Page 16 of Bidding War

He snarls, “You will do as I instruct. When Moss calls you, the missions are not optional. You will come to work on time. You will show Cole the ropes, now that he’s joining the company. Anderson, you will be the man the company needs. You do not have a choice in the matter. And until you do everything I tell you to do, you will get nothing. End of discussion.” His eyes dart over my shoulder.

I glance back there, half expecting to see Moss with a gun pointed at my head, but it’s worse. Clients are coming down the dock. Can’t very well talk about any of this in front of them. I whip back around to him. “This isn’t over.”

But he smiles, so fucking pleased with himself. “It was over before it began. Don’t forget who owns you, Anderson. Ta.”

I wave at the clients, smiling. But quietly, I tell him, “I am going to make you pay, Elliot. Safe trip. I’d hate for you to drown.”

At that, he scowls. “You know not to say that word on a boat.”

“Oh, right. How silly of me.” I smile and trot across the gangplank. “Good luck and goodbye.”

“Anderson!” he shouts my name like a curse word.

I know the old sailor superstitions. If I have to use them to get under his skin, so be it. Instead of answering, I give a friendly wave while I jog past the clients and back to my car.

9

ANDERSON

The drive home feels longer than the drive to the harbor. I’m not sure how, but it does. Maybe because I feel deflated somehow. He’s right. He has all the cards. What the hell do I have? A bad attitude and no plan.

I hate being at his mercy, but it’s been this way ever since Grandfather died. When Dad took control of the family, our money was bound up with his as a protection against liability. Allegedly. My inheritance from my grandparents is tied up in my trust, which slowly leaks money over the years. It’s designed to help me not blow through it, but that means what I have now is a pittance compared to what I’m owed. I don’t get the remainder until I turn forty, the age they deemed to be when someone is responsible.

Not to mention, I work for my father. Sure, I’ve been groomed for three decades to take over at the company, but that’s not set in stone. He is in charge of how much I make. My vacation time. My sick time. Hell, even my retirement, so I’ll be feeling the sting of his presence the rest of my life.

Fuck.

Not only that, now that I’m thinking about it. He also owns my apartment. How in the hell did I go along with all of this? In hindsight, it’s crazy. But back when I agreed to all of this, it seemed like the smart thing to do. To protect the family’s assets by tying them to the company. It was the logical thing to do. My cousins, my brothers. That’s how generational wealth is passed down. By protecting it.

I never knew my father was some kind of criminal. Hell, I still don’t know exactly what he does on that end of things. All I know is he risked my life for peanuts and expects me to thank him for the privilege. I punch the steering wheel in anger without thinking, and afterwards, I am glad I didn’t set off the airbag. Though I’m not sure if I could. Feels like I could have—my hand aches.

Okay. Obviously, I’m not thinking clearly and that’s exactly what I need to do. What do I want? June. My accounts. Her cash. How do I get them? That’s where I come up short.

I have to get June her money. That comes before everything else. I cannot stand the thought of her hating me, but even if she does, I still need to pay her. She earned that money.

Whatever happens after that is up to her.

I’d like to figure out how to get her job back. I know she hated that place, but if she was angry enough to break up with me because she lost that job, then it means more to her than she lets on.

The problem is, tallying up my problems is not a solution. I have no idea how to fix any of this, and I am not good at being powerless. My skills lie in power and money, and I have neither at the moment. Perhaps that’s where I need to start. Power truly comes from money, so that’s my goal. Get my money back. Somehow.

Okay, new goal. Come up with a plan. No. Come up with a good plan.

Yeah, that was the problem with the other goal. I forgot the word good. Sure. That’s it.

Rolling my eyes at myself, I park in the heated underground parking of my apartment building. I’ve been on the road for over eight hours today. But I’m wired. Too frustrated to feel anything other than annoyance and hunger. I’ll grab a power bar and hit the gym on the first floor to burn this off. Nothing like a good workout to get my head clear. A clear head is better at planning. Some of my best ideas have come to me while I was on the indoor rower. Today will be no different.

A cute blonde in the elevator tries to flirt. “Haven’t seen you around much, 522.”

I recognize her from the building, but I have no idea what her apartment number is. The only thing I know her from is the gym, because she’s there all the time. Thankfully, she’s already sweaty and in her workout gear. I’ll have the gym to myself. I give her a friendly smile. “My girlfriend keeps me busy, so I’m not around much anymore.”

Her smile dies. “Oh. Lucky girl.” She gets off at the third floor. “If she loses that title, come by and see me sometime. 3o1.”

The doors close, and I’m grateful, because I didn’t know how to tell her I am not interested. Not even if I were single. Though, I suppose, technically I am single. But it’s temporary. This breakup will not stand. Probably.

What if June meant it, though? Doesn’t matter now. Even if June never wants to see me again, I still wouldn’t be interested in the cute blonde. I’m done with women like her. Maybe I’m judging her harshly, but I want a woman with more character than that. Hitting on someone you know is taken is hardly a good sign.

Finally, I reach my apartment door. When I throw it open, there’s a letter on my floor like someone slipped it through the slit at the bottom of the door. Reading the letter, I’m ready to punch a hole through the drywall.

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