Chapter Six
Ethan
She doesn’t understand how special she is, how unique she is. She doesn’t understand how I have bribed and seduced, and otherwise manipulated my way through the swathes of people who have stood between me and what I want.
She is an obstacle in a world where there are increasingly few. I live a life in which almost anything is possible. I could quite easily make a phone call to a friend with a rocket ship and be in low earth orbit inside a week if I wished to be. That has little relevance to this situation directly, but the fact that the sky is no longer the limit for me does weigh heavy at times.
A man is made a man by the difficulties he overcomes. I have overcome all of them—all, except her. I was impressed by her strength yesterday, and then again today. I am impressed again now. I know she is uncomfortable in her new garb. I know she is out of place, and that given the chance, she would slink away and hide, like a frightened kitten. But she does not have that option, so she sits opposite me, and she questions me, the man who has become her tormentor.
She has a purity I no longer possess. She has ideals and ideas. She is brilliant in her own right. I respect her intellect immensely, even though it is her body I make the most use of.
Now she is looking at me with an expression of adorable perplexity. She doesn’t know what to make of my comments, because she doesn’t understand me. Not yet. Maybe she will soon. Maybe she’ll unravel me and maybe I’ll take her apart and maybe we’ll come together and make something…
These are all very highbrow ways of rationalizing something very simple to myself.
I am lonely.
A man cannot have friends in this stage of life. He has allies who can become enemies at any moment. As for female companionship, that can be bought directly, or come at a cost later.
It is impossible to trust a smile. But I can trust her, because she has no artifice. She wants to destroy me. And that is the most refreshing thing I have experienced in quite some time.
* * *
Casey
We sit in a silence I find hard to fathom. Ethan is impossible to read. When he looks at me as he’s looking now, his face half hidden in growing evening shadows, he is enigmatic and aloof.
Forsyth breaks the silence between us by appearing with two plates covered by silver serving hats. That’s probably not what they’re called. He puts one down in front of Ethan, the other in front of me, and sweeps the covers away together to reveal…
“Is this fried chicken?”
“It is,” Ethan smiles. “My favorite.”
It smells incredible. It looks amazing. Though I have no idea how we’re supposed to eat it in our finery or with the cutlery, which is laid out like a full assault range with my plate in the center.
“Which one of these forks is the fried chicken fork?”
“This one,” he says, holding up his fingers and waggling them a little.
I watch, stunned, as Ethan picks up a piece of chicken and begins to eat it just like a normal person. It says something about the last couple of days that this is the oddest thing I’ve seen, a billionaire eating chicken.
“Don’t let it get cold,” he encourages me.
I am starving. This is the first meal I’ve had all day, unless you count the snacks I rustled out of the bus station vending machines, which I don’t.
The chicken is delicious, crispy on the outside, tender on the inside. For the next few minutes, all we do is eat, and I start to feel comfortable. When Ethan isn’t performing perverted sex acts on me, he’s good and easy company. I’m not a big talker, but he doesn’t make me feel awkward. Doesn’t throw out lines about me being quiet or ‘smile, sweetheart.’ He is perfectly comfortable with my taciturn self.
These are the small kindnesses he shows me, the acceptance I’ve craved throughout my life but never really received.
“Would you like dessert, sir?” Forsyth glides up with the promise of treats.
“No, thank you, Forsyth.”
“And for the lady?”
Now I’m a lady according to the man. Not because of me, but because of this bit of cloth wrapped around me. I have a wild, petulant impulse to take it off, ball it up, and throw it at his face.
“I dunno. Whatever.” I put my elbows on the table, knowing that will probably piss him off.
Ethan raises a brow at me as Forsyth glides away again. “Are you trying to show you can’t be domesticated?”
“Fuck that guy,” I growl under my breath.
Ethan chuckles. “You’re acting like a spoiled little girl,” he says. “If you keep it up, I’ll punish you like one.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’ll take you over my knee and spank you right in front of him.”
