Filthy Rich (Blackstone Dynasty 1)

“He’s ready for you now, James.” Patricia’s smile held a touch of sympathy. She probably knew the reason for my summons. My father, the judge, only hired the best, and every lawyer with half a brain understood a smooth running office existed in direct correlation to the skills of his or her legal secretary.

“Thanks. Oh, before I forget, tell your son to get in touch with Marguerite at my offices if he’s interested in an internship.” Patricia’s oldest son was a first year law student at Suffolk and probably a smart kid if he was anything like his mom.

“Oh, that’s so kind. I know Chase will jump at the opportunity, James.” She smiled her genuine thanks before leading me into my father’s inner sanctum.

He tracked me with his eyes as I entered the room. I had to work fucking hard to keep a lid on my emotions and stand there impassively. I was on enemy turf for as long as this meeting lasted. I thought of my mother and that helped to keep my feet planted, otherwise I’d be out the door and down on the street where I could breathe again.

“Sit down, son.”

I settled into one of his soft leather chairs and leaned back with an expression of relaxed comfort. An acting performance that should probably earn me an Academy Award because it really felt like I was being ass-fucked on a bed of jagged nails. I probably was about to be but just didn’t know it yet.

“Thank you for coming today. I realize your mother had to persuade you.”

I kept my eyes forward and ignored the calculated barb. “How is Mom?” I deflected.

“Your mother is very well as she always is.” It was probably a lie, but I’d learned long ago my parent’s relationship was not my battle to fight. “The reason I’ve asked you for a private meeting is to share my news. You need to know what’s coming.”

I stared back and said nothing. There wasn’t a thing on earth that could’ve compelled me to ask him for the information. I was unable to pretend that much with my father. All of my energy was taken up just by my presence here in the first place. I knew my silent disinterest rankled him. And I fucking loved that it did.

“Ted Robinson’s recent cancer diagnosis has ended his political career.”

“You know what they say about karma,” I answered. All I could envision in my head was the darkly beautiful goddess that was Karma swooping in for her well-deserved dues, because Ted Robinson shared space on the same list with my dad. Cut from exactly the same cloth. “Besides, he has Mrs. Robinson to care for his every need now so he can certainly take some comfort in that.”

Bitch, please.

The idea of Leah nursing her sick husband back to health was so outrageous even I had to call bullshit on my own inner monologue. Robinson would abso-fucking-lutely have private in-home nursing care, because his adoring wife certainly couldn’t soil her hands cleaning up his piss and puke.

“It’s time to let go of whatever happened in the past, James. It’s done. Move on to the new.”

Let go of whatever happened in the past?

My jaw twitched involuntarily, probably from how hard I was gritting my teeth. I had moved on to the new, as he put it. What the fuck did he think that was five years ago when I severed ties with this law firm and started my own? James R. Blakney & Associates, P.C. was something pretty fucking new. I shrugged and shook my head slowly. “So what, you’re running for public office now?”

“I’ve been approached by the party, yes.” He unclasped his hands and placed both palms down onto his desk. “I will accept thei

r invitation to throw my hat into the proverbial ring. I have every intention of representing Massachusetts in the US Senate one year from now.”

Of course you do.

I figured this day would come in time. My father’s ego pretty much predestined a political career at some point. “Congratulations,” I managed to grind out.

“The senate is just the first step in the overarching plan though.”

“Overarching plan?” I loathed when he spoke in riddles like he was doing right now. So arrogantly smug in his passive aggressiveness it grated on my already stretched patience.

“Yes. The senate campaign announcement will come early January when everyone is breathing a collective sigh of relief the presidential race debacle has finally been put to bed—try to deflect some of the negative into a positive. Four years isn’t a horribly long time to have to wait for a candidate they can really get behind and safely propel into the White House.”

Whoa. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? “You’re serious.”

“Deadly serious.”

“You’re going to run for President of the United States.” I didn’t pose it as a question. I blinked at him, hoping to wake up from a really bad fucking dream—unable to accept the idea, grasping at straws of denial instead. “But aren’t you getting ahead of things? The White House is a long way from a judgeship on the First Circuit.”

He stone-faced me, taking me straight back to when I was a kid and about to get served my punishment for some irrationally perceived infraction. There were a lot of those moments in my childhood to draw from. A flicker of fear crept inside my heart.

“I-I m-mean, you have to w-win the senate seat before you can declare a run for P-President in four years.” I wanted to cut out my tongue for stammering and showing my weakness in front of him.

“The senate race won’t be even a small problem. It’s already done. All I need to make it stick is the cooperation of my beloved family.” His lip curled up on one side in a definite tell of distaste as he spoke the last word. Jesus Christ, he must hate us all.