Page 23 of Bought

I give a little shrug. I don’t want to get into a discussion on mysticism with this man. I have a feeling that most of it would be lost on him even more than it would be on me.

“If it’s business you want to talk about,” Ethan interjects, “why not come and see me tomorrow. I’m entertaining my guest right now.”

“Oh, I think this is where I need to be,” Jack says. There is an undertone of intentionality to his voice. “I think I’m late, to be honest. Of course, I wouldn’t be, if I were notified when things came up, so I could deal with them in a timely fashion.”

Ethan’s smile has become exceptionally forced. There’s tension between the two of them, and I suspect I know why. This isn’t about business. This is about me.

“Forsyth, would you escort Casey to her room?”

“With pleasure, sir.”

For once, I am actually pleased to see the old stick of a man, who has been lingering since Jack came in. Jack Ford gives me the creeps. He is the sort of man who makes every single hair on my body stand erect, like a cat spotting a predator and puffing up to appear larger.

Ethan is a sadistic, perverted asshole of a man. But I get the feeling Jack is worse.

I stand up, hating the fact that I am in these stupid heels. I do not want to wobble away from the table like broken prey. I doubt Jack could resists the instincts he so proudly wears on his sleeve. So I kick the shoes off, leave them beneath the table, and pad away in my bare feet.

Though I expect a look of disapproval from Ethan and Forsyth, I don’t get one. Forsyth’s expression has become so professionally impassive it’s impossible to read, and when I look over my shoulder, Ethan isn’t even looking at me. Jack’s gaze is locked on me, but Ethan’s is on his, a hard stare that doesn’t bode well for the rest of the conversation.

Chapter Seven

Ethan

“Get rid of her.” Jack swings his chair toward me the minute Forsyth leads her out of the room.

“What do you mean?” I know exactly what he means, but I want to make him say it. When we started Vipyr in his mother’s basement, we had big dreams. Very big dreams. We’ve achieved most of them, but we’ve paid a price along the way. There’s no such thing as an innocent billionaire. We know what we’ve done. But there are limits, and what he’s talking about is a hard limit of mine.

“I mean find someone who makes people go away, and have them have her go away,” he hisses. “Jesus, Ethan, you could be fucking supermodels. Why the hell are you wasting your time on that ugly…”

“I’m going to stop you right there.” My voice is cold. My hand is clenched. Casey may not be a supermodel, but there is more to a woman than superficial beauty, in my view at least. Not Jack’s. To Jack, the world is nothing but a bunch of barely sentient animated flesh puppets only good for being drained of their dollars. That’s not what I think of him. That’s a direct quote from the man himself.

Casey thinks I’m a sociopath. It’s possible that I am, but even so I have absolutely nothing on Jack. He is the real deal.

He rolls his eyes at me. “Jesus, Ethan. I take one vacation and you’re letting everything go to shit. She’s made you soft.”

“What’s gone to shit, precisely? Our stock is up three points.”

“And what’s it going to do when your fuck doll opens her mouth? I saw the email she sent. I know what she’s threatening us with. She needs to be removed from play.”

I hold back the impulse to get physically aggressive with him for calling her a fuck doll. “She’s not going to do that. I’m dealing with her. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“You’re not dealing with her. You’re fucking her. And when you fuck women, you fall for them. Remember that stripper, freshman year?”

I grit my teeth. “The one you knocked up and forced to get an abortion?”

“Oh, right, that was me,” he smirks. “Well, whatever. My point stands.”

We were both assholes back then. We are both still assholes. But Jack is right in one regard. Casey has had an effect on me. I’ve only known her two days, but seeing myself through her eyes has made me want to be a better man. There’s part of me that wants to be the good guy. Her good guy. I don’t know if I can ever be that man, but I know I want to move toward it.

Jack and I are as rich as any man needs to be, and then some. We don’t need to keep acting like it’s still 1996 and we need to cut throats to get where we want to be. Back then, it was metaphorical violence, but there’s nothing metaphorical about what he wants to do to Casey.

Jack should know better than to talk to me this way, but his ego was always more inflated than mine. In the very early days, he was the driving force behind Vipyr’s rise through the ranks. Now we need a steady hand. Someone who understands power, but isn’t drunk on it. In his more rational moments, Jack knows that. It’s why he spends three quarters of the year on vacation while I run the company. I’m sufficiently ruthless to keep us afloat. At this point, Jack’s methods only hinder us.

“She’s mine,” I say calmly, but firmly. “And I’m handling her. Go to Venice or Monte Carlo or somewhere and stop worrying about it.”

Jack taps his fingers against the dinner table, where the remnants of Casey’s chicken cool on her plate. “I think I’m going to stick around for a bit on this one. Make sure nothing goes wrong.”

I can’t stop him from staying in the city. I don’t actually own San Francisco, as much as some people might say I do. Power is more limited than people imagine it to be. Unless you’re Jack, and you just don’t care.

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