Sugar Rush
Page 33
“And what role would that be?” I ask sweetly.
“That the arrangement with Beck is temporary and it’s a services-only arrangement. You fuck him, he gives you money. It’s quite simple, really.”
I blink at him, unsure of what to say. Every fiber of my being wants to tell him off and make him understand how close Beck and I truly are, but the part of me that wants him to suffer eventually wins out, so I play it cool. “Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Townsend.”
“If you think there’s something deeper with Beck, you’d be wrong about that,” he insists as he turns back to me. “He doesn’t see you as anything more than a great fuck.”
If I really wanted to preserve status quo with JT and not alert him to anything, I would meekly agree with his statement. But the fighter in me…the woman who hates this man and wants to defend herself to make up for the fact that once I was absolutely defenseless against him, narrows her eyes and sneers, “I am a great fuck, JT. A really superb, fantastic fuck. But you and I both know there’s more to me than that. Otherwise you wouldn’t be trying so hard to tear me down.”
JT actually rears backward a bit with eyebrows raised. I can tell he never expected me to fight back.
Before he can even think of a comeback, and before I can ruin anymore of Beck’s plan to solidify his friendship with JT so he’ll seek him out for money, I step into JT and murmur softly, “But don’t worry…I would never attempt to come in between your friendship with him. I’m very aware of Beck’s feelings for you and I’m going to try to make a very concerted effort to get along with his oldest friend and business partner.”
I step back and beam up at him with a warm, brilliant smile. Giving him a nod, I set my half-empty glass down on a small table beside me and say with cheery politeness, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Townsend. It was nice seeing you again.”
Stepping past him, I make my way across the billiard room and toward the staircase that leads up. I don’t look back at JT, but I can actually feel his confused look pressing in upon me.
I follow my dad out of the music room, across the main hall and to the main staircase. We go up one flight to the next floor that houses his office, the library, media room, and master suite complete with a separate dressing room and his-and-hers master baths. The floor above has four guest rooms plus a home gym and sauna.
My dad’s office is as intimidating as it is sumptuous: custom wood paneling with coffered ceilings, a massive crystal chandelier, rare artwork, and a built-in saltwater reef aquarium that takes up one wall. Given that my dad spends most of his time in here, either working his financial advisor magic or probably still fucking JT’s mom, I get why he wanted it built to his specific tastes. My gaze slides to the Parnian custom desk made of Carpathian elm and ebony—yeah, the one I hid under while my dad boned Mrs. Townsend all those years ago—that I happen to know was purchased for a cool two hundred thousand dollars because my mom also likes to brag about that as well.
Because we’re talking business and my father would never think to sit beside me in one of the two guest chairs made of Macassar ebony and Italian leather, which are as uncomfortable as they look, he takes a seat behind his desk that is so expensive I’m afraid to breathe on it.
When I’m seated opposite him, I don’t waste any time getting to the subject. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can grab Sela and we can start to celebrate Christmas Eve away from this place.
“You loaned JT the start-up capital for The Sugar Bowl,” I say simply.
My dad’s expression remains neutral, flawlessly composed. “It’s no secret. It was a good investment that paid off quickly and lucratively.”
“I’m curious if you loaned him the money because it was a good deal or because he’s your son.”
His reaction is subtle but telltale. A tiny tick in his jaw muscle, and I know I’ve just made things uncomfortable because we’ve never discussed this in detail.
My dad, however, recovers quickly and says in an unapologetic voice, “First, because it was a good investment, but also because he’s my son.”
“Does he know?” I ask quietly.
“That I’m his father?” my dad asks, but doesn’t wait for me to reply, merely says, “No. Candace and I felt it was best he not know.”
I can actually envision how that conversation went between my dad and JT’s mom. Probably something like this.
Candace: “I’m pregnant, Beckett. And it’s yours.”
Beckett: “How do you know?”
Candace: “Because you’re the only one who’s fucking me.”
Beckett: “What do you want to do?”
Candace: “Keep it, of course. But Colin can’t know. He’d divorce me.”
Beckett: “I understand. That means you’ll have to fuck your husband, and soon, so he thinks it’s his.”
Candace: “That sounds like a good plan. We can keep fucking though too, right?”
Yeah, that’s exactly how I bet that conversation went, because I knew all too well that my dad was not going to divorce my mom. He may be a whiz with finances and made his own way in the world of power and money, but my mom comes from old money. The kind that never dies, never goes away. Is infinite and then some.
I also know Candace knows this, and she doesn’t come from money. She married Colin after he plucked her out of a Vegas burlesque show. He’s fifteen years her senior, obscenely rich, ugly as sin, and dotes on his wife. She’s not about to lose that gravy train.
“You and Candace…you never thought it was a good idea to let JT know the truth?” I ask, not because I really care for JT’s benefit, but because I want to get a read on my dad’s feelings, as limited as they may be for his illegitimate son.
“Where are you going with this?” my father counters, evading my direct inquiry. This doesn’t surprise me. My dad was never one to talk about feelings and emotion.
I don’t answer him directly either, because I can play this game as well. I learned from the best about how to remain detached so I can focus on what’s really important. So instead, I say, “I don’t begrudge you helping JT with the start-up capital. Hell, that was of benefit to me too.”
My dad nods with a smile on his face, utterly relieved I’m not here to give him shit for helping his secret bastard son. But it’s time to knock that smile off his face.
