Page 31 of Wicked Dares
“I’m not the issue.” I try not to sound too harsh but know I don’t quite hit the mark.
“For me you are. Ain’t got a thing to do with your skills. Young man like you, moving money that fast, living the way you do… doesn’t exactly scream stability to me.” His tone stays easy, but there’s steel underneath it. “You got no roots, and the papers sure as hell don’t paint you as a saint.”
I let my head drop and slouch against the desk. This is not going well. And I can’t see it changing unless I meet his standards—which I shouldn’t have to.
I lift my head. Looks like we’re back to Plan B.
“The stuff with the papers happened over a year ago.” I cleaned up my playboy image long before that, but the tabloids still like to fuck with me. Always hungry for a story, they label every woman I speak to a bed friend.
Arthur clears his throat again, but it sounds more like he’s trying to stave off a cough. “Be that as it may, son, I ain’t seen nothin’ about you and yournew girlfriend.”
There. That’s thelie.
My fictional girlfriend.
I’ve used that lie to keep him tethered to my orbit. He doesn’t believe me. Can’t blame him there. He knows men likeme don’t settle down easily, and he doesn’t believe I have. But… part of him hangs on in case it’s true. From everything he’s said over the last few weeks, I know he’s watching me, and probably investigating.
The man wants to see a girlfriend, someone who looks like she’s long term. Not a fling.
“I’ve told you before, my girl doesn’t like all that attention. She likes her privacy.” That’s understandable and believable to everyone, except him.
“We all like our privacy, but I don’t see nothin’ on her. Not a single picture from any public event you’ve attended in the past year. Your brothers brought their wives, heavily pregnant and all. I reckon they’d like their privacy, too.”
My grip tightens on the phone. The leather chair creaks beneath me as I shift forward, irritation crawling under my skin inch by inch.
“It’s like she don’t exist,” he adds. “From where I’m sitting, it sounds like you’re trying to sell me something I haven’t seen for myself.”
I lean forward, resting my forearms on the desk. “You’re not investing in my personal life. You’re investing in results.”
Silence stretches on the line for a beat too long. I already know what he’s thinking. Men like Arthur don’t separate business from character. To him, the two are welded together. One and the fucking same.
“Son,” he drawls, “those two things tend to go hand in hand where I come from. My empire is built of quality, loyalty, legacy. I can’t trust any ole person with it. I like to know who I’m trusting with my money. And I like to know the kind of life that man’s building.”
“What do you propose we do to make you feel more assured?” I can’t believe I’m asking him that question, but here I am.
“Don’t know yet.”
Oh my God.
“Arthur, it’s been over a month.”
“Don’t rush me, son. I’m still interested, but there’s plenty of other companies I can take my business to if I’m not entirely happy.”
So, fuck off, then.
I wish like hell I could say that and remind him that Vale Global doesn’t need his irritating-as-fuck ass. It’s just that we kind of do.
Not for the money. Because of what it means if he walks away.
People notice when a man like Arthur Lockwood refuses to sign with Vale Global.
Yes, we have a solid multi-billion-dollar empire, but when we start turning away high-profile clients like him, cracks begin to form in our structure.
And it would happen on my watch.
My brothers and I have been working like hell to maintain the trust people have in our brand. My father’s name has carried us for decades. With the change in leadership, we need to preserve what my father built and make it even better.
Besides, Dad would kill my ass if I screwed up this contract. Knowing him, he may even appoint someone else as head of division if he thinks I’m not fit. One thing my old man isn’t known for is taking things easy on his sons.
