Sugar Rush (15 page)

“Beckett,” Helen North chides her husband. “It's a party. You're the host. No business tonight.”

But I can tell that Beckett North is not only intrigued by his son wanting to discuss business with him, but he'd rather be anywhere but hosting a party tonight. So I'm not surprised when he leans over, pecks his wife on the cheek, and says, “We won't take long, darling. I'm sure you can manage without me for a few minutes.”

She huffs out her displeasure as Mr. North steps past us both. Beck leans over, gives my lips a soft brush, and whispers so only I can hear, “Good luck. I won't be too long.”

As I watch them walk out of the music room, I see JT across the room. This isn't a surprise, as Beck told me he'd be here and wanted me to be prepared in case we ran into each other. While Beck has done a fantastic job of being buddy-buddy with JT at work this week, I'm not under the same requirement to play nice with him. In fact, Beck and I discussed how I should deal with JT, and we both felt that I should proceed with quiet distaste. Anything else may make him suspicious.

JT is dressed in an elegant navy suit and standing with a couple that look to be in their mid to late fifties. The woman has a sexually charged gaze fixed on Beck's dad as he walks out of the room with his son.

Interesting. I'd bet my bank account, which, granted, isn't much, that I'm looking at JT's mother right now. JT and the man I'm guessing is his father…well the man who raised him…don't seem to notice where her attention is focused, because they are talking quietly between themselves.

Figuring that I need to make small talk with Beck's mom, I turn her way, only to find her staring at the woman I believe to be JT's mom. Her lips are flattened and her eyes are cold as she watches the other woman staring hungrily at her husband.

Well, that answers that question. Clearly Beck's mom knows about her husband and JT's mom having an affair.

Very strange and complicated people.

“So, Mrs. North,” I say in an attempt to get her attention. “Your house is stunning. Beck was telling me a little bit about the architectural style.”

Helen's gaze slides slowly to me and her eyes don't warm at all. Rather than prattle on about her home, which Beck sort of assured me was a good conversation maker, she says, “If you'll excuse me, I have some other guests to attend to. Enjoy your evening.”

And just like that, I'm dismissed.

I'm immediately relieved that I don't have to engage further with Beck's mom. My low opinion of her was set when I first saw how Helen and Beckett North failed to celebrate the birth of their son, but it sank to unparalleled depths when Beck told me how they treated Caroline after her rape.

A waiter approaches me with a tray of champagne-filled flutes and I gratefully take one, murmuring, “Thank you.” I decide to explore the house a bit while I sip on my drink, thus averting the need to talk with any of these people, because really…what could we possibly have in common?

I walk out of the music room, back into the main hall. I see people descending a gently curved staircase of a dark wood polished to a brilliant sheen. I follow them down and emerge into what looks to be a large game room complete with a poker table that seats ten and two pool tables that are currently in use. An old-fashioned phonograph sits on an intricately carved table with a cubed glass case over the top, telling me that it's worth quite a bit of money. The walls of the cavernous room are done in rich wood paneling with dark parquet underneath and silk rugs scattered under the furniture. Large, deeply cushioned chairs of mocha-colored leather are clustered in groups with small tables in between. It's a man's room for sure, with not a single feminine touch to be seen.

I casually wind my way through the party guests and stand against a wall that is covered in prints of various golf courses, as well as other golf memorabilia. Sipping at my champagne, I focus my attention on two men playing a game of pool and settle in to wait for Beck to finish up with his dad. I have no doubt that as soon as he's done he'll come looking for me and will eventually find me down here.

“Enjoying the party?” I hear from my left and recognize the voice instantly. Because I don't need to act the part, and because it comes very naturally to me, I turn with cold eyes toward JT as he stands next to me. He's got a glass of a dark-colored liquor in one hand and his other hand tucked causally in his pocket.

He's stares down at me with superiority and amusement, no doubt enjoying his memory of the conversation he had with Beck a few days ago whereby he encouraged Beck to put the brakes on with me. Knowing this man doesn't think very much of me based on the circumstances of my birth, that he's pushing his friend away from a chance at real happiness, and let's not forget that he drugged and raped me, leads me to shut down this nasty conversation before it begins.

