I SLAMMED THE DOOR OF my Aston. It was the only exhibition of frustration I allowed myself. Then I dialed Colson to fill him in on my meeting with Johnson Haines.
“How’d it go?” Colson didn’t bother with a greeting. We didn’t do meaningless small talk.
“He wants too much.” I’d expected big demands because all politicians operated on a quid pro quo system, but Haines’s request wasn’t something I could agree to lightly.
“Like what?”
“An open-ended favor. Anything he needs, whenever he needs it. And a hefty donation to his re-election campaign.”
“We expected the donation.”
“No shit, but I’m not going to be at the beck and call of some pompous politician.”
Haines had been the caricature of a Southern politician, his big gut testing the limits of his suspenders in his navy pin-striped suit and red power tie. All he’d been missing was a big fat cigar.
“He’s a power junkie. Having you on his list of favors would give him a boner. Can’t say I’m surprised.”
Colson was right. Haines was the kind of man who liked having others under his thumb, and I could see the power light his expression when he’d explained that in exchange for my marker, he’d have to call in several others. But he was confident he could swing the tide in favor of the bill.
When I didn’t respond, Colson asked, “What’d you say?”
“That I’d think about it.” The money wasn’t the problem; it was being beholden to someone. I didn’t put myself in a position of anything but power, and owing a favor like this jeopardized that. I fucking hated politics, and this was exactly the reason why.
“He give you a deadline?”
“No one gives me goddamn deadlines, Colson. I make the deadlines.”
“Fair enough. When are you going to decide?”
“Do your job. Find another way. Get creative. I don’t care what it takes, as long as it’s not this.”
“How creative?”
I knew what he was asking. “Feel free to color outside the lines on this one.”
“Done.”
Nothing more needed to be said, so I hung up. All I wanted tonight was a glass of Macallan—and a big fat Cuban cigar, in honor of the state senator. Giant asshole.
No one, and I do mean no one, pushed me into doing anything I didn’t want to do. I controlled my empire and the world around me to a merciless degree. Handing even a slice of control over to someone else wasn’t in my nature, and to a politician, it would have to be a last resort. But fuck, I needed this to happen.
My father had said it would never work, said it was a waste of time. But he was wrong. This project would make me more money than I could spend in several lifetimes. Without the political catalyst, it would be an uphill battle. With it, I’d practically be printing money. It might sound like a shady way to do business, but the ends justified the means, in my book.
I just needed to get my ass back into the office to finish up a few things, and then to Lakefront Airport and a jet to Europe—with my cigar and Scotch. It was time to get back to making money.
It was one of the two things I excelled at.
“YOU SURE YOU’RE GOOD WITH giving me a ride?” I asked Levi as I locked the shop’s back door. “What time is your flight again?”
“I’ve got plenty of time. You know I don’t mind.”
We climbed into his Karmann Ghia and it started up more smoothly than my Jetta, which was ironic considering his Volkswagen was about forty years older than my car. I rattled off directions to my house, which was actually within walking distance to work and no big deal, but the box of accessories the UPS man had delivered needed to be sorted, assessed, and priced tonight, and carrying it home would be awkward as hell.
Getting a ride from Levi reminded me of the one I’d gotten from Titan. And the note that had arrived three days ago. Dark, slashing script on paper that even felt expensive, as did everything when it came to that man. It was arrogant and to the point—just like him.
Your car is being repaired at Uptown.
You can thank me later.
—Titan
Lucas Fucking Titan. Fucking should really be added to his name as an official title. It was appropriate. I held in a giggle at the thought.
Surprisingly, it was the same shop I would’ve had Cousin Stevie tow it to, so I wasn’t cringing too horribly at the cost. Not yet, anyway. Titan having it taken there was surprisingly not assholish, which, given what I knew about the man, seemed out of character. The note, however, seemed perfectly in character.
When we pulled into a parking spot behind my building, Levi shut off the VW and hopped out.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Carrying the box up for you. Can’t say I’m not a gentleman.”
Smiling, I led the way up the walk to my exterior stairs. “You’re a good kid, you know that? Apparently military school was the right choice for you.”
At my door, I reached for my keys and slid one in the lock . . . but the knob turned freely before I twisted the key. It was already unlocked.
What the hell?