Page 31 of Power Twist

Gerard covers his laugh with a fake cough, pressing a fist to his lips. He knows there's no love lost between me and my parents. Hell, he's not a fan of them either. But this job is steady, and from what he says, they pay well with great benefits, so he puts up with a lot.

“Yourparentsare waiting for you in the sunroom. Beth prepared coffee and tea for the meeting.”

“And her cookies?” I ask, allowing a childlike hopeful tone to seep through.

Gerard smiles. “Of course.” With a wave of his hand, he directs me toward the sunroom at the back of the mansion where my fate will be determined. “How's the new VP?” he asks as we walk along sparkling hardwood floors, going down one hallway and then another.

“Good. She's going to make a difference for the people who need it most.”

He hums a response but doesn't say another word as we continue our trek. At the sunroom doors, he pauses with his hand on the knob. Facing me straight on, he narrows those gray eyes at me.

“I don't know why you're here, Trey, but if the look on your face is any indication, it's not good.”

I swallow hard and clear my throat, fighting against the rising nerves that always come with being in this house. “It’s not, but she needs my help. I’m out of options.”

“Ah, it's always a woman, isn't it? The one who challenges us and pushes us to be better men. Whatever you need, if we can help, just ask. We're always here for you.”

Agh, this man and the emotions he's stirring. My eyes sting, but I blink away the wetness before nodding.

“Thanks, Gerard. You and Beth, well, you're the only reason I survived long enough to get out of here. Now it's my time to do something great, to make a difference.”

“You're a good boy,” he says, gripping my bicep and giving it a tight squeeze. “Never forget that.”

At that, he twists the knob and gently urges the door open. Sunlight pours through the wall of windows and pockets of glass ceiling. After the long walk through the darker house, I blink through the initial assault on my sensitive eyes. Squinting, I scan the room, pausing on my mother sitting on the white chaise, magazine in one hand and steaming teacup in the other. I search for my father but come up empty.

“Come in, darling,” Mother coos. “Your father will join us when he can.”

With one more look to Gerard, I tip my chin and stride into the proverbial lion’s den.

A soft clink echoes around the otherwise quiet room as Mom sets her teacup back into its matching saucer and rests the thick magazine in her lap. Her eyes trail up and down my body, lips pursing, no doubt finding my attire lacking.

“Mother.” I lean down to kiss her offered cheek. “You're looking well.”

“Aren't I?” she says with a smile.

It's not a lie. She looks fantastic. No one would guess her real age of sixty-two. Her blonde hair, which used to be natural, is styled in long flowing waves cascading over her shoulder. Even though it appears she has minimal makeup on, I know it took her hours this morning to perfect the look and the real woman is buried under layers of product.

I really shouldn't poke the bear since I'm here asking for their help, but I can't help it. It’s too easy. And fun.

“New filler?” I ask while pointing to her slightly overplump lips.

Her brow furrows—well, as much as it can with the billions of units of Botox in her face. Just the sight of her immobile features makes me chuckle, which pisses her off even more.

“Always a pleasure, my son.” I barely hold back a shiver at that title coming from her fat lips. “You said you wanted to discuss something with your father and me, so I'd watch your comments if I were you.”

With a one-shoulder shrug, I turn and make my way to the puke green love seat and flop onto the stiff cushions. Stretching my arms out wide, I relax back and smile.

“Where is my biological father?”

“Your only father,” she snaps in a rare display of annoyance. Quickly she schools her features back into the appearance of pristine calm. “And as I said, he will be with us when he can. He had business to attend to.”

“Right, well, this is pointless if he's not here, so I'll just grab a couple cookies and be off, then.” I slap the tops of my thighs in a signal that the meeting is done, even though it never actually started, and lean forward to swipe a few chocolate chip cookies from the tray.

“Tell me why you're here. I can make decisions alone. We don't need your father here.”

The still-warm cookie melts in my mouth. My eyes close as I chew, my only happy childhood memories flooding back at the familiar taste. I've been all over the world, eaten in almost every country, but these cookies right here are still the best things I've ever eaten.

Well, except Randi.

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