Sick Bastard, page 10
“Thanks,” she says, smiling brightly. It’s a sweet and soft smile and it’s everything I’m not. Gracefully folding herself into the seat across from my desk, she tucks her legs under herself and settles in. For a woman as uncertain and cautious as she is, she’s comfortable enough to relax with me in her presence. I like seeing her here in my office. I like having her here.
“So, Miss DeLacourt, what can I do for you?”
“We’re well past that, don’t you think, Dante?” She questions. I fucking love it. It’s not the first time, but it makes me happy to hear her using it instead of Mr. Marx.
“Yes.”
“So if I stop calling you Mr. Marx, you’ll stop calling me Miss DeLacourt?”
“I make no promises.”
“Do you always have to be in control of everything?”
“Yes.” I am, and always will be, in control.
“Well then, Dante, I came here to say thank you.”
“For?” I inquire.
“The flowers are really beautiful,” she says quietly.
“You’re welcome. Is there anything else you need, other than thanking me for the flowers?” I know I’m pushing my luck here, but I just wouldn’t be me if I didn’t.
“Actually, there is.” Oh this should be good. Waving a hand, I gesture for her to continue. “I wanna know why you’re stalking me?”
“So you think that I’m stalking you?” Stupid question, really. There’s no doubt that that’s what I’m doing.
“Yes, I do,” she answers without hesitation.
“So does that mean you’re stalking me too? You did show up to my office. Wouldn’t that make you the stalker?” That’s so lame.
“I’m not stalking you. I did have to google you just to find you though. I thought I should thank you in person for the flowers, nothing more, nothing less. So, will you answer?”
“I’m observing, being friendly, and trying to get to know you by visiting you. I’m trying to be friends with you,” I answer her easily.
“You want to be my friend?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then just tell me what it is that you want.”
“I don’t know.” And that’s the sad truth. I don’t know. All I do know is that there’s something about her that challenges me and holds my interest. She went from a possible threat to a conquest in just mere seconds of meeting her. I need to know her.
“Are you planning to hurt or kill me?” She asks with a nervous laugh. She really thinks there’s a possibility. I should be offended, but I’m not. It’s a valid concern. If some strange man is following you just to be able to be close to you, you should be scared. In fact, if she were smart, she would’ve filed a police report by now, but lucky for me she’s not and I’m still stalking her. I want to hurt her, just a little, but only in the bedroom. Do I want to kill her? Fuck no.
“Of course not.”
“Are you sure?” I find myself smiling a little. She’s a little like myself―determined and persistent. She’s not afraid to speak up and ask questions.
“Are you second guessing me?”
“Fuck yeah. I don’t know you and you seem like a liar so yes, I’m second guessing you.” Fair enough.
“No, London. I don’t want to hurt you, and I most certainly do not want to kill you.”
“So you’re not sure why you’re stalking me, but you know you don’t want to kill me. I guess that’s one small sigh of relief.” Yes. That pretty much sums it up on the surface, but deep down, underneath it all, there’s so much more.
“Listen London ….” Is all I can get out before Victoria walks through the door without knocking. Of all fucking times, she picks now to be prompt and ambitious. Stupid bitch.
Walking through the door with a smile on her face and the mail clutched in her hand, she looks like she’s on a mission. She must have a death wish.
“What is it?” I bark at her. She doesn't flinch, she only glares at London as she shuffles to my desk, sitting my mail down in front of me. Victoria stands next to my desk, crosses her arms and waits. “What do you need?” I ask, teeth clenched tight.
“You have an appointment at five-forty and here's your mail.”
“I would know since I set the appointment.” I grit out. Incompetent bitch. She really interrupted me for this? My appointment is with Cam, and he can fucking wait.
“If that’s all,” I wave at the door, but of course that’s not all.
“I also need you to sign these documents.” She steps toward me, uncrosses her arms and tosses a file on my desk. I open the folder and begin flipping through it when I notice movement out of the corner of my eye. London is standing up, ready to leave. I’m not ready to let her go, but I have no excuses to keep her here. Fuck.
