The Fantasy (5 page)

“I
am
serious.”

“No,” he said, gaping at Evan. “No, you can’t be serious.
Kelman
Corporations? As in Bill Kelman? Why?”
 

Feeling defensive, Evan straightened in his chair and glared at his father. “Because that’s who I chose.”

“Oh come on. No one would
choose
to work for Bill ‘Gimp Leg’ Kelman.”

“Well, I did.”

“Hmm.”
 

Evan felt his skin prickle at the once-over he was given. One thing about the man was that he had an uncanny way of reading a person. It’s what had made him one of the most successful financial managers in the world—and the most notorious.

“I don’t think you chose him at all.”

“Excuse me?”

His father leaned in, uncrossing his legs and steepling his hands on the table. “I think that, after you fucked your way through Manhattan, you had no other option
but
Kelman Corporations.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, I do,” he said matter-of-factly. “You come in here dressed the part. You have the suit, you’ve styled the hair, and I’m sure the car you have parked outside is nice and shiny. But that’s just a façade, isn’t it, Evan? The bags under your eyes, the look inside them... Boy, you are more strung out than I’ve ever seen. Don’t try to hide it.”

“For your fucking information, his ‘little’ business represents several Fortune 500 companies—”

“His company represents the bottom of the barrel, and you know it,” his father interrupted.
 

“You know, that’s funny coming from you, seeing as you’re the epitome of the bottom of a fucking barrel.”

A sly smile slowly crossed his father’s face. “And your mother? What did she have to say about this wonderful
news?”

Evan shifted uncomfortably in his seat before answering. “She was transferred down to a facility in North Carolina. I haven’t gotten a chance to see her yet.”

“Well, I think you should. I’m sure she’d love to see how her son’s gone soft.”

“I haven’t gone soft.”

“Well, let’s hope for Michele’s sake that’s the truth. What does she think about all this?”

Evan felt his blood pressure begin to rise as he sat there being grilled by his inmate father. Why he always felt inferior to him was beyond his comprehension when it was quite obvious that his father was the one who should feel the shame.
 

“I’m not with her anymore.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. Did you have a falling out? Into someone else’s bed?”

“You know, after the public humiliation we all suffered at your expense and the twenty-two years
you’ve spent in here, you think you’d be a little less judgmental.”

His father’s sharp eyes narrowed on him. “I think you know better than most that people never really change.”

“That’s what Gramps used to say about you.”

“Probably the only thing that crazy bastard was right about.”

Becoming frustrated, Evan bit back the caustic remark he wanted to say and instead asked, “Why do you have to talk about them like that? They stepped in where you and Mom failed. Rather spectacularly, I might add.”

His father snorted. “If, by spectacularly, you mean broke as a joke and raising an addict—”

“Enough!” Evan slammed his hands on the table, causing the conversations around them to cease. “Enough already.”

“Keep your voice down,” his father hissed.

“In the ten minutes I’ve wasted with you, you’ve insulted me, you’ve insulted my job, and you’ve insulted the only people in the world who gave a fuck about me.”

His father looked up at him and gestured to the seat. “Son—”

“Stop calling me that.” Evan could feel his hands shaking and balled them into tight fists, refusing to let the man see any sign of weakness. “You gave up that right a long time ago.”

He cocked his head. “Then why are you here?”

Because I’m a sucker for a good screwing.

“You know what? I have no fucking idea. I’m done.”

“How long will you stay away this time? Months? Years?”

“How long do you have left in here?”

“Twenty if I’m a good boy.”

“That long.”

“Rockwell!” the guard called from the door. “Time’s up.”

As the sound of his former name echoed throughout the room, Evan watched his father stand but found that he had nothing left to say.

“I’ll see you in a few months, Evan,” he said, smoothing his shirt down as if it were a custom-made Charvet instead of cheap prison uniform. Then he pinned him with a hardened stare. “You never could stay away.”

He said nothing as his father walked farther away from him, but he did make a promise to himself that, this time when he left, he would not come back.
 

As he walked out of the facility and over to his car, he noticed the way the parking lot lights shone off the polished exterior and thought about what his father had said. Getting inside, he settled into the comfy seats of his black Range Rover and turned over the ignition before lowering the windows.

He finally felt like he could fucking breathe again.

Christ, that man had a way of infuriating him. It’d been so long since he’d seen him last that he’d forgotten how much he disliked him. Whether that was because he hated the person his father was or the fact that he was just like him, he didn’t want to think about. In some ways, he felt like he was constantly seeking the approval of that man, which, considering the circumstances, seemed ridiculous.
 

He didn’t need his approval—he was a grown-ass man for fuck’s sake.

What he needed was to remind himself of the world he belonged in. The one he was going to fight his way back into and rise to the top of once more.

He was Evan James, no longer the Evan Rockwell who lived in his father’s shadow of disgrace, and this time, he’d do things on his own terms.

Trying to distance himself from the grime of the prison, he’d gone all out tonight, stopping for a haircut and clean shave before putting on his finest suit. The bar he’d chosen was a far cry from the dive he’d picked for his last tryst, but tonight, he wanted something different. He didn’t want a dirty fuck in a back alley; he wanted a high-class affair. Someone who would look good, smell good, and taste even better.

I fucking deserve it.

The intimately lit interior of Nova welcomed him, the polished wood and massive hanging chandeliers radiating sophistication, and he took a moment as he entered to breathe in the sweet mix of perfume, cigars...and money.
 

