Page 3 of Somebody's Watching Me
Instead of snapping at him further, which was more normal than not in their relationship, Ben ignored the question and took the steps two at a time to the waiting limo.
“He’s been acting odd,” Trevor said, sneaking up behind him in that weird way of his. “I even heard him arguing with Dad yesterday.”
Ben was the perfect son in their father’s eyes. Not a surprise, considering the two were both black-hearted bastards at their core.
“How did you hear that, Trevor?” Charlie gave his younger brother a sideways glance. “Were you creeping around the house again?”
Trevor had problems. A shit ton of them. Women weren’t usually an issue for Fairweather men, but Trevor was an ugly son of a bitch, and females were especially difficult for his brain to understand. More than once, they had caught him sneaking around to look up the skirt of a maid or two. In his early teens, it had been fine. A hefty bonus will silence pretty much anyone. But as an adult heading off to college, it could turn into a problem.
“Onward, boys.” Helen emerged from the grand entrance of Parkland Grounds. Never riding in the same vehicle as her husband, she headed to the second limo on the drive. “The McIntyre awaits.”
The McIntyre.
The amount of respect his future father-in-law garnered was impressive. Fairweathers didn’t often find their match in business and social standing, but the McIntyres were giving them a run for their money.
Literally.
Charlie didn’t know a thing about horses, but he would have to learn soon enough since his future wife came from a long line of Texas horse ranchers. The McIntyre bred prize winning beasts. Beasts that needed land to roam and train.
Land his father wanted.
“Ride with your father,” Helen ordered, taking Trevor with her. “He wants to speak with you.”
Gritting his teeth, Charlie slid into the back of the first limo, and never one to shoot the shit, James started in on him the second the door closed.
“You will get her pregnant as soon as possible.” The old man didn’t even bother to drop the newspaper he was reading. “The sooner there’s a Fairweather in that bitch’s belly, the better. It’ll give us a solid hold on McIntyre.”
“Isn’t this marriage enough of a solid hold?”
Charlie asked the question and regretted doing so instantly. James lowered the paper slowly, his disgust aimed with laser point accuracy. “Am I to understand you’ll have a problem fucking your pretty new wife?”
Charlie glared at Ben sitting smugly on the seat across from him. “No, sir.”
“This could have gone much worse for you, Charles,” James pointed out. “We could have pinned you with the Marshall girl. I know you’llfuck anything that stays still long enough, but I’m sure even you have your limits.”
Pretending to watch the scenery, Ben chuckled under his breath, and their father turned his malicious stare on his favorite offspring. “And what are you laughing at? You’re no better with your women.” James slapped Charlie’s knee as if they were sharing a joke. “In fact, if you can’t manage to get Vivian McIntyre pregnant, we’ll send Ben in to finish the job.”
Charlie’s heart dropped into his stomach. He would do it. Ben had already done much worse at the old man’s request.
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Let’s hope not.” James returned to his paper. “Although I don’t think Ben will mind. He has a penchant for blondes.”
The family flew on two separate flights. James always refused to have all three of his heirs on the same plane and decided to send Ben with their mother, leaving Charlie and Trevor with him.
“He can’t even sit with us,” Trevor mumbled, buckling in.
Charlie didn’t know what he was complaining about. With their father three rows away, he could work in a drink and maybe a mile-high blowjob, judging by the way the pretty flight attendant was staring at him.
“Shut up, Trevor.”
They landed a few hours later, and Charlie exited the plane relaxed, thanks to the drinks he’d tossed back and the quick work he’d made of the flight attendant’s mouth while in the bathroom. His mother and Ben landed shortly after, and the Fairweathers made their way to baggage claim.
“The McIntyre sent only one car?” Helen sneered, unimpressed at the driver’s attempts to shove all their luggage into the trunk. “How cozy.”
The trip to The McIntyre’s homestead took a good half hour, and having not spent much time confined together in… well, forever… the trip was quite trying on all present.
When they finally arrived, the limo paused at the guard booth before proceeding through the gates and down the double drive, which cut through the empty terrain. For miles, there was nothing except green grass and cloudless skies.
