It had taken all my self-control to walk away from Meg. I tried to tamp down the claws in my mind that wanted me to turn around and fuck her into the mattress until she screamed.
But Walter had rattled me more than I had cared to admit.
I didn’t want a quick and dirty session—not right now anyways. That would come later. I wanted to savor the moment with Meg, have it just her and me and not us and all my demons.
My pants were uncomfortably tight, and my erection was a hot poker to the brain with every step I took. I hit the elevator button, not trusting that I wouldn’t cream my pants if I took the stairs. The old elevator lurched as it descended then jerked to a halt two floors down.
I tamped down a groan when Karen stepped on.
She smiled when she saw me. Then her face turned ugly when she looked down. “You know,” she said, face changing again to a sultrier expression, “I could help take care of that for you.”
I grabbed her wrist before she could touch me. “No. Thank you.”
Her nostrils flared.
“If you can’t handle being the campaign manager,” I said in a clipped tone, “then I understand.”
Her features smoothed out. “No,” she said. “It’s fine. Just a friendly offer.” She blew me a kiss when the elevator doors opened at the lobby level. “You know where to find me if things… grow… dire.”
Were things that dire?I wondered as I walked to my car. The cool night air was helping settle me down, physically at least. Mentally, I was a wreck. I wanted to turn around, run upstairs, and fuck Meg.
But I couldn’t. I didn’t trust myself.
I slammed my car door shut then leaned my head back against the headrest.
Was I just like my father?
* * *
I changedclothes then lifted weights when I arrived back home, but it barely helped calm me down. A cold shower didn’t help much, either, and sleeping seemed impossible. I went to the clubroom and drank scotch after scotch to numb myself against Meg, against Walter, against my father, against all of it.
“You are a fucking disgrace.”
“Good morning, Greg.” I toasted him with my… how many glasses had I had? My brother was hazy in my vision.
“You know, when Mace told me that he periodically has to drag you to bed, I thought he was exaggerating. You know how he can be.”
There was still scotch in the glass.
“You will not turn into some sort of degenerate,” Greg insisted. “I don’t trust any of the rest of them”—he motioned to my concerned brothers hovering in the doorway—“to take care of the kids properly. And I certainly will not have them in Manhattan.”
“I don’t know,” I told him, closing my eyes. “Women seem to really go for a rich guy in a suit with a cute kid.” I drained my glass and peered around for the bottle. “You can play up the whole ‘I’m taking care of my little brother after our tragic backstory’ angle. You might be able to find someone to help you get over being both dumped by Belle and humiliated when she stole not one but two big deals out from under you.”
“It wasn’t stealing. She cheated,” Greg spat.
“Hm. Maybe I should have her come here and work for my campaign,” I said, sneering at Greg. “Maybe she’ll decide she wants a different Svensson brother after all.”
Greg snatched me up by the collar of my T-shirt. I laughed at him.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Greg snarled in a low voice. “You don’t have the balls.”
“Yeah, because Meg ran off with them,” Archer said cheerfully.
“Does no one here have to go to work?” Greg dropped me back onto the chair, disgusted.
“Not me.” I yawned.
“You’ve already missed two meetings, and it’s not even lunchtime yet,” Remy said reproachfully.
