“Uh, yeah. Briefly. After his dog about killed me.”
Em snorted. “Attack Papillons?”
Jericho chuckled. “Not exactly. I was walking with Batshit on the lead and this other dog tripped me, and well, I got tangled in the leash and managed to look like a total dork as I fell to the ground.”
“This other dog belonged to rich guy?” Finn raised his brows.
“Oh right, yes. He was dropping the dog off for some show. He left right away.” After I made a total ass of myself.
Finn handed Bat to Em. “Okay, I’ve got to get back to work. Jericho, do exactly as much as is fun and convenient and not one bit more. We didn’t plan to monopolize your summer.” He smiled. “But watching you put Batshit, I mean Marisol Queen of the Universe, through her paces will be amazing. I can’t wait.”
Jericho swallowed hard. Strangely enough, neither could he.
Brees didn’t even hide his sigh. The halls were empty since it was after 6:00 p.m. The nice dinner and couple hours of TV he’d promised himself looked less and less likely. His father had said later in the day. Just like him to mean later in the night. But damn, he’d waited long enough. If his father wasn’t ready for him, he could wait until the next day.
As he rounded the corner to his father’s outer office, Michaela, his father’s admin, looked up. “Oh. You startled me. I, uh, didn’t know he called you.”
“He didn’t, but I can’t wait any longer. Tell him I’ll talk to him in the morning.”
She held up one finger in a Wait motion while she picked up the phone and hit a number. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but your son says perhaps tomorrow would be a better time for you to meet with him?”
Brees softly exhaled. He’d really like to go home, but Marc Antony wasn’t as loyal to Julius Caesar as Michaela was to his father. If she had to hurl herself in his path to keep him from leaving, she would.
“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” She hung up and looked at Brees. “Mr. Apollonia will see you now.”
He so wanted to say, Oh shit, but he didn’t. Instead, he followed Michaela to his father’s inner door and walked through as she held it open. Jesus, you’d think he was entering the Oval Office.
His father looked up from a pile of papers. Yes, papers. He still preferred to have most of his documents printed out before he reviewed them. His way of doing business made Michaela more valuable to him than most of his vice presidents, including Brees.
Brees heard the door close behind him and said, “I’m sorry to bother you, sir. I’m perfectly happy to wait until tomorrow to discuss your business, assuming it’s not urgent.”
A slight crease popped between his father’s bushy brows, but it vanished into a veil of smoothness. “No, of course not. I simply hadn’t realized it was so late.” His father’s voice still held a tiny lilt of Italy, which was effective with his Italian clients and associates, while just making him charming to Americans who loved accents. “Have a seat.”
Brees perched on the guest chair in front of his father’s pristine desk, almost totally clear except for the stack of papers he was working on and the beautiful blown-glass globe at one corner. His phone and computer, both small and expensive, sat on a credenza behind him.
Sitting back in his ultra-modern desk chair, Brees’s father folded his hands in front of his chest and said, “I want you to marry Elizabeth Ricci.”
Brees’s gaze snapped to his father’s face. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Brees felt his mouth open like a fish, but he couldn’t seem to close it. “Holy fucking shit!”
Now his father fully frowned. He disliked profanity, but his lack of appreciation of four-letter words barely touched his hatred of being refused.
Brees couldn’t help himself. He laughed. “Excuse me, Father. I realize you choose to ignore the fact that I’m gay, but I don’t believe your power of ignorance has risen to the level where it can cancel out the truth.”
His father leaned forward, put his forearms on his desk, and idly waved a hand as if swatting a fly. “That makes no difference. It’s my understanding that it’s still possible for homosexual males to, shall we say, perform in the company of females if given sufficient—” He waved that maddening hand again. “—stimulation. You have only to beget an appropriate heir and then retire to your dalliances and leave her to care for her child as women prefer to do.”
Brees gave the old bastard frown for frown. “Elizabeth is a fucking neurosurgeon, not some burbling courtesan you and her father made up from a wet dream. For God sake, it would take her about five seconds to see through this charade and she’d refuse to go along with it.”
“That’s unlikely.” The tone of his father’s voice made shivers creep up Brees’s spine.
Brees narrowed his eyes. “It’s not exactly a secret that I prefer men. If Ricci hasn’t heard it yet, he will.”
“He’s aware, but I have no other son.” The word unfortunately wasn’t stated but implied.
“So this is all about the acquisition, partnership, whatever?”
His father nodded once.
“Why in hell can’t you just draw up legal documents like everyone else on the planet?”
“Ricci’s old-fashioned. Ties of marriage are almost as good as ties of blood.”
“Fuck that. He thinks he’s the Godfather.” And here he’d thought that title was reserved for his father. Brees stood. “But of course, I won’t do it, even if Elizabeth would, so get yourselves another Michael.”
He’d walked a few steps when his father said, “You may not care about your position or wealth, but likely your mother does.”
He turned slowly. “That’s not just my mother you’re referring to, it’s your wife.”
All the asshole did was raise his eyebrows.
Already exhausted, Brees said, “I’m sure my mother wouldn’t want me to turn my life into a lie so she can continue to live in luxury.” He would have liked to be surer of that, but it sounded good. Plus, this wasn’t the first time the old man had threatened to disown Brees. The fact was, Brees was pretty damned good at his job and made a lot of money for the company, so his father always veered away from going through with his threats. Admittedly, this was the first time his father had included Brees’s mother in the disowning scenario, but she was beautiful, smart, and adored by his clients. A shame she didn’t have better taste in husbands.
The phone rang on his father’s credenza, and he turned away from Brees. Brees shrugged and stalked toward the door.
Suddenly, his father drew in breath sharply.
Brees looked back. His father stared at the receiver with a strange expression.
“What’s wrong?”
He shook himself. “Just a crank.”
“Oh? How did a crank get through on that line?”
His father kept staring at the phone.
Brees asked, “What did the crank say?”
A slow frown crept across his father’s face. “He said, ‘Stay out of Elizabeth Ricci’s love life, or else.’”
“What?” Brees half smiled. Who the hell knew about this idiot scenario? What love life?