Page 55 of Misguided
He leans forward, his hair so impeccably styled that not a single strand shifts as he repositions his elbows on his knees. “He didn’t want to say anything about it the other night, but Dad’s not well.”
“So?” Why would I give a fuck?
“So, I thought you should know.”
I shake my head at the asshole, refusing to sit and make this seem cozier than it is. “A phone call would have sufficed.”
“Your guest want a drink?” King calls out as he makes his way toward the rest of the brothers at the bar.
“Nope. He’s leavin’ soon,” I shout back without breaking my brother’s gaze.
Derek looks across at the men who still watch him like some rare zoo animal, and then back to me. “You have anywhere more private we can talk?”
“Plenty of places,” I say with raised eyebrows. “None that are here.”
He sighs, running a hand over his face. His unnecessarily expensive watch catches the overhead light. “Why must you always be so difficult?”
“Why must you always be such a cunt?”
He drops his hand and glares up at me. A lesser man would be intimidated by that kind of look. Me, I want to rip it off his face.
“I’ve got a request,” Derek says with a sigh. “Something I need you to do.”
Fuck, here it comes. Bets on his request being for me to sell my gifted shares of the company to him. Don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner; I want nothing to do with the fuckheads that run it so he can have them for free for all I care.
Derek glances at the guys again, clearly uncomfortable with talking about things in the same room as them.
I sigh and jerk my head toward the back yard. “Come on.”
He follows me out, down to the far end of the deck. The morning sun spills through the few clouds that dot the sky, warming the wood beneath my feet. I set out a chair for him, and then take one for myself.
“You really upset Dad the other night, you know,” Derek starts as he readjusts his chair before he sits.
“That was kind of the intention.” I pat the pockets of my jeans, thankful my pack of smokes is still in there.
He watches as I light one, sending the puff of smoke drifting straight into his face.
“You remember that boxcar we made?” he asks. “Had the blue crate that Dad used to keep the firewood in as the seat.”
“Reminiscing about our childhood won’t erase the shit that’s gone down since,” I say. “So how about you stop butterin’ me up and cut to the chase?”
Derek leans back in his seat with a sigh, palms rubbing a path back and forth over his thighs. “Fine. Dad’s sick—didn’t want to tell you—but he finally accepted he needs to plan for the future, ensure things will transition as smoothly as possible once he’s gone.”
Once he’s gone. “It’s terminal?” I try to hide the excitement that bleeds through my words.
“Yeah.” Derek assesses me; his eyes cold and calculated as he watches my every twitch.
“Shame.” That I didn’t have a father I gave enough of a shit to care about, mostly.
“The obvious answer for when he passes is that I take over his position as CEO of the company.”
Bet that last rung is looking gold and shiny to Derek now.
“But that leaves a definite gap on the board,” he continues.
I frown, put off by the fact this conversation doesn’t seem to be steering toward the sale of shares like I thought it would.
“I want you there.”