Scorpio Page 3

  It’s a mindset I intend to change very soon. “So—”

  “Quiet!” Dad snaps irritably, and the board room almost instantly stills.

  He looks around the room for a moment, as if daring anyone to speak, before settling his eyes back on me. “Very nice work, Scott,” he says, somehow making his words sound more like an insult than a compliment, “but I’m not yet convinced that this is the direction we should be moving in.”

  It’s an effort to keep from gritting my teeth. This should be a slam-dunk for me. “Then let me convince you—”

  “The meeting is over,” Dad says dismissively, turning his attention to the room at large. “I’m going to take a couple of days to go over these proposals before we call a vote.”

  The executives look at each other for a moment before gathering up paperwork and rising from their seats. The restrained formality of the meeting is over, but my father’s words have put a considerable damper on the excitement, and everyone is quiet, merely giving each other telling looks.

  “You three stay,” Dad commands. Everyone in the room knows who he means. It rankles me that my father still talks to us like we’re servants or something.

  I keep my cool as the room quickly empties, pretending not to notice the bastard grin on Chase’s face. Liv is the only one who is graceful, as she always is, studying me with a cool but inquisitive expression.

  She sits regally in her chair like an ice queen, her platinum blonde hair pulled up into an elegant bun, her startling green eyes a reflection of our mother’s.

  For some reason, her calm demeanor pisses me off more than Chase trying to fuck with me. At least he’s being transparent by being a dick, whereas Liv always hides her true intentions and thoughts behind an impassive mask.

  She looks harmless enough, but I’ve learned to be wary around my dear sister. It’s the slow knife that kills . . . and Olivia can be very slow and very deadly.

  “You three surprised me today,” Dad says, bringing me out of my thoughts. He sits back in his chair, appraising each of us with shrewd eyes. “Very nice work. Well done.”

  I don’t miss the slight smile that plays across his lips when he looks between Chase and me. He won’t say it, but he enjoyed our little tiff during the meeting. It’s become his favorite form of entertainment, watching us go at each other’s throat in our quest to impress him.

  It’s been going on for so long, it’s almost second-nature to us. From a young age, he’s forced us to compete for his affection, always pitting us boys against one another while basically ignoring Olivia.

  First, it was who could excel in school, bring home straight As or get the recommendation for advanced placement classes. Later, it was who was a better athlete. It didn’t matter that Chase was older. I was expected to make just as many goals, beat his personal records, and do more all the same. And if I did, Chase made damn sure to beat me again the next time.

  Later, in our college years, Dad would have us work in the various subsidiary groups that make up Danger Enterprises. He’d pump the executives for feedback, encouraging them to work us even harder just to see who would break and who would perform best.

  In the end, only one of us will hold the reins of power at Danger Enterprises. I intend for that person to be me.

  There are a few moments of silence, so I decide to speak up. “I think we all showed good insight . . . but one of the plans was—”

  “Scott, your grandstanding is bound to get you into trouble,” Dad says, cutting me off. “Bragging about it doesn’t help either.”

  I arch an eyebrow. “Grandstanding?” I ask incredulously. This coming from the man who made himself synonymous with the city of Bane to the point that I swear they’re going to rename the whole place ‘Danger’ when he’s dead? “Such as . . . ?”

  “The whole bit about your deal being the best. Walking around here as if you’re the CEO. It’s . . . unseemly,” Dad says.

  Chase snorts, but I don’t pay him any mind. “I was just—”

  He charges on, holding up a hand to silence me. “You have talent, you have potential, and you are perhaps more passionate about the business than anyone I know.” He pauses, letting that sink in, but then he drops the other shoe. “But you are far too ambitious. Your ego is bigger than your talent. Your deal will get us slaughtered in the long run. When it comes down to it, you are impetuous and impulsive. Your brother is a better businessman, prepared to take things over when I retire with a steady hand, guidance, and a realistic outlook on the future. Not this pie in the sky magic math that only looks good on a chart.” He pushes my carefully crafted presentation to the center of the table, dismissing it. “We need real dollars and cents, smarts that will sustain Danger Enterprises, not a boardroom performance.”

