“Parker, don’t make me call for you again.”
Agitation rails my shoulders. “Yes, sir.”
The card is tucked safely away in my pocket. My hand seeks the hiding place, mindlessly tracing the denim that guards it from being seen. When I step into my father’s office, I notice the shadows under his eyes—he hasn’t been sleeping much lately. The smile he gives me deviates from his tired appearance.
“Son,” he greets. “I just wanted to say how proud I am that you’ve locked down Alex.”
My eyebrows nearly shoot through the roof. “Thanks, I guess.”
“The Somervilles are such excellent players. We’ve always been able to get what we want—and what we need. It’s in our blood.”
Well, that lasted for all of five seconds. “Sure have, Dad.”
He rises from his chair wearing a proud expression while smoothing his hand down his tie. The end of his tie rests over his protruding gut, where his hand pauses to rest. He approaches the lavish bookshelf just next to his desk, everything painted a rich black that boasts importance, power, strength, virility.
“The wedding will proceed after the holidays,” he informs me. “We’ll spare no expense for it, of course.”
Shock splatters over my features. “Before graduation?”
“You really think I’m letting a prize like that get away?” He laughs for effect, then adds, “I’m not taking any chances, Parker.”
“I’m the one who’s taking control of Alex.”
He gives me a curious expression. “What?”
“I’m the one who locked her down. Your words, not mine.” A smile spreads over my lips as his expression shifts from pride to irritation. “She’s mine to control. I’ll make her do whatever the fuck I want.” And then, just because I know it’ll frustrate him further, I say, “Wherever I want.”
His lips tighten until they’re in a flat line. And then he’s not my father anymore. He’s Osmond fucking Somerville, a goddamn force to be reckoned with in any of the circles where our name exists. While he straightens to his full height and tucks one hand casually into his pocket, he turns his belly toward me, exuding royalty as he gestures toward me with his free hand. “I’d mind that ego, Parker.”
“Where do you think I get it from?”
“There’s quite a fine line between being calculated and being cocky.”
I shrug, adjusting my backpack over my shoulder. “I don’t need you to tell me that.”
“Do you think this life is easy? That you can just step up to the plate and take over without knowing what you’re doing?”
“I know what I’m doing.”
He huffs, tucks his free hand into his pocket, and shakes his head slowly. “This isn’t just a business, Parker. It’s art. And art takes a certain finesse.”
“Again, I already know all this shit.”
“You know what you’ve seen, but you don’t know what I’ve taught you.”
But that’s where he’s wrong.
My father has taught me more than enough by watching him work. I’ve seen his business dealings with the thugs that trudge through here—poor and rich alike. They’re all scumbags by default, but my father is the slimiest of them all, showing his pus-covered underbelly with every action he takes.
It doesn’t matter if he thinks he can’t be seen. He can. And the impact from his choices is widespread. “I’m not a child anymore. I don’t need you to coddle me.”
“You’ve always been so obstinate, so unwilling to be guided.”
I bite my tongue. This isn’t the time to rehash an old argument, not when I have to get coffee before school. The lines are about to back up if I don’t hustle out the door soon. “Is that all you wanted to say to me this morning?”
“No.” He pauses to loosen his tie. “I need you to be careful of the Persian, Parker.”
“I thought the man was a myth.”