Page 158 of The Price of Scandal
“This is bullshit. It’s all bullshit,” Trey said, coming to his feet.
“That true?” Byron Stanton grunted from the doorway.
Trey’s eyes widened with hope. The dumbass.
“Dad. This has all been a misunderstanding.”
“Your fucking life has been a misunderstanding,” Byron shot back. “You’re getting nothing from me, you stupid fuck.”
“Dad! You don’t get it. They want to arrest me! I can’t go to jail!”
The worst thing in the world to Trey Stanton would be being told what to do and when to do it.
“Try using that in your defense,” I suggested, moving toward the door.
Trey picked up the computer monitor from the desk behind him and hurled it in my direction. It hit the wall by my head. My hands flexed into fists.
“A temper tantrum? Really?”
“Christ, this kid,” Byron groaned. A keyboard smashed into the filing cabinet, keys flying in all directions.
“That’s the first problem,” I told him. “He’s not a fucking kid.”
I grabbed Trey by the arm, and he took a swing at me. “He swung first,” I said conversationally. And then I plowed my fist into Trey’s washboard abs and followed it with a swift uppercut to his Instagram-famous jaw.
He crumpled to the carpet, deflated and defeated. Entirely unsatisfying.
“Byron,” I said as I walked past the man.
“Price,” he grunted back.
I walked out without another word.
Jane met me in the hallway. “How did it feel to hit the fucker?”
“Not satisfying enough,” I admitted.
A chair shattered the glass window of the office and came to rest in the hall behind me. Trey was shouting incoherently.
“Calm the fuck down, you fuck,” Byron shouted.
A computer monitor flew through the broken glass next.
“Now can I?” Jane asked.
“Be my guest,” I said, stepping out of her way.
I walked out with the delightful sound of Trey’s shrieks and Jane’s maniacal laughter ringing in my ears.
“How did it go?” Emily asked as I slid into the back seat next to her.
“About as to be expected,” I said cheerfully.
She picked up my hand and compared knuckles. Both our rights were bruised, split.
“Good day,” she whispered.
I lifted her bruised hand to my lips, kissed each knuckle lightly. “A very good day,” I agreed.