“That the arrangement with Beck is temporary and it’s a services-only arrangement. You fuck him, he gives you money. It’s quite simple, really.”
I blink at him, unsure of what to say. Every fiber of my being wants to tell him off and make him understand how close Beck and I truly are, but the part of me that wants him to suffer eventually wins out, so I play it cool. “Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Townsend.”
“If you think there’s something deeper with Beck, you’d be wrong about that,” he insists as he turns back to me. “He doesn’t see you as anything more than a great fuck.”
If I really wanted to preserve status quo with JT and not alert him to anything, I would meekly agree with his statement. But the fighter in me…the woman who hates this man and wants to defend herself to make up for the fact that once I was absolutely defenseless against him, narrows her eyes and sneers, “I am a great fuck, JT. A really superb, fantastic fuck. But you and I both know there’s more to me than that. Otherwise you wouldn’t be trying so hard to tear me down.”
JT actually rears backward a bit with eyebrows raised. I can tell he never expected me to fight back.
Before he can even think of a comeback, and before I can ruin anymore of Beck’s plan to solidify his friendship with JT so he’ll seek him out for money, I step into JT and murmur softly, “But don’t worry…I would never attempt to come in between your friendship with him. I’m very aware of Beck’s feelings for you and I’m going to try to make a very concerted effort to get along with his oldest friend and business partner.”
I step back and beam up at him with a warm, brilliant smile. Giving him a nod, I set my half-empty glass down on a small table beside me and say with cheery politeness, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Townsend. It was nice seeing you again.”
Stepping past him, I make my way across the billiard room and toward the staircase that leads up. I don’t look back at JT, but I can actually feel his confused look pressing in upon me.
I follow my dad out of the music room, across the main hall and to the main staircase. We go up one flight to the next floor that houses his office, the library, media room, and master suite complete with a separate dressing room and his-and-hers master baths. The floor above has four guest rooms plus a home gym and sauna.
My dad’s office is as intimidating as it is sumptuous: custom wood paneling with coffered ceilings, a massive crystal chandelier, rare artwork, and a built-in saltwater reef aquarium that takes up one wall. Given that my dad spends most of his time in here, either working his financial advisor magic or probably still fucking JT’s mom, I get why he wanted it built to his specific tastes. My gaze slides to the Parnian custom desk made of Carpathian elm and ebony—yeah, the one I hid under while my dad boned Mrs. Townsend all those years ago—that I happen to know was purchased for a cool two hundred thousand dollars because my mom also likes to brag about that as well.
Because we’re talking business and my father would never think to sit beside me in one of the two guest chairs made of Macassar ebony and Italian leather, which are as uncomfortable as they look, he takes a seat behind his desk that is so expensive I’m afraid to breathe on it.
When I’m seated opposite him, I don’t waste any time getting to the subject. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can grab Sela and we can start to celebrate Christmas Eve away from this place.
“You loaned JT the start-up capital for The Sugar Bowl,” I say simply.
My dad’s expression remains neutral, flawlessly composed. “It’s no secret. It was a good investment that paid off quickly and lucratively.”
“I’m curious if you loaned him the money because it was a good deal or because he’s your son.”
His reaction is subtle but telltale. A tiny tick in his jaw muscle, and I know I’ve just made things uncomfortable because we’ve never discussed this in detail.
My dad, however, recovers quickly and says in an unapologetic voice, “First, because it was a good investment, but also because he’s my son.”
“Does he know?” I ask quietly.
“That I’m his father?” my dad asks, but doesn’t wait for me to reply, merely says, “No. Candace and I felt it was best he not know.”
I can actually envision how that conversation went between my dad and JT’s mom. Probably something like this.
Candace: “I’m pregnant, Beckett. And it’s yours.”
Beckett: “How do you know?”
Candace: “Because you’re the only one who’s fucking me.”
Beckett: “What do you want to do?”
Candace: “Keep it, of course. But Colin can’t know. He’d divorce me.”
Beckett: “I understand. That means you’ll have to fuck your husband, and soon, so he thinks it’s his.”
Candace: “That sounds like a good plan. We can keep fucking though too, right?”
Yeah, that’s exactly how I bet that conversation went, because I knew all too well that my dad was not going to divorce my mom. He may be a whiz with finances and made his own way in the world of power and money, but my mom comes from old money. The kind that never dies, never goes away. Is infinite and then some.
I also know Candace knows this, and she doesn’t come from money. She married Colin after he plucked her out of a Vegas burlesque show. He’s fifteen years her senior, obscenely rich, ugly as sin, and dotes on his wife. She’s not about to lose that gravy train.
“You and Candace…you never thought it was a good idea to let JT know the truth?” I ask, not because I really care for JT’s benefit, but because I want to get a read on my dad’s feelings, as limited as they may be for his illegitimate son.
“Where are you going with this?” my father counters, evading my direct inquiry. This doesn’t surprise me. My dad was never one to talk about feelings and emotion.
I don’t answer him directly either, because I can play this game as well. I learned from the best about how to remain detached so I can focus on what’s really important. So instead, I say, “I don’t begrudge you helping JT with the start-up capital. Hell, that was of benefit to me too.”
My dad nods with a smile on his face, utterly relieved I’m not here to give him shit for helping his secret bastard son. But it’s time to knock that smile off his face.
