I pinch my brow and know it wasn’t the kid’s fault. I doubt my father or mother told the staff not to bother me when it came to alcoholic beverages.
It’s the one thing I hate about coming to these events; the open bar is only twenty feet away from me. My parents know I'm a recovering addict, and though I've been sober for years, and my main addiction was oxy, alcohol was just as much of a crutch to ease my pain. Every day is still a constant battle. Days like today with the stress of a bad couple of weeks rest on my shoulders, and it would be easier to escape in a bottle of whiskey than to deal with the reality.
It’s why I don’t allow myself in these sorts of situations anymore. The temptation where alcohol flows freely can be too much.
I swear my old man does this shit to test me, to see if I fail and go back to my ways.
He's always waiting for me to fucking fail.
I've come so far in a short time. I know the dangers I will face if I taste the sweet bourbon.
For now, I tease my mind and rattle the ice in my water glass before I toss it back, letting it chill my bones and pretend it could be something stronger for a second.
I spot my identical twin brother Landon, who just arrived from California. I have been avoiding my brother since he arrived, and I plan to do so for longer when I see the bourbon in his hand. My father has brought him in to check up on how I’m running my part of the company. It’s the only reason my brother comes to Florida anymore. When Dad thinks I need to be babysat. Not that I need a babysitter. The Florida branch of Morgan Securities has been expanding its technology and branching out its services. I’m hiring on three hundred new employees and also working with the FBI, and other government agencies. How much more do I need to do to prove how successful business is going?
I love my brother, mainly because I have to, he’s my twin, but I love him more when he’s in his own state.
Landon is busy talking to the CFO of one of our biggest clients, Davis Technologies. Their CEO Ryan Davis is desperate to find his kidnapped wife and willing to spend every dollar to do so. I should be talking to the CFO, but as I watch the pair throw back drinks, along with everyone else here, it becomes too much and I escape inside to the den. The only place in the house I know I can be alone. I place my glass down on the fireplace ledge and go to pick up a pool stick.
The old man wasn’t always such a hard ass. He bought this table when Landon and I were ten, and he would spend hours teaching us how to play. It’s one of the fondest memories I have of him where he could just be a dad; where he wasn’t grooming us to take over the family business.
A time when I wasn’t a disappointment.
Before the accident. Before my addictions.
I grab the cue ball out of the pocket and place it on the green. I line it up and aim for the left corner pocket before knocking it right in.
“You’re good.” A feminine voice echoes into the silence of the room, followed by the click of the door. “Maybe you can teach me how to play.”
My chin drops to my chest, and my eyes close tightly.
For fuck’s sake, I just wanted to be alone.
I turn to the intruder, spinning the pool stick between my palms and letting the bottom spin on the top of my foot.
Angela Parsons. My building’s interior designer.
She’s wrapped tight in a black dress, and her cleavage pours out of the top. Far less than what she wears around the office. Now, her eyes draw up and down my body like a hungry lioness, and I know instantly, I fucked up two nights ago.
They always tell you pleasure and business never mix and I mixed it with Angela Parsons two nights ago after going over a color scheme for my new high-tech conference room.
I should’ve settled on white like I wanted. It’s simple. Easy. But she wasn’t having it. Telling me color will make people happy and eager to work. So, I ordered dinner in while we talked it over. It was late, and I hadn’t eaten all day because I had been stuck in meetings. My first mistake. Somehow during our meal, she became dressed in less and less—and I had also agreed on painting the room eggshell. Which is still fucking white! My second mistake.
I should have left after that decision, but when her hand started rubbing over my crotch, and she offered herself for dessert, well, I never claimed to be a saint. Seconds later, we were butt ass naked on the glass conference table. When it was over, we got dressed and went home.
That was supposed to be it.
“Well, are you going to teach me, Liam?”
“Ms. Parsons, what are you doing here?’
“Angela,” she corrects me. “I’ve been looking for you all night.”
I only wish I could say the same. “I mean, what are you doing at my parents’ estate?”
“I was invited.” She nervously pushes back her auburn hair behind her ear. “My dad is friends with your dad, remember?”
How could I forget? It’s how she got picked for the job. When I bought the rest of the building to expand, my dad was quick to hire someone for me to do the job of my building’s interior designer, wanting to push his weight around. I didn’t argue. I needed a job done and fast. Angela, at the time, was what I needed.
“Right.” I place the stick down on the table and move towards the door. “Well, it was good seeing you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“Wait.” Her hand lands on my forearm. She smells of wine, and though it's a sweet scent, it nauseates me. “I was hoping we could talk.”
“We can talk about design on Monday. I don’t think I have it in me to talk about eggshell or earth tones this evening.”
“That’s not what I wanted to talk about.”
“Listen, Ms. Parsons—”
“Angela." She corrects me again, cutting me off. “I think we are both on a first name basis by now.”
“Nothing has changed.”
“How can you say that?” She pouts and crosses her arms over her chest.
I rub my forehead. I should’ve known this was coming. It’s the whole reason I avoided her on Friday. I felt it deep in my bones it wasn’t going to be a one and done with her, but I had hoped. "You know exactly how I can say that. We talked about this Thursday night."
“We didn’t really talk about anything,” she says, desire dripping from her voice. “In fact, I don't remember a whole lot of talking once you had my panties around my ankles.”
“Listen, what we did was fun,” I begin to tell her my spiel, while not being able to look her in the eyes. I’m not a complete ass, but I’m still an ass.
"Really? Fun? That’s the angle you’re going with?"
“I warned you that it would be a one fuck and done. That it wouldn't happen again.”
“You’re fucking awful,” she huffs.
“Because I'm truthful? I gave you plenty of warning before we started that it would only happen once, and your clothes still came off. I didn't force you or ever lead you on before that night. You said you were okay. I gave you a chance to walk away so you didn’t get your feelings hurt. You agreed you were only looking for some fun and nothing more before you left.”
“I was hoping that um,” Angela says, looking at me through her lashes and putting on the full pout.
Oh, here we go…