  His words drop on me like hot coals down my shirt. Anger boils up from the pit of my stomach. This arrogant, deluded old man thinks that I’m not prepared to run this company? I’m the one who has a plan to position us for not just the next few years, but the next generation.

  But I don’t show emotion. I can’t let him think he’s getting under my skin. I don’t lose control, at least not with someone watching. I take the pain from his words, twist them and transform them, and turn them into fire, into something useful to help me reach my goals.

  Dad’s full of shit anyway. He hates that I’m passionate about my work, that my aspirations are even bigger than his. And that despite his wanting me to fail, and sometimes even intentionally kicking my footing out from underneath me, I get back up every time, stronger than before. He knows I’m the best fit to take his place, today as evidence, but he wants to put me in my place. Maybe if I sat back and did what he asked, like Chase does, things would be different. That’s part of the reason he wants Chase to run the company, because he wants to have some semblance of control in place. Chase will allow that, but I never would. It’d be hard when I have so many ideas to further our brand, more than he ever dreamed, and that pisses him off. That I could be better. Better than Chase, and better than him.

  They all look at me, waiting for my explosive reaction to Dad’s cutting words.

  Instead, I stand up and button my double-breasted suit. “I see. Well, have a good night.”

  I slowly turn and walk from the room, my rage gurgling in my gut like someone just dropped a whole tube of Mentos in a bottle of Coke. I spent three months busting my ass on this deal, working with my team to ensure it was as good as it could be, and to deliver a picture-perfect masterpiece of a presentation . . . only to have my own father reduce it to no better than a kid fucking around on E-trade with a credit card and a Magic Eight Ball.

  Fuck that. I’ve worked too hard for this shit.

  Maybe I should just quit and go somewhere my talents are actually appreciated, I think as I reach the elevator and decide to bypass it for the stairs. I have to work twice as hard as Liv and four times as hard as Chase, and still, it’s never good enough.

  Even as the thought enters my mind, I quickly dismiss it. Danger Enterprises has been my entire life. Just because my dad is closed-minded, I won’t let him force me away from something that I fully intend on making mine.

  Reaching the floor where my office is, I hear a familiar voice behind me. “Hey, what happened in there?”

  I turn to see my best friend and colleague, Robbie Wright, peering at me, his chest heaving as if he’s just run up the stairs. I know he didn’t. Robbie’s just always going like a crazy man. His four-Rockstar-a-day habit probably doesn’t help things. He’s short and compact, a former college boxer who earned the nickname ‘Motorhead’ from his team, both for his never-ending energy and his never-ending mouth.

  Despite the difficulties in getting him to shut up sometimes, Robbie’s my right-hand man. No matter what I need, he’s the one I can always depend on, and his brain is as sharp as his suits. He’s put a lot into this deal and feels personally invested, just like me.

  “It’s not being voted on yet,” I say flatly, continuing
on to my office. Robbie doesn’t need an insight into my issues with my father since he’s well aware of them already.

  Robbie falls in behind me, however, scurrying to keep up. “Fuck, man, I thought you said we’d have your father’s backing today.”

  Not responding, I make it to my office, taking off my suit coat and throwing it over the back of my chair. Despite it being a step down from Chase’s office, the floor-to-ceiling windows give a spectacular view of the city.

  I take a moment, looking out at the view before me. When Dad was my age, Bane was just another podunk small city, one of those towns where high school football would draw crowds bigger than the entire town’s population.

  Then my father began what was then Danger LLC. And now, Bane’s on the verge of being the next big city of the decade.

  There’s already a satellite campus of the state university in town, and the Danger name has brought plenty of other industries to town. There have been some growing pains, but overall, Bane’s name is on the rise and is being hyped as the next Silicon Valley.

  And in the center of it all, standing fifty stories into the air and dominating the skyline, is the Danger Building.