“Can't say this is really my speed,” I tell him with a slight shrug of my shoulders. My eyes glance around the room before coming back to him. “You know…not for a girl from Belle Haven.”

“Exactly,” he says in what sounds like a polite voice but that's really just to hide his rude declaration that I'm not good enough for this crowd.

This actually amuses me, that he feels the need to tear me down. It also gives me an important piece of information. He's still very worried about my connection with Beck and feels threatened by it.

“But as long as you remember the true role of a Sugar Baby,” JT says casually as his gaze flicks from mine to the action on the pool table. He stares at it pensively before continuing, “you should be fine.”

“And what role would that be?” I ask sweetly.

“That the arrangement with Beck is temporary and it's a services-only arrangement. You fuck him, he gives you money. It's quite simple, really.”

I blink at him, unsure of what to say. Every fiber of my being wants to tell him off and make him understand how close Beck and I truly are, but the part of me that wants him to suffer eventually wins out, so I play it cool. “Thank you for the reminder, Mr. Townsend.”

“If you think there's something deeper with Beck, you'd be wrong about that,” he insists as he turns back to me. “He doesn't see you as anything more than a great fuck.”

If I really wanted to preserve status quo with JT and not alert him to anything, I would meekly agree with his statement. But the fighter in me…the woman who hates this man and wants to defend herself to make up for the fact that once I was absolutely defenseless against him, narrows her eyes and sneers, “I
am
a great fuck, JT. A really superb, fantastic fuck. But you and I both know there's more to me than that. Otherwise you wouldn't be trying so hard to tear me down.”

JT actually rears backward a bit with eyebrows raised. I can tell he never expected me to fight back.

Before he can even think of a comeback, and before I can ruin anymore of Beck's plan to solidify his friendship with JT so he'll seek him out for money, I step into JT and murmur softly, “But don't worry…I would never attempt to come in between your friendship with him. I'm very aware of Beck's feelings for you and I'm going to try to make a very concerted effort to get along with his oldest friend and business partner.”

I step back and beam up at him with a warm, brilliant smile. Giving him a nod, I set my half-empty glass down on a small table beside me and say with cheery politeness, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Townsend. It was nice seeing you again.”

Stepping past him, I make my way across the billiard room and toward the staircase that leads up. I don't look back at JT, but I can actually feel his confused look pressing in upon me.

I follow my dad out of the music room, across the main hall and to the main staircase. We go up one flight to the next floor that houses his office, the library, media room, and master suite complete with a separate dressing room and his-and-hers master baths. The floor above has four guest rooms plus a home gym and sauna.

My dad's office is as intimidating as it is sumptuous: custom wood paneling with coffered ceilings, a massive crystal chandelier, rare artwork, and a built-in saltwater reef aquarium that takes up one wall. Given that my dad spends most of his time in here, either working his financial advisor magic or probably still fucking JT's mom, I get why he wanted it built to his specific tastes. My gaze slides to the Parnian custom desk made of Carpathian elm and ebony—yeah, the one I hid under while my dad boned Mrs. Townsend all those years ago—that I happen to know was purchased for a cool two hundred thousand dollars because my mom also likes to brag about that as well.

Because we're talking business and my father would never think to sit beside me in one of the two guest chairs made of Macassar ebony and Italian leather, which are as uncomfortable as they look, he takes a seat behind his desk that is so expensive I'm afraid to breathe on it.

When I'm seated opposite him, I don't waste any time getting to the subject. The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can grab Sela and we can start to celebrate Christmas Eve away from this place.

“You loaned JT the start-up capital for The Sugar Bowl,” I say simply.

My dad's expression remains neutral, flawlessly composed. “It's no secret. It was a good investment that paid off quickly and lucratively.”

“I'm curious if you loaned him the money because it was a good deal or because he's your son.”

His reaction is subtle but telltale. A tiny tick in his jaw muscle, and I know I've just made things uncomfortable because we've never discussed this in detail.

