I'm beside myself with rage, but I try not to let it show in front of the new secretary.

New—she's been here a month, sitting outside my door at her desk, in those little skirt suits she wears every day like they're not taunting me with the way the jackets run smoothly over the swell of her breasts or the skirts hug her ass. Skye—I always, always call her Ms. Dawson—is either totally oblivious, or angling to get into my pants, and I don't know which is worse.

I can hardly look at her.

If I look at her too long, I start to think about how I'd like to bend her over that desk of hers, yank her skirt to the floor, and tease her, take her, fuck her, until she's trembling with jelly legs from how many times I've made her come.

But she's my secretary. And I have to fucking behave myself.

My cock ignores that I’m furious enough right now to destroy this entire office. As I’m just about past her desk, it pulses shamelessly against the confines of my boxers when I catch a glimpse of her biting at her lip as she’s reaching for the phone.

As soon as I’m behind my desk, waiting for the line to light up, I take one deep breath, then another. This is the last attempt I'm going to make with my father today. And maybe forever.

That bastard has found every way possible to stop me from gaining access to my trust fund, and now he's laying down a real gauntlet—at least according to the new stipulations I heard about this morning. Fucking news to me, but I shouldn't have been surprised. He's been trying to screw up my life ever since I was a kid.

If I didn't have serious plans for the money, I'd cut all contact with him. But I need it. There's so much I want to do with this company, and a cash infusion is what's standing between me and a bigger, better version of my life's work. My father hates what I do—there's no doubt about that. He thinks it's stupid that I'm trying to provide a place for people to live, for God's sake. 

It's just turned out that affordable housing isn't always that affordable. Not for everyone involved, anyway. 

But even more than he hates affordable housing, my dad hates the military. Even though I'm out, he can't get over it. I never should have told him that making sure veterans have a place to live when they return home from deployment or when they’ve fallen on hard times is one of my top priorities with this business, but I opened my big mouth, and now, suddenly, the money is out of reach.

Which is fucking unfortunate because I’m supposed to break ground on a new building in three months. The city needs it—it’s an area that’s been struggling to revitalize since the economy crashed, and the development I’ve planned has everything a community would need to pull itself out of the trenches. 

The phone lights up then, and I snatch the handset out of the cradle, struggling to keep my anger under control, to keep it from erupting like a volcano the moment I hear his voice.

“Matthew, this just isn’t worth your time.”

Those are the first words out of his mouth. It’s been a long morning. It’s been a long week. It’s been a long life. And I just don’t have the reserves to keep myself under control. Not this time. 

But the outbursts are never physical—never. Things got physical in the Army. I broke up more fights in my unit than I can count. But that would never work with my dad. For one, he brings security with him everywhere he goes. 

I don’t want that kind of life; the coddled, protected life. I want to create safety for my fellow brothers in arms, fuck yes, but the day I’m the kind of man who needs armed guards to attend a meeting with his own son is the day I should give it all up.

Once again, I can’t keep my mouth shut.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” My voice is way too loud, but I can’t control it. Not in this moment. “This isn’t just my life you’re screwing around with. When are the lies going to end?”

“Lies?” He has the balls to sound hurt. “I’ve never lied to you about the trust, son.”

I laugh, bitter and sharp. “Then how has this never come up? In twenty-eight years, you’ve never once mentioned anything about having an heir. Not once. You want me to believe this was always part of the deal?”

“It was.”

I take a deep breath, struggling to swallow the sickening feeling that I never should have trusted him. If I hadn’t poured everything I have into this business already, I wouldn’t be in this situation, but I did. I stuck my neck out, and now I’m reaping the rewards of my wasted efforts. Calculated risk? Fuck. I didn’t calculate for this scheming bastard, or for the housing market suddenly shooting sky-high.

And there are guys who need these places to live. Women, too. It’s a fucking disgrace how many of them are holed up indefinitely in shelters. 

I take another big breath in, finally wrapping my fists around my own white-hot rage and wrestling it down to the floor, where I can at least stand with my boot on its neck, make it submit to my authority.

“Fine,” I say, through gritted teeth, keeping my tone as even as possible. “Let’s be perfectly clear. You won’t release the trust until I have an heir. “I want to say I don’t know where my father came up with this medieval idea, but it’s clear he’s an even bigger bastard than I originally thought. 

“It’s not me,” he says, his voice gentle, disguising the viper coiled behind it, ready to strike. “It’s the conditions of the trust. There’s nothing I can do.”

It’s a lie. I’m caught between ripping into him again and just ending this call now, before things get any uglier.

“Understood.” I hang up on him before he can say another word.

Then I run my hands through my hair.

I need this money, so I have to find a way to play this game.

Fucking fine. 

One thing is for sure. At least I’ll be a better father than he is.