I smile sweetly as if I intend to comply, “Of course.”
When the old lady drops her arm and turns, expecting me to follow, I turn the knob on the office door and push my way in. I take two steps into the massive room and stagger to a halt. Before me is a massive bank of windows overlooking the capital building with it’s magnificent dome and beautiful architecture. My view of downtown Austin is perfect—as is my view of the young woman with her ankles strapped to the massive wooden desk. She’s bent over, with her legs spread wide and her skirt pushed up to reveal a very tanned, perfectly smooth, bare backside. Long red hair is dangling off the other side of the desk, covering her face.
Facing me, an older man stands with his pants unbuckled and his hips positioned at the woman’s head. He’s sti
ll wearing his perfectly pressed suit, jacket and all. His eyes are closed and his jaw is dropped as he holds a jar of peanut butter out in his right hand. No lid.
I have my phone out and snap a picture faster than anyone can speak. The flash goes off, and everyone stops moving, except the redhead, who seems unaware that there are people in the room. Or maybe she’s used to that. I don’t know.
“I tried to stop her. I’m so sorry, sir.” The old woman is horrified, her eyes looking everywhere except at the man.
“These things happen. You can go, Marlene.” He acts like this isn’t a big deal. His silver eyes slip leisurely over to us as his plaything continues to suck his dick.
She nods and backs away, closing the doors behind her.
The man is older, with silvered scruff on his cheeks as if he’s been here all night. Dark circles pool under his eyes and his skin looks like it’s seen too much sun over the years. It has a worn and weathered look. I know who he is. I’ve seen his face and heard his voice before.
I’m not in the wrong office. Actually, things couldn’t have worked out better. With the minor exception of my feeling increasingly awkward watching this woman Hoover his dick. But he acts like she’s not there, so neither do I.
“I’m a busy man, and you’re not on my schedule today.”
“I am now, and I suggest you put your schlong away before things get really uncomfortable, Mr. Ferro.”
CHAPTER 7
Mr. Ferro dismisses the redhead and zips up. Suddenly I’m alone in a massive office with one of the most powerful men in the world. He could have me murdered and buried under a bridge faster than I could blink. I’d disappear and no one would know what happened. It’s the Ferro way. They don’t like being challenged, and I have no intention of walking up to the guy and ruining his fun time. I was going to kick his lawyer in the nuts. Now I have a picture on my phone of a much bigger fish, but I’m not certain that it matters. Mr. Ferro has a reputation, and, unless that was really a dude impaling his mouth on Ferro’s Johnson, there’s not much my photo can do. Doesn’t hurt though.
The dark suit clings to his toned body as he moves through the room, padding across the antique carpets, until he stops in front of a mahogany bar at the far end of the room. It has a leather front and an antler as the handle. He slides open the lower section of the cabinet and when he rises, he has a decanter in his hand with two crystal tumblers in the other.
His voice is deep, commanding, with a fine amount of gravel mixed in giving it that menacing tone. “Sit.” He points toward a set of burnt orange club chairs in a sitting area adjacent to the desk and overlooking the city below.
Spine straight and head held high, I follow his finger and walk toward the chairs. I may look calm on the outside, but I’m ready to puke all over the place and run away screaming.
Gathering what's left of my courage, I lower myself into the soft seat, place my purse at my feet, and cross my legs at the knee. The Fitbit lights up. It does that when it’s tipped to the side—the watch face turns on. I need to disable that feature. I hope it looks like an ankle bracelet or a part of my shoe. It’s kind of fat to be a fashion statement. I frown and uncross my legs, trying to tuck the band behind my other ankle, and shove it back against the chair.
I look up at Mr. Ferro, trying to decide what to do. He’s a businessman, but the thing I keep tripping over is that this is Nate’s dad. There’s got to be a reason why he never claimed his son. There has to be a reason why he’s trying to crush him now that he’s grown. It seems like pettiness has nothing to do with it—Ferro is anything but.
I wonder how much Nate is like this man, how similar they are despite having never met. Part of me wants to think they’re completely different, but even now as I sit in the chair and watch his father stride toward me, there are similarities that are too hard to ignore. The stride and gait, the way his shoulders are squared, that little spark of a smile that hides at the corners of his mouth—they almost make me feel welcome. I need to find out why he’s here. I need to see for myself that Nate is nothing like this monster. So I stay.
Ferro pours some dark amber liquid into the bottom of the glass and hands it to me, before taking his seat in the opposite chair. He sips his bourbon and stares out the window for so long I think he’s forgotten I’m here. It’s not until he’s this close that I sense something else in him. It’s difficult to distinguish and would be easily overlooked.
The first thing about him is power. It smacks you in the face and makes you his bitch. That’s obvious, but there’s this undercurrent, a charge in the air, that’s warm and welcoming. It’s completely unnerving. I don’t think it’s a chink in his armor, either. It’s intentional, a way to lure enemies to destruction and make it seem friendly—right before he goes for the jugular.
I’ve never been close to someone with as much money and power as this man. He radiates sensuality and exudes confidence. I should be intimidated or awestruck, but I’m neither. Truth is, I’m pissed and barely containing it. I know this guy’s story, and, although I’m not stupid enough to think that means I have an intimate knowledge of who this guy really is, I know enough. He plays hardball and grabs life by the balls. Ferro seems passive compared to his wife, but that’s an illusion, a carefully constructed piece of bait to lure a less astute person into a sense of security.
I don’t trust my own mother, so maybe that makes me a nutcase, but I’m not walking away without Nate’s house. I just need to figure out how to do that. I’m not diabolical. I’m not some evil mastermind that can plot a coup. Hell, I can’t even play Risk. I lose. Every time. My siblings always crush me. They say I’m all heart and pretty colors. I don’t think like a chess master, and if I want to get this man’s attention, I need to figure out how to play fast.
Insta-lesson!
Fake it until you make it. I channel a younger version of Ferro and slink back into the cold leather, resting my arms on the thick padded leather arms. I rub my finger along the side of the glass, making a line in the condensation before speaking. Ferro sees me. I know he does, although he doesn’t look directly at me. He’s to my right and our knees are pointed toward one another, echoing the placement of the chairs. I know about mirroring, and the way it can make two people feel like they have a lot in common by copying their movements. It’s also a really awesome way to screw with someone’s head. Act like it’s not intentional, and in a few deliberate moves you have a new BFF. Or nemesis.
Ferro is most likely the latter.
The silence spans on as I play the waiting game with him. I’ve not had a taste of the liquor, although I hold the glass like I will—any moment now.
I stare out the windows, not speaking. The first person to speak loses. It signifies weakness to talk first, so I wait. My gaze is locked on the window, but I’m studying the reflection of the room in the glass. Bookcases behind me, legal stuff, leather couch, antlers on the walls, antler coffee table, and a dead animal on the floor—calfskin rug. The office is an ode to Texas. I’m surprised he didn’t stuff a cowboy and mount him on a barrel in the corner of the room.
Five minutes pass.