  “Hello?”

  I turn around and see that Robbie is staring at me. He’s standing at the door to my office, his eyes concerned. He’s good at reading between the lines and knows this isn’t the time to press me.

  It’s one of the reasons I have him on my team, even if keeping a friend as your subordinate has plenty of its own challenges.

  Running my fingers through my hair, I sigh, stressed out. I thought for sure I had this in the bag. “Fuck it . . . I need a drink.” I move toward the collection of fine whiskey and crystal glasses on the credenza in the corner but stop when Robbie speaks.

  “Hey, how about we hit up a club or a bar instead? Change of scenery might do you some good. I know it’s been a while, but a piece of ass might help you clear your mind too.”

  I should take a pass, go home, and gather my thoughts. I need to stay focused. In time, everyone, including my father, will realize I’m the one suited to lead this company. And I need to be ready when that happens.

  But the thought of going home without relieving all this built-up tension is pure torture.

  Fuck it.

  I’ve got three months of pent-up energy, and some lucky girl is going to get all of it tonight. Every. Last. Bit.

  Grabbing my wallet, I grin. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 3

  Madison

  Daily Horoscope, September 21st

  Libra – Put your best self forward and watch what happens.

  “Woo-hoo, Maddie’s got her groove back!” Tiff exclaims, looking me over with jealous eyes. “See? My horoscope readings can be a good kick in the pants to get your shit straight. Get it, girl!”

  We’re in the break room in back of Stella’s getting ready for our shifts, and after that shitty fucking psychic reading, I’m kicking the bad vibes to the curb and grabbing life by the horns.

  Starting by going all out with my wardrobe. Okay, maybe Tiff’s morning reading was the encouragement I needed to put forth a bit more effort today. But it’s hella easier to hear the good stuff than dire warnings, so best self . . . let’s make some magic happen.

  I’ve turned the sexiness up to eleven tonight, skipping my usual ass-highlighting jeans for a skin-tight blue skirt, black fishnet stockings, and combat boots.

  I haven’t worn a skirt since a certain bastard told me I looked cheap in them and strongly encouraged me to wear pants.

  Even after that fucked-up situation ended, I’ve kept wearing jeans out of habit.

  But tonight, I feel different. Defiant. Fierce.

  I’m going to serve up drinks, look damn good doing it, and enjoy my shift.

  Tiffany must be feeling my vibe too. “You’re gonna need Stella’s bat to keep all those pervy bastards off you with all that ass you’re serving up,” she jokes, looking pointedly at my butt. “Or they might even have to call 9-1-1 for those old geezers who come in here with their pacemakers.”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “Stop it.”

  “Just sayin’. You’re gonna get extra-good tips tonight, girl.”

  “Tips would be nice, that’s for sure,” I say, fussing with my hair. I’m in a good mood, and I’m not going to let anything or anyone change it. Including crazy voodoo ladies.

  Turning around, I check myself out in the big mirror attached to the break room door . . . and damn, do I like what I see.

  Tiff’s right. I look slamming tonight. This outfit is highlighting all my best assets, both T and A, my hair is cooperating, hanging shiny and smooth down my back, and my legs look long from my hem to my boots. I might not be ‘hot’ according to the skinny bitches’ magazines, but what the hell do they know? I’m a fucking knockout . . . a curvy fantasy of a woman most guys wish they could get their hands on.

  For the first time in a while, I actually feel sexy. Comfortable in my own skin. Confident.

  It’s been so long since I’ve felt this way. I’ve missed it. Missed . . . being myself.

  The thought triggers a twinge of anger in my gut, the memory of my past threatening my flow for a second. But I dismiss the voice in my head that isn’t mine, the one with ugly things to say that tear me down, with a pep talk of my own.

  He’s nothing. A ghost of my past that got me where I am today. Strong, beautiful, ready to live the life I want.