“Well, I should be going,” she announces.
“No. You're fine.” I grind out. I sign the papers quickly but when I’m done, London is halfway to the door, “Out, Victoria.” She collects the papers and stomps out the door, pushing past London.
“London, did you need anything else?” Her step falters and she hesitates at the door. Taking a deep breath, she turns back to me and gives me those big green eyes and perfect smile.
“No, but Dante?”
She really has to stop that. “Yes?”
“Thank you so much for the flowers. They’re perfect.” Reaching into her pocket, she pulls out the elevator key card. “Here,” she says quietly. Walking back to my desk, she places it in front of me. I shake my head. I don’t want it back.
“Keep it.” I tell her.
“Keep it?” Yes, keep it.
“In case of an emergency,” I tell her. I’m not sure what kind of emergency would bring her here, but whatever.
Laughing softly, she shakes her head at me. “Okay, I’ll keep it for emergencies. Dante. Thank you.” Taking a few steps back, she turns and disappears through my door without another word.
I do something I’ve never done before in my life―something I loathe, especially when I see others do it. Getting up from my desk, I chase after her and I yell, sounding more like I’m begging, “Have dinner with me.” She’s almost to the elevator when she stops. It’s not a question, but a blubbering demand. Looking back over her shoulder at me, she quirks a brow, and it’s that smile right there that kills a little of the bad in me and does something to that dark part of my heart.
“Always bossy and persistent, aren’t ya.” She calls back before turning and stepping into the elevator. I watch the doors slide closed and I have to smile because that wasn’t a yes or a no.
I walk back into my office, close the door and sit in my seat with a smile on my face, but it doesn’t last. I knew Victoria wouldn’t last more than a minute before the elevator slid closed. My father requested that I keep her after I took over his position, or demanded, really. I’ve put up with her shit for far too long on his behalf so now I think it’s time to talk to him about doing something else with her. “Yes?” I yell at the door, but it’s not bitch face, it’s Betty’s smiling face, popping in around the door. There’s no need to invite her in. She comes in whether I want her to or not. Betty’s like me and she does whatever the hell she wants, whenever she wants.
Sitting down on the couch, she pats the empty seat next to her. I can't deny her. She'll only drag me out of my seat by my ear, so like a good boy, I sit next to her.
“Who was that?” She asks. I can practically see her picking out China patterns. She knows. My face gives me away.
“That's her, the woman I told you about.” I groan. I told Betty about London. I had to tell someone and I tell Betty everything. Getting it off my chest was the only way. I thought it might help and as I’m starting to see, I couldn’t have been more wrong.
“Oh my. I understand now. She’s beautiful.” She nods thoughtfully at me. Betty doesn't miss a damn thing. Since I was a child, she’s seen right through me. “I hope to get to know her soon.” She says as she pats my hand lovingly.
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“If I held my breath for anything related to you, I’d have been dead years ago.” Touché.
I’ve known Betty my entire life. She was my nanny and adopted mother from birth to eighteen. She then became my personal assistant and my life sorter, helping me sort my shit out on a daily basis. She’s my rock―my only family aside from a few select people. I could never let her go. Not only does she keep my life in order, she’s been more of a mother to me than my actual mother ever was.
“Cam should be here in a second. I'll get going.” She mumbles as she leaves my office. I've no time to collect my thoughts before Cam walks through the door, just as Betty leaves.
“Good afternoon, motherfucker.” Cam drawls as he strolls in and right to my office bar. He helps himself to an eight hundred dollar bottle of Brandy and throws it back like a fucking frat boy. He's lucky he's family.
I don't bother with a rebuttal. I've got no shitty comebacks for him at the moment. London left me with a head full of shit. “What's up with you?” Cam chuckles, flopping back on my couch and kicking his feet up.
