like a jackass as I strode through the office floor.
I hadn't expected my morning to be so…
Entertaining.
Yeah, that was the word for it.
Pissing Allie Beckett off and seeing her cheeks turn pink when she got embarrassed entertained the hell out of me.
And that look on her face when she got aroused? I almost didn’t make it out for my meeting.
My employees greeted me as I passed their cubicles. I returned with a curt nod, my mind still firmly stuck on Allie.
Today was the first time I'd ever seen her in daylight, and damn if she didn't look good. The sun did all sorts of things to her hair, turning that pretty shade of dark brown into a thick mass of molten bronze. And under the light, her big gray eyes turned all silver and flashing, like a storm cloud.
And way she'd tipped her head back and closed her eyes, offering her plump lips to me, looking so damned delicious…
I licked my lips again.
I had to bide my time and play the long game here. I wanted Allie Beckett under me, around me in every way possible, and that would take planning.
But it would be worth it.
Since I was in a strangely good mood, I decided to make a quick stop before heading out for my meeting with Whitehall.
I took a left turn at the other end of the floor, coming to a set of double doors matching the ones to my office. I rapped twice on the solid wood, and entered without waiting.
Thomas Wyatt Jr. was seated in his usual spot behind his massive mahogany desk, glowering at me from behind the mountains of paper that surrounded him.
“What is it?” he grunted.
I slipped my hands into my pockets and leaned against the wall, knowing how much my casual posture pissed him off.
“Came to check on how my old man was doing,” I said blandly.
“You've checked, now get out.”
I pushed off the wall and strolled across the room to the windows instead. The dark, heavy drapes were drawn shut as usual, giving the office the mood of a funeral parlor.
The layouts of our offices were the same, but that was where the similarities ended.
I kept mine bare, but my father's had been designed in the original style of the forties, going overboard with heavy oak and mahogany furniture, dark leather sofas, and depressing lighting.
I fixed the last problem with a hard yank on the curtain tassel, snapping the drapes wide open.
Sunlight streamed into every corner of the room, and my father's face darkened proportionately to the brightness. He glared harder at me with those same eyes I was born with, like he didn’t get how we came to share the same blood.
Jokes on him. We were the two most fucked-up, selfish assholes this side of the country, cut from the same cloth.
“Update on the Brooklyn project,” I said, leaning my back against the cool glass pane. “Fletchers is stalling, so I'll be switching to Smithson if the matter isn't resolved by Friday.”
“Stalling?” My father's brows drew low over his eyes. “This makes three weeks we've had no progress.”
“Two. And there has been progress, just not as fast as we were promised.”
“And what are you doing about this?” he demanded. “While the bastards are swindling us, what are you doing?”
I popped my jaw, raising my eyes to the ceiling. “Like I said—”
Heavy fists slammed on the desk.
“I heard you the first time, boy!” my father snarled. “You're proposing we wait! What message does this send to outsiders? That we can be fucked with? That you can cheat the Wyatt’s and get away with it?”
“Trust me, I want nothing more than to call off the deal,” I bit. “But if we do not afford the Fletchers the courtesy of a warning, word will get around. The other firms will spook, and it'll be hell to secure good partnerships in the future.”
“You think I don't know that?” my father shouted as he surged to his feet, his face twisted in fury.
I said nothing, because no matter how pissed off he got, I was the one with the last say. The old man could rage and foam all he liked, and the final call was still mine to make.
At least, that's what I kept telling myself.
“How did you let it fester to this state,” Thomas spat. “If I had another son—”
“You wouldn't have passed the company to me,” I finished dryly. “I know, Dad, and trust me, you're not the only who wishes that.”
My father shook his head in disgust, his chest rising and falling from his heavy breathing. “You wastrel. You're nothing without me.”
“Yeah, whatever. One last thing.” I pushed off the glass. “You'll probably hear this from your spies soon, so let me save you the trouble and inform you myself. I hired a new PA this morning.”
My father narrowed his eyes. “And?”
I shrugged. “That's it.”
“Bastard. If you decide to waste my time again in the future, I suggest—”
“Oh, and her name is Alecia Beckett.” I slipped my hands into my pockets, smiling coldly at him. “You recognize the name.”
My father froze. “You're lying.”
“Dead serious,” I said. “She's seated right outside my office, if you want to see for yourself. She's grown up to be very pretty.”
My father stared at me, looking like he wanted to either throw up, or throw a punch at me. “You idiot. You bloody, fucking idiot.”
I watched impassively as my father’s temper crept closer towards the boiling point for the second time in three minutes. It was like watching a bubbling pot boil over, only this mess would be harder to clean up.
“Do you know what the media would do if they found Beckett's daughter working for a Wyatt?” he asked unsteadily.
I shrugged. “They'd have a field day, but that's what our PR team is for.”
“That's my PR team you're talking about!” my father suddenly roared. “My company! My. Legacy. And now you're destroying it—”
His arm jerked violently as he launched a mug at the wall behind me. The ceramic exploded on impact, sending shards flying.
I didn't flinch.
“I gave my life to this shit place,” I gritted tightly, my grip on my own temper hanging by a thread. “You handed me the reins to run it, and surprise, I'm going to do whatever the fucking hell I want with it.”
“Fire her! I want her gone by noon.”
“Because you feel guilty?”
“Because she's bad for business!” he bellowed.
I stared at my father, feeling a numbness spread through my chest.
I had expected a negative reaction, but had nothing prepared me for this. He didn't even know the truth behind Horace Beckett's death. To him, we'd merely grabbed an opportunity and turned it into profit.
There was no sane reason for this fury.
This hate.
“We're talking about an actual person here,” I said incredulously, “or is the company the only thing that matters to you?”
“Don't change the subject, boy,” my father snarled. “I said I want her gone.”
“She's not going any-fucking-where,” I said in a dangerous voice.
We stared down each other, neither one willing to back down.
Finally my father raised an arm and pointed at the door.
“Get out,” he said, shaking with pure rage. “Get! Out!”
I bit back a snarl and turned to leave.
Even though I was pissed as hell, I didn't allow myself to slam the door behind me like I wanted to. Years of training had taught me that appearance was everything. For the same reason, my father and my offices were soundproofed for our raging fights.
Even when we were at each other’s throats, the company still came first.
Figured.
I took a minute to get myself in check before striding back out to the main office floor and heading for the lobby.
Aurelia rose behind her desk and said something to me as I passed, but I barely heard her as I stepped into a waiting elevator.
I allowed myself to relax only when the doors slid shut, loosening my tie and undoing the top button of my collar that was suddenly too tight.
For all my trash-talking, my father had been right about one thing.
This was his company.
It didn't matter who he placed at the top, and it didn't matter how much I achieved while I was there.
Everything belonged to him in the end, every tile and potted plant, every fucking dust mote in the air, every director who pretended to work under my instruction but reported to him behind my back.
I was playing in his domain, and he would never let me forget that.
I looked up into the mirrored wall at the back of the elevator, taking in the uncontrolled, wild-eyed guy who stared back at me.
Like one of those stallions that were bred for the races, my whole life had been spent chasing only one thing. I’d even destroyed lives in the process of getting it.
And now that I'd finally gotten to the finish line, I found that the prize didn't even belong to me.
Maybe there was more to my interest in Allie Beckett than I allowed myself to admit.
Maybe she was the ticket to freeing myself from the blood in my past.
If I could somehow convince her to forgive the death of her father…?
My lips twisted bitterly even before I'd finished that thought, already knowing the answer to that.
Not fucking likely.
With a pained yell, I launched my fist into the mirror, shattering my reflection.