I feel my face heat instantly. I know he would do it. He fucked me in front of cops on the very first day we met. But that was different. I didn’t know those cops. I didn’t have a burgeoning personal vendetta against them.
“Mr. Jack Ford.” Forsyth interrupts us with an announcement.
A man strides onto the balcony without waiting. It’s like he owns the place, like there wasn’t possibly anything going on that he wasn’t entitled to be a part of.
I take an instant, gut dislike to him. He’s handsome and I recognize him from the same sorts of pictures I’ve seen Ethan in. Jack Ford is the co-founder of Vipyr. Referred to commonly in the media as ‘Killer Jack.’ He has a five o’clock shadow turning into a ten o’clock pelt. It looks effortless, but I would put money on it being painstakingly styled.
He is wearing a white shirt and silvery gray, super tight suit pants. His style is modern, where Ethan’s is timeless. And it’s much more forced. I can tell every accessory has been agonized over, from the cufflinks, which appear to be little silver guillotines, all the way to the aviator-style sunglasses pushed up and into his hair.
A broad, shark-like smile establishes itself on his face as he sees me. He swoops down, takes my hand, complete with chicken grease fingers and presses an even more greasy kiss to the back of it.
“Hello, m’lady. And who might you be?”
“This is Casey,” Ethan says. “Hi, Jack.”
“Casey. What a beautiful companion.”
When Ethan called me beautiful, I felt beautiful. When Jack says the same words, my skin crawls with the disingenuousness of it. I get the strong impression that Jack Ford wouldn’t know beauty anywhere. He has those flat eyes that don’t quite emote, and when they fall on me, I feel cold.
“I thought you were in Argentina,” Ethan says, wiping his fingers on a cloth napkin.
“Oh, you know, business called,” Jack says, inserting himself into a chair that wasn’t between Ethan and me until he dragged it across the balcony, the grating sound making me even more on edge than I was.
He nestles in between us, folds his hands over his stomach, and looks from Ethan to me and back again. “I heard we had a problem,” he purrs.
“You heard wrong,” Ethan replies calmly. “Want some chicken?”
“No, I’m only eating vegetarian now,” Jack says. “Clearing my chakras.”
“You don’t have chakras.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I don’t mean to be argumentative, but words like chakra are basically a trigger word for me. They smack of bullshit, the same kind of bullshit Jack is steeped in.
“Why? Because you don’t think they’re real, or because you think I’m soulless?”
His question is as direct and socially jarring as my comment was, perhaps even more so.
I give a little shrug. I don’t want to get into a discussion on mysticism with this man. I have a feeling that most of it would be lost on him even more than it would be on me.
“If it’s business you want to talk about,” Ethan interjects, “why not come and see me tomorrow. I’m entertaining my guest right now.”
“Oh, I think this is where I need to be,” Jack says. There is an undertone of intentionality to his voice. “I think I’m late, to be honest. Of course, I wouldn’t be, if I were notified when things came up, so I could deal with them in a timely fashion.”
Ethan’s smile has become exceptionally forced. There’s tension between the two of them, and I suspect I know why. This isn’t about business. This is about me.
“Forsyth, would you escort Casey to her room?”
“With pleasure, sir.”
For once, I am actually pleased to see the old stick of a man, who has been lingering since Jack came in. Jack Ford gives me the creeps. He is the sort of man who makes every single hair on my body stand erect, like a cat spotting a predator and puffing up to appear larger.
Ethan is a sadistic, perverted asshole of a man. But I get the feeling Jack is worse.
I stand up, hating the fact that I am in these stupid heels. I do not want to wobble away from the table like broken prey. I doubt Jack could resists the instincts he so proudly wears on his sleeve. So I kick the shoes off, leave them beneath the table, and pad away in my bare feet.
Though I expect a look of disapproval from Ethan and Forsyth, I don’t get one. Forsyth’s expression has become so professionally impassive it’s impossible to read, and when I look over my shoulder, Ethan isn’t even looking at me. Jack’s gaze is locked on me, but Ethan’s is on his, a hard stare that doesn’t bode well for the rest of the conversation.