Page 6 of Connor

Thinking about Summer. Trying to distract myself with another blonde who sucked cock like it was her favorite thing in the world. He would’ve murdered me if I said that though, so I shrugged instead. "Sleeping."

The air shifted. Just a little. Barely enough to notice. But I felt it.

"You think this is funny?" His voice stayed smooth, controlled, but I could hear it—the edge. The thing buried under the surface.

I smirked. "You think I’d bother showing up if I did?"

His nostrils flared. "The client left. Aiden had to cover for you."

"Sounds like he handled it."

His fingers flexed at his sides, and I looked out the window, seeing the hundred or so sparkling new cars in the parking lot. He’d chosen to come in now because everyone else was far too fucking busy trying to make their sales for the month that they wouldn’t hear if he shouted. It didn’t bode well for me.

That was the thing about my father. He didn’t lash out immediately. He liked restraint. He liked control. He liked making you wait for it.

"That’s not the point, Connor," he said, voice measured.

I tilted my head. "No? What is the point?"

"You’ve been fucking around for months." His tone didn’t rise, but his eyes burned. "Drinking. Showing up late. Talking back. Making a goddamn fool of yourself in front of clients. And for what?"

I let the words settle. "Guess I’m just tired of putting on a show."

Unlike him.

"Tired?" His lip curled into a sneer. “You’re not tired, you’re fucking spoiled."

I should’ve left it alone.

I should’ve nodded, apologized, let him believe he’d won.

But my chest was too tight. My blood ran too hot. And this—this was better than sitting at my desk staring at Vic’s fucking message, thinking about Summer.

So I leaned forward, resting my arms on my desk. "Must be exhausting, Dad. Keeping up the perfect businessman act when we both know you’re just a fucking—"

The punch landed before I finished the sentence. Fast. Hard. Bone against bone. I hadn’t even seen him leap over my desk, but he’d done it in seconds. Guess it paid to be a retired athlete.

Pain exploded along my jaw, sharp and brutal, my head snapping sideways from the impact. A breath caught in my throat. My ears rang. And for a second, I just sat there, still, mybody processing the hit, the metallic taste of blood coating my tongue.

It wasn’t the first time I’d bit it. I learned long ago that it was easier to just roll with the punches, literally and figuratively, when it came to my father.

Blood smeared across my knuckles. "Feel better?" My voice came out low, rasping.

David shook out his hand like he wasn’t the one at fault. Like I’d made him do it. I bet it fucking killed him that I wasn’t on the floor, wasn’t apologizing, scrambling to fix whatever I’d broken. That’s the thing about growing up, though. You stopped reacting to shit you knew was coming.

“You better come in early tomorrow,” he said, his voice low. “I’m doubling your sales expectations for the month and if you don’t make it, then you’re out of here.”

Like I gave a fuck. I smiled, slow and sharp, and leaned back in my chair. "You done?"

His hand twitched. A flicker of movement, like he might swing again. But then his eyes darted toward the door. Laughter reached my ears, an employee entering the building. And just like that, he smoothed out his tie. The businessman act slid back into place. He exhaled, rolling his eyes.

But his voice was quieter when he spoke. "Get your shit together, Connor. Or I’ll do it for you."

Then he turned and walked out, the door slamming behind him. I sat there, blood on the back of my hand, jaw aching, pulse pounding in my ears. And for the first time that morning—I didn’t think about Summer fucking Blake.

The door didn’t open right away. I heard the knock first. Light. Two short taps. A pause. Another. Then it creaked open, and Aiden stood in the doorway, leaning on his cane and holding a bag of ice with his other hand. His green eyes flicked over me.

I sighed and wiped my mouth again, smearing more blood onto my knuckles. “You know, you don’t have to knock. You’re my brother, not my fucking secretary.”

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