That’s right. I have no intention of honoring my sordid little deal with Miss Parker. That company and my sweet revenge is mine to exploit.
“But—”
I shoot her a look, which leaves her in no doubt of what will happen if she disobeys me.
“Two days,” she says quietly, acting like I just told her the whole of Christmas had been canceled.
“Good decision. Now get the hell out of my office.”
“Yes, Mr. Farley.” She starts backing out of the room. “You’re the last one in the building… Security is standing by, in case you need anything.”
I flick my hand at her, and turn back to my acquisitions files, spinning around in my chair to offer up my final dismissal. I can sense her middle finger waving in my direction, but I couldn’t give a fuck. People are there to be used and exploited in this world, just like failing companies are.
When the door closes, I slap the files back down on my desk and stride over to the bar in the corner to pour myself a large Macallan.
The first sip tastes like victory.
The second sip tastes like sex.
Nothing will ever taste as good as her, though...
“And it never will,” comes a booming voice.
“What the hell?”
I whirl back around, and then freeze. There’s a man sitting in my chair.Mychair. But he owned that twisted throne, long before I ever laid a claim to it.
Thick, salt-and-pepper hair.
Hard eyes that never told a day’s truth, even when they were alive.
The cruel smile that still cuts me to the bone.
“What the fucking fuck are you doing here?” I whisper, and my father just grins at me—the same goddamn grin that was stretching across my face a minute ago, before my stupid, soon-to-be-fired secretary interrupted me.
Mydeadfather.
The one I buried two years ago, and never shed a tear for.
“I’m proud of you, son,” he bellows, as my Macallan starts to decorate the expensive carpet by my feet. “And you know what, asshole? That’s not a good thing… That’s not a good thing at all.”
4
Jonas
Present
The room starts to shake and spin. I’m having a heart attack… A stroke… I’m losing my fucking mind. Either that, or some dickhead broke into my office and spiked my Macallan. I glance down at the spreading stain in confusion.
“Ava!” I roar, hoping my beleaguered secretary has had the foresight to change her mind and work late for once. I need the cops on the line, followed closely by my personal physician. Heads are gonna roll for this. “Get your butt in here now!”
My father just cackles. “There’s nobody here, asshole. It’s just you and me. A good ol’ family reunion…”
My head snaps back to him. “This is bullshit,” I explode. “I danced on your goddamn grave. You’re supposed to be de—”
“Dead? Speak up, boy. My ears ain’t what they used to be!” He cackles again as a shard of anger lodges deep within my brain.I always hated it when he called me that.“Of course I’m dead, you moron. Are you going to offer your dearly departed father a drink, or not?”
This isn't happening, but my sense of balance isn’t getting the memo. I stagger backward into the bar, and my arms go shooting out. The rows of bottles behind me go flying, and one of them happens to roll in his direction.
