Page 10 of Bought and Broken

The bartender, who’s dressed in a pair of purple shorts that are too indecent for the public, puts a coaster down in front of me.

“What can I get you?” he asks with a flirty smile.

“Scotch. Neat.”

He nods his acknowledgment and goes off to get my drink. I mindlessly tap the tabletop as I glance at the elevator, wondering where Dane is. He took a phone call. How long can that take?

When the bartender returns with my drink, I give him a hefty tip and he leaves me to move to the next customer.

I sip my drink and take in the diverse clients here tonight. There are both men and woman bidding, which is interesting. I hadn’t considered that women would be here, and I’m not quite sure why. I suppose it seems like more of a man’s thing to do, since women tend to be more emotional and sensitive and shit.

I’ve never been to an auction event before but have heard about them. Not this one in particular, as it’s very hush-hush, but a lot of them run similarly. After digging and realizing I found zero information about this event, I figured that was a good thing. They’re particular about who they invite and don’t open it up to just anyone. I like that.

“Winters.”

I look over my shoulder at someone calling my name—my last name, and something I hate. The only acceptable things to call me are Tatum, Mr. Winters, or yes, Daddy, more.

“Gunner,” I grit out when I lay eyes on my step-brother—ex, actually. We aren’t step-brothers anymore since my father divorced his mother’s cheating ass. I should have known he’d be here. It’s just the kind of thing he does on the weekends. Though I’m surprised he’s at this one. Seems like he’d be more likely to scout for women in the sewers.

“Surprised to see you here,” he says, lifting his drink to his lips. Looks fruity. Wouldn’t expect anything less from him. “Is your father around?”

“You know damn well my father ran off to Japan with a stripper,” I say, finishing my drink. “Another,” I tell the bartender with a wave of my hand.

“Ah yes. I do get enjoyment out of that. Knowing he left you here to handle the family legacy all by yourself. How is it trying to dig a company out from under the ground, anyway?”

I refuse to let Gunner see how much he gets to me. He always was an irritating asshole. He’s lucky I didn’t kill him in his sleep and dump his body into one of the great lakes.

“Business is flourishing,” I say proudly.

Gunner grins wider—he doesn’t believe me. It’s fine. He doesn’t have to. My business is doing well. Not as well as it could be, but we’re no longer going under, so that’s something. Had I put more money into fixing it, we’d be doing better, but I didn’t trust what my father had done enough to spend all my savings on it. I need money to live too. So, I’ve taken things slow. Played it smart. I’ll continue to do that until I feel comfortable doing things differently.

When dear old dad took off with some stripper he met at a gentlemen’s club, he left nothing for me other than the house and his business that was going down faster than the Titanic.

I’d never been grateful for him forcing me into getting a business degree than the day I found out he’d left the company to me. Up until that point, I’d thought I’d be forced to be his puppet. It was a relief when he left.

It’s taken me a few years, but Winters Resorts finally has smooth sailing ahead. And it’s going to stay that way, if only to prove to my father that I’m fully capable of handling things he can’t.

“Come to think of it,” Gunner taps his chin, then points at me, “I think I saw one when I was down in Florida.”

“Likely,” I comment, picking up my drink the bartender just dropped off.

Choosing Florida as a place for a new resort was risky with the number of resorts they already have, but offering affordable prices was key. It also helped that it’s an adult-only resort with multiple pools, swim-up bars, speed-dating nights, and a bunch of other crap that has people flocking to it like flies on shit.

Gunner’s brow furrows and he homes in on the scratch on my face. He taps at his own, right where mine is. “What happened there?”

“My cat got feisty,” I comment, knowing that’s going to hit him where it hurts.

His jaw clenches. “I thought you were allergic?”

I sip my drink and shrug. “Must have grown out of it. That happens sometimes, you know.”

He’s fuming now, and it takes a lot of effort on my part not to laugh in his face.

Clearly, he’s still pissed about having to get rid of his cat when he and his mother moved in with me and my father because I was… allergic.

It really is too easy to make your eyes red and fake sneezing. Gunner argued I was lying. My father likely agreed with him, though he never said anything. It was Gunner’s mother, Sheila, who was on my side and said they could just get rid of the cat. I mean, what’s a cat when you’re marrying a man who has millions? Too bad she didn’t get a damn penny because she was found taking it in the ass by the pool boy.

So fucking cliche.

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