Chapter Four
Felicia slowly tapped her foot, up, down, up, down. It made a barely audible clacking sound against the tiles of the kitchen. "Well?" she said.
"What?" Boyd was slumped over the kitchen island that was in the center of the big room. It was made of a nice, cool marble that eased his aching skin. "You're going to start lecturing me again, aren't you?" He was sitting on a raised stool, of which there were several. He rarely ever sat there, or even went into that room. There was hired help to do all of that boring stuff for him, so Boyd just let them do their jobs. He was more interested in other things, anyway.
"Sermon? That's funny, given what the police caught you doing inside one of the most historic churches in New York. I wonder how many sexually transmitted diseases you picked up on that night alone, from those two whores you were busy sodomizing when they took you away."
"Hey, if you won't fuck me, I have to find my lovin' somewhere. That's pretty fair, don't you think?" Boyd laughed to himself, despite the horrible glare Felicia was giving him. She was an older woman, in her forties. For how brilliant she was at being a lawyer, that was relatively young really.
"I can't believe I've let you turn into such a wretched peace of shit, Boyd. If your mother was alive, I'd be mortified."
"What about Dad? You always had a thing for him, didn't you? I wonder if the old man ever thought about sticking it up the new, young legal assistant, that old hoot, Barry, brought in. You always were a choice piece of ass, and you're still looking pretty good." Felicia did look very fine, even compared to women a decade younger. Her fiery hair was still bright red, and her figure had only filled out in the best places. There was a sense of wicked focus about her that beckoned men to do as she said, even when she was screwing them over in the court room. Of course, she didn't do a whole lot of that anymore; Boyd was the type of client who required plenty of under-the-table dealing, mostly to pay people off and secure their silence and complicity.
Felicia was giving Boyd a particularly pissed off stare, but he was too hungover, and tired from sleeping in the holding cell at the local police department, to care.
"Do you really wonder why Barry quit the second you turned eighteen? He didn't want to have a breakdown trying to deal with all of your crap. If I didn't think so highly of your mother and father, may they rest in peace, I would have been much better off quitting too.
"Yet you're still here. I fucked some hookers in an old building. It was great! You took care of everything. No one found out or got any evidence to use in the papers. Why do you have to bitch so much?"
"You really have a way with words don't you? It never stops amazing me how anyone can say so many stupid, selfish things, and still manage to drop the panties of every woman he propositions."
"Well, not absolutely every woman," he said, raising his eyebrows and then quickly dropping them back down. It was a suggestive gesture that did not go unnoticed.
"And you're not going to have your way with me, not while I'm still under the employment of your mother and father."
"Please, don't act like Mom and Dad are still around to judge us. You might be in a better mood if you just loosen up a bit, and show me how that sweet, sweet—"
"That's quite enough, thank you!" Felicia put her hand up like a brick wall, final. "You're not going to start talking like that to me, not with any regularity. If you'd like to keep yourself from going broke, and more likely, ending up in prison, you can show me some god damned respect. Stop acting like a spoilt child who's living on his parent's dollar."
Boyd pouted. "That's what I'm doing, isn't it? You think so; everyone thinks so. Ever since my parents died in that crash …" He thought about faking the water works, but didn't want to further hurt whatever chances he might have to get the older woman naked. And that possibility was always there, as far as Boyd Houston was concerned.
"Anyway, if you're done pretending to give a shit about anyone but yourself, dead or alive, we can move along to the next order of business."
"That being?" He got up and fished around below the counter for a whiskey glass. "If I'm going to sit through another one of your boring sermons, I'm going to need something stiffer than coffee." He grabbed a bottle of exceptionally expensive whiskey from the counter and filled the glass until it was practically overflowing.
"Yes, sure, drink. That's not what got you into this mess in the first place after all," she said.
"Cheers," Boyd said as he pointed the bottom of his glass to the ceiling, easily sinking the entire lot without even pausing.
"Well, at least you have one talent for when you end up on the streets, or in a cell permanently."
"That's not going to happen though, is it?"
"While I'm on your side? There's not a chance. Just don't assume that I'll be here to bail you out forever. At this point I am doing it as much for the huge paycheck I get from your trust account, as I am for you. You really should thank your mother for making me promise to keep you from getting into trouble."
"Oh, but I get into more trouble than anyone."
"Yes, but what doesn't make it in front of the courts does not actually happen. I'll be in touch." She left the kitchen quickly. Boyd loved to watch her leave, her hips swaying briskly in the power suit and skirt.