My dad, however, recovers quickly and says in an unapologetic voice, “First, because it was a good investment, but also because he's my son.”

“Does he know?” I ask quietly.

“That I'm his father?” my dad asks, but doesn't wait for me to reply, merely says, “No. Candace and I felt it was best he not know.”

I can actually envision how that conversation went between my dad and JT's mom. Probably something like this.

Candace:
“I'm pregnant, Beckett. And it's yours.”

Beckett:
“How do you know?”

Candace:
“Because you're the only one who's fucking me.”

Beckett:
“What do you want to do?”

Candace:
“Keep it, of course. But Colin can't know. He'd divorce me.”

Beckett:
“I understand. That means you'll have to fuck your husband, and soon, so he thinks it's his.”

Candace:
“That sounds like a good plan. We can keep fucking though too, right?”

Yeah, that's exactly how I bet that conversation went, because I knew all too well that my dad was not going to divorce my mom. He may be a whiz with finances and made his own way in the world of power and money, but my mom comes from old money. The kind that never dies, never goes away. Is infinite and then some.

I also know Candace knows this, and she doesn't come from money. She married Colin after he plucked her out of a Vegas burlesque show. He's fifteen years her senior, obscenely rich, ugly as sin, and dotes on his wife. She's not about to lose that gravy train.

“You and Candace…you never thought it was a good idea to let JT know the truth?” I ask, not because I really care for JT's benefit, but because I want to get a read on my dad's feelings, as limited as they may be for his illegitimate son.

“Where are you going with this?” my father counters, evading my direct inquiry. This doesn't surprise me. My dad was never one to talk about feelings and emotion.

I don't answer him directly either, because I can play this game as well. I learned from the best about how to remain detached so I can focus on what's really important. So instead, I say, “I don't begrudge you helping JT with the start-up capital. Hell, that was of benefit to me too.”

My dad nods with a smile on his face, utterly relieved I'm not here to give him shit for helping his secret bastard son. But it's time to knock that smile off his face.

“I don't want you to loan him any more money,” I say firmly, making sure I hold his gaze, which instantly turns suspicious of me.

“Why?” is all he asks.

“I can't tell you the details. I'm asking you to trust me on this.”

Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk, he steeples his hands in front of his face and stares at me pensively. Finally, he lowers his hands and asks, “Should I weigh your request to trust you on this with as much consideration as I'd give JT if he came to me and said he really needed the money? Should I trust his need as much as I trust your request? How do I distinguish when you're not giving me any information?”

It's a fair question, to be honest, yet I'm the one who doesn't trust my dad with the details. “Look…I don't expect you to distinguish between us as sons. You and I aren't close; I expect no more than you and JT are close. You have a blood tie to us both, and I get that gives you some measure of need to help us out as best you can as a father. But I'm telling you, it would be in your best interest not to give him any more money.”

Dad's eyebrows raise in surprise. “You want JT to fail at something, don't you? I'd like to know why.”

“I want him to fail at getting a loan from you,” I say with a nod. “I'm hoping he'll come to me for the money. I want to be his only resource.”

My dad is whip smart, keen, and shrewd. He understands immediately. “You're going to use leverage to buy him out of the company.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

My dad doesn't want to know my reasons so he can offer me fatherly advice. He wants to know so he can figure out exactly which son he should align with if it comes down to a choice.

“I can't tell you the details,” I maintain. “But I'll just say this…JT is not a good man. He's rotten to the core, and trust me when I tell you, there's going to come a time when you're going to regret having him as a son. You'd best start distancing yourself now before you find out exactly how wretched a human being he is.”

My father's stoic façade starts to crumble a bit. His brow wrinkles with worry. “If he's in some type of trouble that will bring shame on my name, I need to know—”

I hold up a hand and cut him off. “How can he bring shame on your name? You've never publicly acknowledged him as your son. I suggest you keep it that way.”

For this first time since this conversation started, my father looks unbearably uncomfortable. He actually drops his eyes down to his desk, pressing a finger to his temple, which he taps in consternation. I can see he's troubled, and this makes me think that perhaps it's not a well-guarded secret that JT is his son. I can tell by the worry in his eyes that someone else knows, and this worries him.