This was more his scene, more the life he’d grown accustomed to before his world had gone to shit. It was a world he intended to reclaim.
 

He eased through the room with a cocky confidence, letting his eyes make contact with the women he passed. He loved the spark of interest that lit them up—and the fact that he was the one with the match.
 

Walking past them all, he made his way to the bar, letting them follow in his wake if they worked up the courage to approach. He knew that, dressed as he was, looking like he did, it wouldn’t be an easy task for a woman to make a move, but the one who dared would be someone worth his time. And he would make it more than worth hers.
 

“A drink for you, sir?” The bartender’s voice sounded over the chatter in the room. She was a cute thing, even if completely covered up in her slacks and collared shirt. Her breasts, which were straining against the material and causing stress on the buttons, caught and held his attention.

“If you make it? Absolutely.”
 

He turned the full force of his smile on her, and she bit her lip in an endearing way that didn’t seem to quite fit the establishment. She appeared...shy. Then, as he looked her over a second time, he noted how young she seemed. A smattering of freckles covered her cheeks, and her wide eyes betrayed no glimpse of corruption.

“What would you like?”

You bent over the bar, legs spread, waiting for me.

“Maybe you could tell me the special for tonight?” He leaned across the bar and wrapped one of her long, red curls around his finger. “Something that’ll set me on fire.”

The girl cleared her throat and glanced around, almost as if checking that she were the one he was talking to, but when her eyes came back to his and he was still focused on her, she got the picture.

Tucking the stray piece of hair behind her ear, she said, “Well, we can do something quick and easy like a shot of whiskey to match your eyes…” She stopped, embarrassed, and nervously chewed on her lip. “Or, uh...maybe something more involved... I could make you a Smoky Sour?”
 

He moved in closer to her, and she mimicked his movement. “Quick and easy is underrated, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh for God’s sake, don’t scare the poor girl,” a sharp voice came from his right.
 

He turned to see Blon—Reagan standing there, rolling her eyes at him. She focused her attention on the bartender, who’d jumped away and was now a deep shade of red to match her hair.
 

“He’ll have a Manhattan on the rocks, but you can make mine straight up.” Turning back to him, she smirked. “On the prowl?”

“You seem to make a habit of asking questions that are none of your business.”

When she took the seat next to him, he noticed that he wasn’t the only one who’d gone all out that night. Her hair was down, cascading in waves over her shoulders and framing the deep V of her dress to showcase her ample cleavage. Her full lips were painted a deep crimson, matching the skintight halter dress that left little to the imagination.
 

“No need to get defensive. We’re old friends now, right? Oh, you don’t mind if I sit here, do you? Don’t worry. I won’t interfere in your attempt at picking up a girl barely out of high school. If you’re in the mood for a limp body, that one’s a keeper.”
 

“Just making friendly conversation,” he replied. “A skill you obviously haven’t mastered.”

“If I recall correctly, it wasn’t my conversation skills you wanted me to master.”
 

“No, your mouth is much more appealing when it’s filled.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Took me long, tortured hours to perfect that skill,” she said with a broad smile.
 

“I doubt it was torture. You seemed to rather enjoy being on your knees.”

The bartender chose that moment to set their drinks on napkins in front of them, her hand a bit unsteady as she put down the martini glass, which caused a bit of the liquid to spill over the rim and onto Reagan’s outstretched hand.
 

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” the girl apologized, grabbing napkins to wipe away the mess. “I’ll go make you another.” She rushed off before either of them could say anything.
 

Bringing her hand to her mouth, Reagan licked the liquid from her thumb and raised a perfectly arched brow his way. “Inexperienced
and
messy. You sure you want to go there?”

“Go where? We were just talking. You know, college applications, how many cats she has, whether she likes it better in her pussy or the ass...”

Without batting an eyelash, Reagan brought her glass to her mouth and took a sip. When she lowered it back to the bar, she asked, “And what was her response to these...engaging questions of yours?”

“Vanderbilt, two, and any-fucking-where I’d want to put it.”

“Well, inexperienced she must be, because no respectable single female wanting to pick up a man would admit to owning two cats.”

He took a long gulp of his drink. “One can never have enough pussy.”

“Damn, I walked right into that one.”

“You should probably work a little harder on those conversation skills I mentioned earlier.”

“Hmm.” She turned her head and swept the room with a quick glance before looking back to him. “You’re probably right. In fact, I see someone over there I’d like to
converse
with.” She stood up and drained the rest of her martini just as the bartender came back with her refill. Grabbing a large bill from her cleavage, she tossed it on the counter while looking at him. “I’ve got this one.” Then she picked up her glass and sauntered her way through the crowd to the opposite side of the bar.

Christ, the woman was something else. She looked like class and sex all neatly wrapped up in one siren-red fuck-me dress. If his dick hadn’t already taken a tour of all she had to offer, he sure as hell would have resented the suited-up guy she’d just stopped in front of. But as it was, he had taken that tour and he did
not
do repeats. At least that’s what he was trying to tell himself.
Again.
 

“I’m so sorry. I hope I didn’t, uh...ruin anything.”

Red’s face was so sincere with worry and the need to please that his cock jerked in response. He picked up the money Reagan had left on the bar and put it in her palm before laying his hand over hers.
 

“You didn’t ruin anything. She’s a bit too tart for my taste. You, on the other hand…” He picked up his glass and drained it, noticing her eyes watching his mouth as his tongue licked a drop on his bottom lip. “Fucking delicious.”