arm. The sheer force of his hold would have brought down the old me within a heartbeat. But the new me is used to it. Hell. I welcome it at times. "Theo!"
"You heard me!" I shove my father back and yell at them. "Get the hell out of my club. I won't ask again."
Grabbing his daughter, Mr. Overshire slowly descends the steps. I watch my father stumble back a ways before he digs his feet into the ground.
"You will regret this," he says once the Overshires are out of earshot, leering at me from where he stands. Like the flip of a switch, he adjusts his suit, fixes his hair, and then reaches for his things.
"I doubt that!" I yell a little louder than I expected to. "I really do. Find someone else to handle your problems, because I’m done."
He seems to ignore me as he walks toward the stairs. "I'll be seeing you real soon, Son."
I watch him stride down the steps and make his way out through the back. My eyes catch the sight of Becks, shaking her damn head up at me as I lean over the railing, trying to clear my head. Damn it. My ears are ringing. Images from tonight's events replaying through my mind.
What the hell have I done?
chapter thirty-five
BRIELLE
My head is spinning as I walk up to the bar. The blue hue of the backlight pulses in tune with the bass—the strobelike effect not helping to ease my nerves. I pinch my eyes shut and try to relax. Jesus, I can’t believe I just kicked my father out of my club. If I wasn’t so worried about what his end game might be, I’d probably feel relieved. But all I’ve done now is add more shit on top of everything else.
I look down the bar. Where the hell is Wes? After what my father said, I need to make sure Brielle’s safe. I’ll hire a security detail and force her to stay at my house. We may not be together right now—or ever again—but I’d do anything to protect her, even if that means calling in old favors and cashing them in. My father may be a powerful man, but I've also got connection—allies made through the many “meetings” my father has sent me to—the ones where I left more than empty pockets in my wake. Broken bones, and broken homes. Sadly, my father likes his lessons to be as demented as he is. But any enemy of my father's is a friend of mine.
I see Becks, in her short white dress, slink around the corner with a glass she's cleaning. Her expression darkens the second she sees me. Fuck. What the hell am I paying Wes for when he's never around? Rolling her eyes, she slams the glass down and starts to make her way toward me. The heels of her knee-high boots overpower the bass as she walks with an intensity I haven't seen before. Oh, she definitely put something “special” in those drinks. She's pissed.
"What the hell do you want?" she spits out. The tip of her tongue brushes over the top of her teeth while she rakes her eyes over me as if I were the most disgusting thing she's ever seen. "Enjoy your drinks?"
"I'm just looking for Wes." I shake my head, not wanting to get into the details or agitate her further. "Do you know where he is?"
Becks crosses her arms, creasing her expression. "Hmm . . . I’m sorry. He's out right now. Can I take a message, or would that be a conflict of interest?"
I push off the counter and cut my eyes back toward the office. "A conflict of interest?"
"Yeah. You know, because Brielle is my best friend?"
What does Brielle have to do with Wes?
"What the hell are you talking
about?" I hesitate, knowing full well what I’m about to receive. Becks is a fierce and loyal friend, which means I am most definitely about to have my ass handed to me.
"For fuck’s sake, Theo. Are you messing with me?" She all but jumps over the bar, trying to get at me. Her arms are flailing around like they've got a mind of their own.
"Look, I don't know what you think you saw, but—"
"Oh, that's it!" Becks yells. Her heels stomp madly as she moves to come around the side. "Where the hell is Katrina?"
"Katrina?"
"Yes! I need to know so after I kick your ass, she's next."
"Okay, Becks, calm down. I don't know where she is and I don't care." I shake my head at how insane she sounds.
"I'm telling you the truth. Nothing happened." I let out a slow breath. "Well, I mean, something did happen . . ." Fuck, bad choice of words. "But it's nothing like what you think."
I see Becks rearing back as if to hit me, when she steps up and shoves my shoulder. "You're an asshole, you know that? You led her on back then, and you're leading her on now. Be honest with me. The only reason you were ever even interested in Brielle in the first place is because Mason told you she was off limits. You just want what you can't have."
I can feel my anger starting to rise with every word she lets slip. She thinks I only wanted Brielle because Mason told me to stay away? Where the hell did this come from? Her? Mason? Brielle? Is this what Brielle secretly thinks about my feelings for her? I'm so confused. Worse. I'm pissed. I'm fucking livid. What the hell does Becks even know about love, anyway? And who the hell is she to assume that I never cared for Brielle? She has no idea how I feel. I hardly know how to describe it.
"I'm sorry." I take a step back. "What?"
"You're an asshole but you're not deaf," she snaps.
"Okay, you're a good friend, Becks. And I'm glad Brielle has you watching out for her. But you're wrong. I didn't act on my feelings back then out of respect for Mason, but I loved her then . . . just as I do now." I look up at the VIP section and point at the empty seats. "Which is why I just had to do something I never wanted to do. And why I need to find Wes, now." I pause, catching the gold flakes in her eyes. They seem to spark like embers under the flashing lights.
With You: With you, I am who I want to be. Page 26