Hearing that word come out of my mother’s mouth sends me stepping back in surprise. My brain is startled enough that it goes into automatic, spitting out a line meant to diffuse. “I guess if I do, I’ll just start wearing a tux.”
My mother stares at me, lips pressed flatly together. She’s the only woman in this whole world who flusters me, a fact that becomes evident quickly when my mouth continues to run.
“Because then it won’t be casual. Then it will be fancy.” I start explaining. If I was in my right mind, I would know now is the perfect time to shut my stupid fucking trap, but everything’s been sideways since the second I opened my eyes, and I’m struggling to figure out which way is up.
“I got it.” My mother crosses both arms over her chest. “I just wasn’t amused by it.”
I don’t imagine she’s amused by much right now. Since charm and humor aren’t going to save my ass, there’s only one good option left, and it’s where I should have started. “Sorry about Thanksgiving. I fucked up.”
My mother’s stern expression warms the tiniest bit. She drops her arms and comes closer, reaching out to rest one dirty hand against my cheek. “I know you didn’t mean to oversleep.” Her hand shifts and soon my cheek is pinched between her finger in her thumb. Tightly. “But you’re acting like a fuck boy, and I think it’s time for you to start acting like a fuck man.”
If I thought hearing my mother sayfuckingwas surprising, having her call me a fuck boy to my face is downright shocking. Not only because it’s a little harsh, but also because I don’t even know where she would have learned that phrase.
Probably from Tobias.
I should probably ask him for some clarification myself, because what the hell is a fuckman?
“I’m not a fuck boy, mama. I’m just not ready to settle down yet.” Or maybe ever.
My mom’s hazel eyes move over my face. After studying me for a second, she shrugs and turns away, her dirty boots leaving a path to my door as she tosses her next words over one shoulder, “you never know what you’re ready for until it smacks you right in the face, son.”
4
Trevor
“WHY THE FUCK isn’t he responding?” I fire off another text to my assistant, asking for the reports he was supposed to pull for me to look over.
The company my brothers and I own is growing so fast I can barely keep up. We’ve got a backlog of orders for custom-built safe rooms and a whole fucking fleet of cars waiting for Tobias’s team to add the after-market safety modifications we specialize in. Our warehouse staff can barely keep up with the outgoing security system shipments, and we’ve got more cyber analysis requests than Tobias’s crew could finish in a decade.
In short, I’m fucking stressed out.
And that means everyone around me is stressed out. Including the newest in a long line of my personal assistants. I go through them like water. Each running faster than the one before.
And it’s starting to piss me off.
I make sure they know what they’re signing up for when I interview them—and pay them accordingly—but I’m starting to get the feeling no one ever believes me.
And I’m the one who suffers for it.
“Fucking, Randall.” I drop down into the chair behind the cluttered desk in my home office, downing the last of the cold coffee in my mug as I bang out an email, hoping it will get me what I want.
But before I can send it, my phone dings, signaling an incoming text.
“Fucking finally.” I open the message, expecting to hear the report is on its way. Instead I see two words I’m becoming quite familiar with.
I quit.
Before I can think better of it, my phone’s sailing across the room, hitting the wood paneling of the office wall with a sound that indicates I’ve broken more than just another assistant.
It’s not smart and it’s not mature, but I’m at the end of my rope. When I suggested we expand the company eight years ago, never in my wildest dreams would I have expected it to become what it has.
And that’s amazing. My brothers and I have worked hard to build an empire—just like our mother did. She made it look seamless. Easy. Fun and exciting.
I don’t know how she did it, because maintaining an empire is a fucking nightmare. One I won’t be finding my way out of anytime soon now that I’m once again without an assistant.
Standing from my chair, I stalk across the room, crouching down to pick up my phone. The screen is busted and there’s a crack in the case. Even though I know it’s not going to work, I try to turn it on.
“Godammit.” I grip the cell tightly, fighting the urge to chuck it again.
