Page 71 of The Stranger
“Mother,” I growl. I’m in no mood for her matchmaking tonight.
“You look stressed, darling … come sit. Let me make you a bourbon on the rocks.”
“I won’t say no to that.”
My mother makes her way towards the bar, and I head into the kitchen to check on Delilah. “Are you okay?” I ask when I reach her. She turns to face me and something squeezes in my chest.
Unconsciously, I reach out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. It’s an intimate move, one that I have no business doing, but this damn pull I feel towards her when she’s close is something I need to deal with. It’s going to be my undoing if I don’t.
“I’m fine. How are you? How’s your hand?”
I clench my fist a few times before answering, “A little tender, but I’m okay.”
Delilah reaches for my hand to closely inspect my knuckles. When the pad of her thumb innocently brushesover the area, my cock twitches behind the zipper of my trousers.
That’s seriously fucked up.
Get a hold of yourself, Prescott.
“Do you want me to put some ice on it?” she asks.
That offer brings a smile to my face. I love that she wants to take care of me.
“All good, sweetheart,” I say, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on top of her head. “But thank you.”
I see a slight blush form on her cheeks as she drops my hand and moves towards the oven. “Are you hungry? I kept your dinner warm. Your mother and I ate earlier since we weren’t sure what time you’d be home.”
“I’m starved,” I tell her. With everything that happened today, I ended up skipping lunch.
“Go sit. I’ll bring it out to you.”
It’s funny, on the drive here all I wanted was a few stiff drinks, a hot shower, and some alone time to decompress, but now that I’m home and being fussed over by the two women who matter to me most, this is exactly what I didn’t know I needed.
When I turn to exit the kitchen, I find my mother standing at the threshold with my bourbon in hand, smirking like a damn Cheshire cat. I take my drink from her hand and lean in to mumble, “You’re seeing things that aren’t there, Mother.”
She lets out a small laugh as she reaches up to lightly tap my cheek with her open palm. “Oh, Son,” she coos, “I look forward to the day the truth smacks you right in that handsome face of yours.”
I’m taking back everything I just thought. If my mother continues to look at me with those damn cartoon eyes of hers, I’m going to end up with indigestion.
The following day, as anticipated, I found myself in a meeting going head-to-head with my father and his incompetent lawyer.
Thankfully, my legal representation is one of the best in the business. Logan dealt with these two clowns during the takeover, and despite them trying to screw us over at every turn, he ended up wiping the floor with them. I’m expecting today’s outcome to be no different.
We laid our initial offer on the table, which was almost equal to half of what the company was worth, despite him only owning thirty-seven-point-five percent, which is way more than he deserved, but he remained steadfast. That’s when the ace up my sleeve—AKA the secret files—came into play. He had his chance to do the right thing … the honourable thing, but now it was time to play hardball.
When I took over the company, it was only worth one hundred and fifty million dollars. Under my reign, it’s now worth more than double that. My father has been raking in huge profits for the past few years, as well as continuing to take a salary, for zero input or hours worked—if you discount the monthly meetings he attends—the greedy bastard. He merely makes an appearance, listens, then leaves.
I’m done being Mr Nice Guy.
“My client had a feeling you wouldn’t agree to the first offer, so let’s take that one off the table, shall we?” Logan instructs. He reaches down into his suitcase to retrieve our secret weapon. “Our second offer?—”
My father’s rude counsel cuts Logan off. “It better be more than the last one, or the deal is off and we walk.”
I glare at him from across the table with a bemused smirk.This is going to be fun.
“Monetary-wise, the offer is considerably less,” Logan counters.
“Less?” my father barks.
