Pull yourself the fuck together, man.
Her lips turn slightly in the hint of a pout and I realize it’s probably because my scowl just deepened.
“Here’s your coffee. Half the time today.” She offers the smallest smile.
I just arch one eyebrow. “Half the time?”
“It took me half the time today. From the time I ordered it until handing it to you now, it took half the time it usually does.”
“You don’t have to rush, Miss Parker. I’d prefer things to be done right than in a hurry.”
Her expression drops. “Oh. I didn’t mean—” She stutters before motioning to the desk. “Your schedule is?—”
“—where it is every day. Where it should be. In the place that your job requires you to put it. Now, is there anything else, Miss Parker? Even if my coffee was rushed, that doesn’t mean I have time to waste.”
“No, sir. I’m sorry, sir.”
Amara holds her head high, though I do notice her throat jut with a harsh swallow. Her soft throat that is most likely drenched in that fucking perfume. Even now, as I leave her behind, I can smell it.
But before I can take in a breath of relief, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It’s my father.
Fuck me.
“Yeah?” I shove the single syllable through the phone.
“Good morning, son. Fine day, isn’t it?”
Irritation crawls across my skin like a flesh-eating virus. He wants something. I know that because he only calls when he wants something. As if I don’t have enough shit to deal with.
“It’s a busy day is what it is. What do you need?”
“Running an empire is a lot of work, I understand.”
I grit my teeth but don’t say anything.
“I was hoping we could catch up later, son.”
This is what he says when he wants to have dinner or drinks or lunch. It never has anything to do with the food or actually catching up. We aren’t that kind of family and these aren’t those kinds of check-ins.
Something deep in the underbelly of New York City is going on.
“What did you have in mind?”
“Cocktails with your mother… and the Chadovichs.”
“WhichChadovichs?” I snarl.
“Dmitry. Katya. Tristan. Jenica.”
The first two are expected. Dmitry and Katya are at the top of the hierarchy that is the Chadovich family. Jenica is their daughter, and their only child. A spoiled, sassy girl whom I’ve never personally been fond of. And Tristan even less so. He’s Katya’s nephew, son of her late brother. An arrogant man with a fast mouth and a slow hand, which is exactly why he died instantlyof a gunshot wound. .45 to the face, point blank. Tristan was standing next to him. He was twelve.
You’d think that traumatic experience would have taught him lessons in humility, in caution. It did not. Tristan is a cocky, ballsy, loose cannon and an endless pain in my fucking ass.
“Is there a reason we have to meet with them?” I ask.
“We have some… smoothing over to do.”
I bite the inside of my cheek hard enough to flood my mouth with the distinct taste of blood. “Who the fuck did what?”