“You’re a rude prick, that’s what’s up,” I fire back. So I do have a little left.
“Oh, here. This was stuck between the door, prick.” He says as he flicks a white card at me but it hits the floor by my feet. Picking it up, I immediately recognize it. Written on the front, in my handwriting, is my card to her, I don’t give up… Ever. D.
What the fuck? Not sure what to think of it, I mindlessly flip the card over in my hands, wondering why the hell she stuck it on my door when I see it. Written on the back are six of the most amazing fucking words I will ever read as long as I live.
I wouldn’t expect anything less.
L.
Eight
Mr. Too Many Personalities To Count
London
“So how did it go? You get an office quickie from Mr. Sex on Legs?” Matt teases as I climb into the back of our waiting car.
“Yes, tons. I was only in there for ten minutes, but in that short amount of time, we managed to get in a few quickies.” I retort sarcastically. I swear, everything is about sex with Matt, but then again, he is a man. I shouldn't expect much.
“But really Matt, quickies? What are you, twelve?” I give him a rib shot, laughing at him.
“Thirteen.” He retorts, his face splitting into a huge grin. God I love him. He can always make me laugh. My mom had passed away when I was young, and my father was a no good son-of-a-bitch who was always in trouble or doing time. I didn’t know my father, and I didn’t want to. Mom had a will, leaving all parental rights to my grandparent’s. After my grandmother died, I became a handful after a while, so my grandfather decided to send me to boarding school. I was a wild child sent to learn manners and Matt was a gay boy, sent away to be “fixed”. We were the perfect odd couple.
We were never fixed; we just learned to hide our crazy until we didn’t want to anymore, which got us both kicked out of school. I had my grandfather to go home to but no one wanted to take Matt in, so my grandfather took it upon himself to have Matt’s parents sign over legal guardianship to him until he turned eighteen. Once this was done, things got better. I stopped my wild ways and Matt had a real home with people who loved him. He had a family. Matt and I have been together ever since. He’s my brother, my family, and the rest is history.
“I'm so fucking excited about shopping tomorrow.” Matt says cheerfully while he flips through my Vogue magazine. “I have no idea what to wear.” He's never sure of what to wear. He has a closet full of designer clothes and he has nothing to wear.
“I'm sure you'll find something. You always do.”
“What are you planning to wear? Any ideas?”
“Something black,” I offer. It’s my go-to color. Easy, functional, and goes with just about everything on the planet. I’ll find something, I always do. “We’ll discuss options over lunch.”
~~~~~~
I have to make a stop that’s long overdue. It’s kinda my home away from home; a place that dredges up all kinds of old memories. “Al, to the Port, please.” I say from the backseat. We've already dropped Matt at home after lunch so a quick stop won’t hurt.
Soon I'm stepping up to the front doors of an industrial office building. By no means is it small, but by New York building standards, it's on the smaller side. Before my time, this building held various other businesses, all of which pertained to the port as The Fish and Game Department, Port offices, and Shipping offices. The bottom floors were used as ship building workshops. It's an old building that’s been beautifully restored to its former glory, with some modern updates. The old architecture still holds true. Wood framed windows overlook the Atlantic Ocean and the port. It's been weathered by the wind, rain, and salt water, all to perfection.
Inside is a different story. The open reception area displays polished concrete floors, worn, brown furnishings, and boating memorabilia that adorns the walls, tables, and shelves. It’s all very rustic and nautical, capturing the company and what it stands for.
Stepping into the elevator, I make the short trip up. I don't usually knock, but considering the door’s closed, I'll knock.
“Come in,” A deep, gruff voice calls from behind the door. Walking in, I'm caught off guard. Grandfather’s casually leaning his big body back in his chair with a cigar dangling from two fingers and papers are strewn about. The faint smell of smoke and liquor litter the air, but that’s not what's unusual; It's the woman perched on his desk that’s leaning in toward him, trying to look seductive. Eww. She has one arm is resting on his shoulder and large, fake breasts that are shoved in his face. The woman doesn't even offer me a look when I walk in. She only has eyes for my grandfather. I've no idea what her face looks like, but I'm sure it’s as fake as the rest of her.
