Page 148 of Fall Into Me

“I look forward to meeting her.” His smile was black tar, sticking and seeping. I forced myself not to picture the thoughts running through his mind.

Patience.

“Your brother really made a mess for us,” he said, swirling the whiskey in his glass, his eyes flicking briefly to the one in my hand. “Take a seat, son.” He gestured toward the couch opposite him with a tilt of his head.

As I walked, I made sure to take my time. Every step deliberate, calculated. Not a single ounce of the tension that word filled me with—son—was allowed to show. Not a single fucking hint.

The look he gave me showed all too quickly the cracks in his paper-thin veneer. The way his hand clenched around the glass he held.

“As I was saying,” he ground out, face starting to flush red with the effort of pretending like we were equals, “You’ll have some late nights ahead of you, playing catch-up on the plan of attack. Your first appearance as the new CEO of Mackenzie Co is next week.”

“The new CEO?” My eyebrows shot up, the surprise on my face exaggerated just enough. “You’re handing me the company?”

His laugh was a jarring, cracking, brittle cackle. It was something that had festered from disuse. “My boy, you’ve spent too much time around that girl thinking with your cock instead of your brain. In name only,” his free hand shot out, snapping sharply twice in the space between us. “Keep up.”

His eyes flicked to the glass in my hand again.

“You’re right,” I said, letting out a small, measured sigh as I sagged into the couch. I let an easy smile spread across my face, slow and disarming, shaking my head like I was finally conceding. My hand lifted the glass toward my lips, a move he mimicked, the whiskey almost touching his mouth.

“You know,” I said, snapping forward suddenly, elbows on my knees. His head jerked, startled by the shift. “I think I learned a lot more from you growing up than I ever gave you credit for.”

“When you were growing up?” He parroted, his expression twisting, caught off guard. It was the kind of curveball he didn’t know how to handle.

“Took me a while to figure it out, but it all cleared up for me after I had time to think about it.” I started to lift the glass to my lips again, and so did he, but this time there was a look of satisfaction on his face.

Wistful, like the memories he was flicking through were treasures instead of scars. He took his first sip of the liquor, agasp of appreciation for the way I was sure it warmed his throat on its way down.

One sip was fine. One was enough.

I set my own untouched glass on the coffee table and stood up just as my phone buzzed in my pocket.

“I learned what a pathetic piece of shit looks like, real up close and personal.” My voice was conversational, light even, which made his reaction just a little delayed.

“What did you just say?”

“I said,” I replied, walking closer and leaning down a little so he had no choice but to look me in the eyes.My mother’s eyes.

“You’re a fucking loser, William. Has anyone ever said that right to your face before?” I straightened up, flattening a palm against my tie. “I’ll be honest, it feels like a real pivotal moment for us as father and son, if I’m the first.”

“You fucking—” He attempted to lunge for me but caught himself on the edge of the couch, a look of shocking disorientation on his face.

“Oops, careful, pops.” I checked my watch, “You’re entering the fun house stage.”

I reached into the inside pocket of my blazer and pulled out a thick plastic bag, snapping it open with deliberate precision before reaching for his glass.

“Can I be honest with you about something?” I leaned in, a conspiratorial whisper. “I knew this would be easy, but I didn’t think it would bethiseasy.”

I dropped the glass into the plastic bag I held and turned back to where I set mine down.

“Ash thought this was about how this would go. I, at least, bet that I’d have to take a sip of my drink too, just to convince you to have one of yours.” I shook my head with mock disbelief. “But nope, blow a bit of smoke up your ass and you were as good as gone.”

“What the fu—”

“There is no more talking for you,” I cut him off sharply, turning back to face him. All the easy-going enjoyment drained from my voice. My smile was fucking dazzling when a cry of pain left his lips, his hand flying to brace over his stomach.

“Does it hurt?” I asked, my voice laced with mock curiosity as my lips peeled back further, my head tilting slightly to the side. “I heard it fucking kills,” I whispered, reaching past him for the decanter he’d placed back in the middle of the liquor cart.

I made quick work of slipping on a pair of latex gloves, retrieving the original decanter I’d stowed in the cupboard beneath the cart, and swapping it out seamlessly. The gloves joined the bag with the rest of the evidence, which I tied off with a neat knot.

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