  Tiffany is unaware of the range of thoughts, both good and bad and good again, rolling through my mind. Instead, she’s focused on posing beside me, our reflections looking back at us from the mirror. She shakes her head, making her big curls bounce around her face. “Shit, if I’d known you were going all out tonight, I’d have dressed up too.” She putzes around with her top, trying to make the V-neck into something a bit more plunging.

  “I could grab you some scissors if you wanna just slash at that? Really let it all hang out.” She glares at me, but I can see the hint of a smile popping out at the corner of her mouth. She knows I’m teasing, so I flip my hair and wait for her to sass back.

  But she doesn’t crack a joke, instead just shimmies her chest at me. “I think the girls are fine where they are, and no shirt, V-neck or otherwise, could hide this awesomeness.” We both burst into laughter, dissolving into hitched breaths and wide smiles.

  “What are you two girls giggling about?” asks a stern voice from the doorway before I can respond. I turn my head, seeing Stella standing with her hands on her hips.

  I’ve known Stella for a long time, and I don’t think she’s changed a bit since day one. Large, meaty arms from a lifetime of hauling drinks, pulling kegs, and raising two stubborn boys stand out from an ample bosom. There’s nothing sweet or dainty about Stella. She works twice as hard as anyone I’ve ever known and has dealt with drunken customers, even really big guys, with a fierce mask that dares them to try her and see what happens.

  Still, for all of her no-nonsense solidness, Stella’s very prim in her own way. She’s wearing a dress that reminds me of an old-fashioned school teacher, her gray-streaked red hair pulled up into a bun on top of her head.

  The best thing about her, though, is her heart, stern but infinitely loving.

  Tiffany laughs at Stella’s unsmiling expression, knowing it’s just image . . . for now. “Well hello, Boss Lady. I was just telling Miss Tits here about how she’s a knockout tonight. What do you think?”

  Stella turns her attention to me, her expression immediately warming and softening as she looks me up and down. “My, my, I ain’t seen you dress like this in a while. I almost forgot how much of a beauty you are when you’re not moping around. Not quite the lady that I know you are . . . but you will definitely make a man’s blood boil.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, feeling a little shy. “I just felt like having a little fun tonight.”

  Stella nods sagely. “I said it before, but if I knew where that bastard who wronged you liv
ed, I’d go shoot him dead right now. Welcome back to the land of the living, honey.”

  Loving warmth fills my heart as I take in Stella’s words. I’m so indebted to this woman. Besides helping me with a job, she’s been a constant source of emotional support.

  It’s funny how fate brought her into my life. I met her when I first got to town and needed a job on the weekends. Stella had a sign in the window and hired me on the spot.

  A year later, when I was at my lowest, Stella was the one who said I didn't need to go back home to Aunt May.

  I was determined to stand on my own two feet, and Stella understood that. She never judged me as I was figuring things out.

  And if it wasn’t for Stella, I’d have never met Tiff, who I ran into my second night on the job. We hit it off, laughing our asses off and meshing immediately. Now we’re roommates, two crazy gals making it in an unfair world, in a town that’s growing wicked fast, and trying to keep our sanity in the meantime.

  “Damn it, is it hot in here to you two?” Stella asks, wiping at the sweat on her brow before fanning herself with the towel at her waist. “I’m sweating like a hooker in a revival meeting.”

  Tiff shakes her head, already laughing. “I’ve told you before, if I had titties that big, I wouldn’t even be able to stand. It’s no wonder you’re sweating like a mouse in the lion cage at the zoo carrying those things around.”

  It’s not the best joke. It’s not even a very good one. Still, I laugh so hard that both of them look at me like I’m crazy.

  I swear, the only reason I got through the dark months was Tiffany. Her making me laugh is like a dose of medicine, and right now, I feel so good that even a cheesy joke like that is enough to make me burst out.

  Stella mutters something about a dead waitress and having space to hide the body in the back before shaking her head, giving us a rueful smile. “Maybe I need to get that reduction the doc’s been going on about. Let’s face it, I don’t exactly need these things to nurse babies no more. My baby making days are long over.”