My mom, Beth, is the one person who can intervene when my dad goes off the rails about me throwing my life away. She’s a saint, and she is the only person on this planet who can calm the beast that is Arthur Beaumont.
My father is a cold, heartless, narcissistic son of a bitch, and the polar opposite to my mother’s warm, caring, and loving nature. I often wonder why she sticks around. She was the one born into money, whereas my dad was working in her father’s mailroom when they met.
It was no secret that Grandpa didn’t care for my dad. He Arthur as a gold-digging suck-up. The only reason I know that tidbit of information is because we lived at my grandfather’s estate until I was thirteen, the year when Arthur made his first five million dollars and moved us out. But before the move, I used to chat it up with my grandfather’s personal chef, and he would tell me stories about my dad and grandfather’s constant battle over money and whether or not my dad could provide for my mother. In a way, I could blame Grandpa for how my dad is today, but if Arthur was anything like Grandpa’s chef described, my dad was already well on his way to being king of all assholes when he married the boss’s daughter.
When my grandfather passed away, he left everything to my mom. His living trust assured my father wouldn’t get a dime. Grandpa left nothing open to interpretation by including specific wording stating that if my mother passed away before my father, their child or children would be equal beneficiaries. It also said that if something were to happen to both my mother and their offspring, his trust would then go to multiple charities. After I was born, my father was adamant about no more kids, so he got a vasectomy. My grandpa then set up another living trust in my name, and I gained access to the six million dollar inheritance on my twenty-fifth birthday.
I know what you’re thinking. My career choice is like Mike Lowrey from the movie Bad Boys, except my parents are alive and well, and I don’t drive around in a Porsche. I prefer my Aston Martin Superleggera as my daily driver.
“You know he’s hard on you because he loves you, right?” my mom tells me as she hugs me before I walk out of the large, handcrafted oak door.
“If you say so.”
“Kade—”
“Mom, don’t. You need to accept the fact that Arthur and I will never be the father and son buddies you hoped we would be.”
The disappointment on her porcelain doll face breaks my heart. I hate hurting my mom, but this is on my dad. If he could climb off his self-proclaimed “I am God” pedestal, then maybe we could at least be civil around each other.
“I love you, son.” She leans up on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. Mom immediately licks her thumb and wipes the remnants of her lipstick from my cheek as if I were a child.
“Love you too.”
“You and Deacon be safe tonight.”
“We always are.”
2
Britney
“Dammit, Deacon. Stop messing with everything on my desk.” My brother is a twenty-seven-year-old child, and he’s grating on my last nerve. I’m about ready to call security and have him thrown out of my office when Kade struts in, looking sexy as hell. His black fitted t-shirt clings to his upper body showing off his muscular physique in contrast to his relaxed-fit jeans.
“Not gonna happen,” Deacon whispers so only I can hear him. I can feel my face flush with embarrassment, and all I want to do is climb under my mahogany desk and hide until they leave.
“You’re a dick,” I hiss out under my breath.
“I see your dad has you working late.” Kade’s deep voice is music to my ears. I’ve had a crush on him since the fifth grade, but because my pain in the ass brother and Kade made some stupid pact when they were twelve, that put me off-limits to Kade, which also means I have to abide by their rule too.
“Wine can’t ship itself,” I respond to Kade’s observation without looking away from my monitor. If I glance in his direction again, I have a feeling I won’t be able to take my eyes off him. After all these years, I should be immune to Kade and my sexual urges, but I’m not. And the way he stares at me melts my insides.
“I’ll grab my shit out of my locker in the gym, and then we can leave,” Deacon tells Kade before heading out of my office. A few years ago, my father added a gym and lap pool for all of the employees to use, and because my brother likes coming here to harass me, he uses the gym as an excuse. Between his crazy work schedule and mine, this is the only time we get to catch up.
“You look good, Brit.” His words halt my keystrokes on the keyboard in front of me.
Don’t do it, Brit. Don’t you dare take your eyes off of the screen.
“You always look good, Kade.” Dammit to hell. That was supposed to be my inside voice. When I look away from the monitor, Kade has closed what distance there was between us and is now standing right in front of my desk, close enough that I could reach out and touch him. His manly scent is an aphrodisiac, and if my brother weren’t here, I would probably take my chance and leap over my desk to kiss Kade’s perfect lips.
“So, you do notice?” His voice is low and seductive. What is he doing?
I begin to stand to answer Kade’s question when Deacon waltzes back into my office with his gym bag.
“Let’s go. I want to grab a bite to eat before briefing.” My brother’s stern tone squelches the fire Kade had started deep in my core.
“Do you want us to walk you out so you don’t have to go to your car alone?” Kade asks. That’s not something he’s ever asked before, even knowing my past. I go to answer him when Deacon, the twat-blocker, insists that I can take care of myself. He isn’t wrong, but I still wish he hadn’t interfered.
My last year at California University, I was at a fraternity party when I started to feel off like my head wasn’t mine anymore. I immediately thought someone had roofied my drink, and all I wanted to do was leave the party before that person, or someone else, took advantage of my inebriated state. Stupidly, I staggered out of the frat house without a sorority sister, which was a rule we girls at Delta Gamma took seriously. Never walk alone, especially at night or impaired.
I vaguely remembered making it back to the DG house, but before I could make it inside, the world went dark. When I came to, I was in a bed at the clinic on Cal U’s campus, and my best friend and fellow sorority sister, Sydnee, was curled up, asleep in the bedside chair. She looked like she needed the rest, but I needed answers. After waking her, she filled me in on what she thought had happened. Although there was no mistaking I had been raped, I still had to do a rape kit to collect DNA and other evidence. It took a couple of weeks to get the official results, which confirmed what Sydnee and I thought had happened. I was raped and left in the bushes on the side of our house.
The following few weeks were a blur. The rape and knowing my attacker was still out there turned me into a neurotic mess. I felt like I was a ticking time bomb, ready to explode at any moment. One minute I was completely okay, and the next, hysterically crying. Paranoia kept me looking over my shoulder wherever I was going, even if I was driving.
Feeling ashamed didn’t help my current state, and in my head, I believed I had deserved what happened. The three things that replayed in my head were, one, I was the dumb girl who left a party without a friend. Two, I had let my guard down, thinking it was okay to accept a drink from someone I’d met before, but didn’t necessarily know much about them. And lastly, I was dressed in a silk cami and shorts pajama set with a matching robe because it was a PJ party. My poor choice of attire was what caused me to believe I had been an easy target, but plenty of ladies there had been dressed in less than me.