Page 2 of Seductive Hearts

The arrogant asshole.

He snapped his fingers and expected me to come running.

If I was, it was only to spare Mom his ranting over me. She didn’t deserve that. If he had something to say, he could tell it to my fucking face.

Earlier tonight, I broke up with a coke addict who would only end up causing further embarrassment, yet somehow, my father would find a way to make me the villain.

Once the car arrived and I tipped the valet, I slid behind the wheel and wrapped my hands around the leather. It was a satisfying feeling, something like regaining control after the shame I would be blamed for heaping on my family only hours ago. The Bugatti shot forward like a bullet from a gun, tearing through the night. I liked to drive fast. I didn’t have time to waste, even when I had no doubt I’d get my ass handed to me once I arrived at my destination.

It had been years since I’d moved out of the penthouse my parents shared. Yet, pulling the car into the familiar parking garage felt like stepping back into the past. I moved on autopilot, parking in one of the family’s designated spots. My parents’ cars were present, along with the pair of black BMWs they used when they required a driver, the other reserved for my sister, Sienna. At least Dad hadn’t called her in to witness my assassination.

I rolled my eyes and sighed as I exited the car and headed for the elevator. At least I’d had the presence of mind to stop home and change before meeting the guys, or else I would’ve reeked like the dirty martini Veronica had thrown at me before the fight had really heated up.

I was twenty-eight years old and well beyond the point of getting called into Dad’s office for a talking-to. Yet there I was, staring at the light over the elevator doors and watching it change as I climbed. Once the final floor was illuminated, a soft ping preceded the doors sliding open.

It didn’t come as a surprise to find Mom pacing the wide hall leading from the elevator to the living room. She was dressed in workout clothes, and I remembered she took some fitness class with my Aunt Evelyn a few nights a week. Something told me it wasn’t yoga or Pilates that had her looking flushed.

“There you are,” Mom hissed, coming to a halt with her fists on her hips. “What were you thinking? I told you I didn’t like that girl.” She barely stopped short of shaking a finger at me as I approached.

“I had a feeling it was something to do with that,” I murmured before groaning. “I can explain. You know I wouldn’t do anything like that without a reason.”

Mom held up both hands, shaking her head. “I don’t want to hear it, and I don’t need to. It’s your father who wants to talk to you about this. He’s waiting in his study,” she said as if I needed to be told.

“What’s the temper on a scale of one to ten?” I asked, arching an eyebrow as I turned my head to gaze down the hall leading from the living room deeper into the penthouse.

“Roughly fifteen,” she whispered as her lips drew into a thin line. “And that’s after I talked him down from level thirty. He’s very, very upset. Don’t say something you can’t take back,” she added in a frantic whisper as I began crossing the room.

“I hope you told him that,” I muttered, squaring my shoulders as I walked. Now, I knew how a condemned man felt during that final walk down the tiled hall, heading toward certain doom.

Instead of striding through the partly open door all at once, I paused. Years of going toe-to-toe with the man had taught me a few things about how to best deal with him. The less I said, the better. I loosened my jaw and pulled in a deep breath, preparing myself to go blank-faced, if only to piss him off.

“Are you going to take all night out there?” Dad’s voice was loud and sharp. “Believe me, this won’t get any easier for you if you keep me waiting.”

The prick. I continued on and pushed the door open before striding into the familiar room. Instead of leaving it a single room devoted to work, Dad removed the wall between it and the room next door, turning it into more of a man cave. It had evolved over the years, but the old arcade games and pool tables were still in place. However, the home theater system had been greatly improved as technology advanced.

It was no surprise he wasn’t in the mood to shoot a game of pool or screw around with his new VR headset. He sat behind his desk, a glass of scotch in hand, still dressed for work in one of his typical suits, though he had removed his tie and popped the top two buttons on his crisp shirt. After running a hand through his gray-flecked dark hair, he motioned for me to come closer. “I would ask if you would like a drink…” he began in a tight voice, “… but I understand you’ve already been on a tour of Manhattan’s most popular night spots this evening.”

I offered as much of a shrug as I felt like managing. “She came back from the bathroom with white powder around her nostrils. I reminded her that was a dealbreaker for me. She threw a drink in my face. It went downhill from there.” With another shrug, I added, “Who knew there was a substance out there more addictive than I am?”

His inscrutable expression left me wondering whether he’d believe me. Probably not. It went against his nature. “Your Uncle Connor did me the favor of calling me to give me the heads-up. It will be front-and-center tomorrow morning across all social media platforms and online outlets,” he growled out before spinning the computer so I could read the headline:

Son Of Manhattan Construction Billionaire In A Public Brawl With A Supermodel

Not the family’s proudest moment.” He took a sip from his glass, eyeing me as he did. I was twenty-eight, too old for the sight of his disappointment to sting, but I had to fight off a flinch just the same. I couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t demanded more from me than I was able to give.

“The family will get over it.” When I stepped toward one of the leather chairs in front of his desk, he cleared his throat loudly.

“I don’t remember asking you to sit,” he reminded me in a tight voice that felt a lot like a slap across the face. “And this little fiasco tonight wasn’t the reason I wanted to see you. Though it’s probably the perfect segue,” he observed, staring into his tumbler and swirling what was left inside.

“What does that mean?” I dropped into the chair anyway and tried to ignore the way his voice had quieted to something closer to a slither. It raised countless red flags.

“I’ve let you get away with this for too long,” he quietly mused, still observing his liquor in favor of looking at his son. “I told myself you would grow up and stop recklessly bedding and discarding women.”

Staring at him while he sat in judgment of me for doing nothing more than what he’d done in his day was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “I’m not giving up women for the sake of the family,” I flatly informed him. “It’s not going to happen.”

“That’s not an excuse for bumming around with no direction. No goals.” Lowering his brow, he growled out, “Bedding every woman you brush up against doesn’t count as a goal.”

There wasn’t much I hated more than hypocrisy. I knew damn well what a notorious reputation he had when he was my age. There was a reason Mom and her friends had a special nickname for the great Barrett Black and his crew. The hunk holes. I couldn’t let it go. “It was for you at one point,” I muttered.

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