“Dad,” I press him. “Will you do as I ask?”

Sitting back in his chair, my father sighs deeply as he raises his gaze back to me. He seems to be searching for something to say, but I can tell indecision is warring within him.

“I'm telling you, Dad…if you believe anything I say, don't give him the money. Things will get very ugly if you do.”

“Is that a threat to me?” my dad asks, not in an affronted manner, but with a tired edge to his voice.

“Not at all,” I assure him quickly, and then decide to give him just a tiny bit more information to help sway his decision because I need him on board. “I'm telling you JT is bad news. I'm not going to give you details, but I will tell you he's committed a crime that could see him doing serious time in prison. You need to distance yourself from him so you don't get dragged down into the mud. Trust me that I'm trying to do what's best not only for me, but for everyone close to him. But my main interest right now is to get him out of the company before the shit hits the fan, so The Sugar Bowl doesn't suffer because of his mistakes. I'm trying to sever ties from him before this goes down, and I want to make sure you don't have any existing ties as well.”

These words hit my father hard. His face sort of sags, turns slightly gray. For the first time in my life, I think he looks old. A tiny stab of pity hits me as I realize that I'm laying some troublesome shit on his doorstep. Then I immediately banish it when I envision the way he and my mother treated Caroline when she was raped.

“I know I haven't been the best father,” my dad says as he looks at me with haggard eyes. “But I tried to support you both the only way I knew how, which was financially. I know money better than I know parenting. Maybe if I would have taken more of an interest in JT…”

His voice trails off and I can see he's going into pity mode. He's not worried about JT and his demons. He's worried about his own personal failings and how this may reflect upon him. While I don't really care about bolstering his pride, I do need to keep him focused on doing what I need.

“No, Dad,” I say firmly. “What's wrong with JT can't be fixed with fatherly love. He's broken, probably on a cellular level. He's broken, no matter what good influences have been around him.”

My father's eyes water a tiny bit and he looks at me with unmitigated hope that perhaps this isn't his fault. That maybe even his defective genes come from Candace, and JT was going to be a screwed-up individual no matter the circumstances.

I can see he needs some type of absolution for being a shitty father to me and an absent father to JT, so I tell him what he needs to hear, regardless of whether it's true or not. “He's broken, Dad. Nothing and no one could have prevented his actions or fix them now. Trust me on that.”

Our gazes lock and I give him an encouraging smile.

Finally, he lets out a deep breath of regret and says, “All right. I won't loan him any money if he asks.”

I let out my own breath of relief as my hands grip the armrests of the chair. I start to pull myself up, eager to leave now that I have my dad's cooperation. “Thank you.”

“Are you in any danger or trouble?” he asks, and that catches me off guard. I don't think I've ever heard him ask me such a question…with such genuine concern for my welfare.

“No,” I assure him with a smile. “I'm fine. Will be better after I can get JT out of The Sugar Bowl, but I'm good right now. Don't worry.”

“Okay,” he says quietly, and I start to turn away from him. But then he says, “Does this have anything to do with the young lady you brought with you tonight?”

This also catches me by surprise and I turn back to him. “Why do you ask?”

My father cocks an eyebrow at me. “Beck…not once in your ten years of adulthood have you ever brought a girlfriend here. Not only that, I can tell how protective you are of her. And whatever this quest is you are on to sever JT from your life, I think the motivation must be powerful. I'm guessing it's the girl.”

My dad will figure out the details soon enough once JT is arrested for Sela's rape, but I'm not about to share that with him. Instead, I merely say, “Everything I do is with the idea in mind of solidifying my future with her.”

And for the third time this evening, my father stuns me. He looks at me with admiration and says, “That's a good reason to make a bold move. For love.”

I blink at my dad, confused over his words. I didn't think he knew what love was. Hell, I'm not even sure I quite understand it; only that my feelings for Sela are overwhelming to me at the worst of times, and infinitely comforting at the best of times.

Nodding in affirmation to my dad, I merely say, “Merry Christmas. And thank you.”