“Cara,” his deep voice reaches me. I love that he still calls me sweetheart. The annoyed scowl on my face morphs into a smile from his warm endearment for me.
“Nonno.” I reply, but I can't tear my eyes from the slut on his desk. He obviously notices my distaste for her because he sets about getting rid of her.
“Leave us.” A dismissive wave towards the woman is all he offers her. He's not going to explain her to me.
“Well, I'm off. I'll phone you soon with the date and time.” She purrs. She looks at him when finally, he nods in return. What the hell is this all about? I watch her fake ass saunter out the door, but still don’t see her face. Skank bitch.
“Sit, sit.” He waves me over. I kick off my shoes and get comfortable, but I for some reason I can’t stop wondering about the woman who was just here. Something about her didn’t sit well with me and I feel like I’ve seen her before, even though I only saw her profile, not her whole face. I’ll investigate this shit later. “Now let us talk about after graduation, shall we?” He says, clapping his hands together loudly. I smile at one of my most favorite men on this planet.
“I’m listening.”
~~~~~~
“I'm fucking tired. I need at least eight hours to be rested for shopping.” Matt complains as he rests his chin on top of my head.
“I agree. I'm beat.”
I quit this job on Thursday yet here I am, on a Saturday night because Matt called, begging for me to come and help him when the other bartender called off. Saturday’s are extremely busy, especially for just one bartender, so Matt spoke to the boss and asked for me. I couldn’t tell him no, especially when he sounded like he might cry. I don’t get paid for tonight, except for the tips I made, but I did get to take a rather expensive bottle of wine for helping, per the boss. I’ll take a nice bottle of wine any day.
We make our way out of the restaurant and slide into the car. “Good evening, London.” Al smiles and nods from the rear view mirror.
“Hi, Al.” I smile. Al was my grandfather’s driver for many years before he became mine. Grandfather trusts him, so once I moved back to New York, he was insistent on Al being my full-time driver, and there was no argument. I know better. I love and adore Al, and I appreciate everything he does for me.
“I have something for you.” Al says and hands me a folded piece of paper.
“What is it?” I ask. I wasn't expecting anything.
“I have no clue. It was on the windshield of the car.” He shrugs and pulls into traffic. Of course he doesn't. He wouldn't open something that wasn't meant for him.
Matt doesn't even notice. He's too busy talking on his phone. I already have a creeping suspicion of who it’s from because there’s only one creep in my life at the moment. I slowly open it and see his familiar handwriting:
I need to see you again. Don’t make me wait.
D.
I'm speechless. I begin picturing that powerful and intimidating man scribbling out this little note to me while sitting behind that big desk of his with the city skyline looming largely behind him. He was probably running his hands through his mess of hair just trying to think of what to write as he twisted his watch around his wrist. It makes me laugh because I think I’m starting to figure out Mr. Dante Marx.
~~~~~~
I get no rest. My night is full of wicked and dirty dreams of Dante. It starts out innocently, but then it explodes into sucking, licking, biting, and before I know it, it turns rough, mean, and angry. I wake up hot, sweaty, and needy as hell. Sleep’s impossible.
“Hey,” I grumble at Matt as I flop down on his bed.
“You look pretty this morning.” He winks at me as he finishes working on his hair. I watch him for a while as he applies product, styles it, and repeats the process a few more times.
“Awe, you're pretty too.” He truly is. Everything about him is striking. He may not be ruggedly handsome, but what he lacks in hard beauty he makes up for in elegant beauty. His best features are his stunning blond hair and crystal blue eyes. They make him stand out in any crowd. We couldn't look anymore different. He's a Ken doll while I'd be more like Barbie’s Italian friend.
“My hair’s misbehaving today.” He pouts at his reflection in his mirror.
