Sell My Soul (Sixty Days 1)

“Where the hell did you get this?!” she asked. “What on earth did you do?!”

Her eyes were dinner plates as I made myself as comfortable as I possibly could do in the dead of night with a body beaten to the moon and back by a gorgeous stranger and his leather belt.

“This is going to be a long story,” I said.

I started from the top.Chapter Twenty-SevenBrandonI didn’t bother with the slightest illusion of niceties or of urgency.

I held back on calling Drake until the first slivers of sunrise touched the dawn, busying myself by replaying Eric’s incompetent performance on loop at my desk before venturing onto the porch for a cigarette in the open air.

I dialled his encrypted number as I paced. The long pause before he answered didn’t fool me for shit. He’d been right there waiting for hours.

“Eric isn’t cut out for a fucking moment of performance work,” I snarled as soon as the call connected. “Your interference has set me back weeks with that little bitch. Bids are off. On fucking hold until I fucking call otherwise.”

“Is that so?” he said and my hackles rose at the sound of his voice. “I don’t know when you started parading around with this misguided belief that this is the Brandon Grant show, but those days are numbered. From my somewhat enlightening conversation with your brother, I’d say my intervention is long overdue.”

“Eric knows fuck all,” I told him. “He’s still wet behind the ears, bumbling along like he knows his ass from his elbow.”

“He seemed to know plenty about Rebecca Lane,” Drake said, and I could have kicked my idiot brother in his idiot gut for his idiot tongue.

I took a decent drag and rained back the rage in my voice. “Rebecca Lane is in hand. Nothing to worry about.”

“And I’m supposed to take that as gospel, am I?”

I let out a sneer with my exhale. “Take it however you want. I’m the one with my hands on the reins around this place.”

“So you keep telling me. Unfortunately it appears some opinions don’t warrant your confidence.”

I hated the guy. Hated his voice. Hated his associates. Hated everything about the asshole and his part in my younger years.

“I think it’s about time we talked about a purchase price for your remaining shares,” I said. “Then no other opinions will count for shit around here bar mine. You can stop your cock and bull interfering.”

His laugh was begging for a fist in his face. “What on earth makes you think I want to part with my remaining shares? On the contrary, Brandon, I’m thinking of stepping back into the fray in a much more hands on capacity.”

My laugh back at him was dripping with spite. “And what on earth makes you think I’ll be open to having you back in the fray around here? You’re worth shit in this enterprise, Drake. Most of our clients don’t even know your fucking name these days. You’re nothing. A has-been. Why don’t you head back out onto the golf course with your elderly chums and let me get on with business?”

His silence spoke a thousand words.

I’d got to him.

“You forget yourself,” he said finally, and maybe be was right.

Maybe I had forgotten myself.

Maybe I’d forgotten how much his cash injection had pulled my from my knees and sent me stepping out with purpose.

Maybe I’d forgotten how deep his network of billionaire cunts ran into the cogs behind our shady setup.

Or maybe I quite simply didn’t fucking care for his power game shit anymore.

Drake spoke again before I did. I fought the urge to cancel the call and leave him hanging.

“You know who I am,” he said. “You know how far my influence stretches. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating me, Brandon, or I promise it’ll be the last mistake you make this lifetime.” He paused. “I hear from your brother that you have a childish gamble running for equal management power. Another gesture filled with foolish overblown confidence, wouldn’t you say?”

I cursed myself for even considering such a stupid fucking bet in the first place.

“He won’t win,” I laughed regardless. “And when I do, you’ll be quids in, just like I will. Enjoy your golf and wait for your payday. You’re fucking welcome.”

“He says the girl you’re willing to stake your professional respect on is a certain Miss Paige Emmerson. Psychology student at local university. I’m looking forward to seeing what’s compelling enough about this girl to send you out of your goddamn mind.”

The thought of Drake seeing anything of Paige Emmerson was strangely disturbing. I’d happily tear his eyeballs from their sockets if it meant he didn’t catch sight of her.

I breathed through the insanity in my spike of rage. “What’s compelling about Paige Emmerson is the cash windfall that will come on the back of her,” I told him.