Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 141951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 473(@300wpm)
“Well?” Jacob demanded, still waiting for an answer. The hopeful note to his question was about to get deflated faster than the birthday balloons the two brothers never had year after year.
“No on a date, too,” Lucas admitted. “Frankly, I wouldn’t punish a woman with a night alongside Dad and his friends, so …”
“Fair enough, but aren’t you tired of this yet?”
Lucas didn’t understand. “I’m tired of a lot of things, man.”
“Clearly not, you’re still here. Doing what he can’t be bothered to, Luke. I mean, it’s up to you if you want to work yourself dead in this stuffy fucking office that smells like Dad,” Jacob said, cutting across the floor for the door.
“It doesn’t smell like him.”
Over his shoulder, Jacob’s eyes shifted suspiciously around the room. “Maybe it’s just me, but—”
“It doesn’t smell like him,” Lucas insisted again.
Stronger the second time.
Jacob nodded once. “Who are you trying to convince?”
Chapter 5
The mayor’s twelve thousand square foot residence sat on an acreage just outside of the city’s limits with private access from the road to both the house and a lake that wasn’t big enough for a good boat run. Despite calling the yearly bash—with ten thousand dollar a plate expectation per guest—a ball, there wasn’t ever any dancing. Just catered food by a chef whose name Lucas could never remember and rich people who wanted an excuse to dress up and get drunk.
Rarely could Lucas remember a time when wealthy people came together for a private party and didn’t have a reason for doing so outside of talking about something they did to elevate their image, or to show off one thing or another. It could have just been the circles he had been made familiar with, but Lucas never cared too much for the performative activism and silent condemnation of people who had privilege and money.
The charity bit tacked on at the end of this particular evening was purely for brownie points, in his opinion. It gave the attendees the ability to say they were doing something, as if their CPAs weren’t already allocating donations at the end of the year, anyway. Apparently, it was different when one went to a dinner alongside the wealthiest and most powerful in their part of the land and had their name added to a little plaque the mayor added to his growing wall year after year.
It gave someone status. While all they did was gossip and drink to get it.
He’d never cared for that.
His lack of concern for the lifestyles of the wealthy was never more apparent than when Lucas parked his Bronco SUV between a Bentley and a Mercedes that didn’t look as if the winter months had bothered the cars at all. The way their rims shined said they’d been washed and the paint had a wax, likely in a heated garage shortly before arrival at the mayor’s family mansion. Everyone had to look their best; be at their greatest. It didn’t leave much time or space for a man like him who couldn’t quite fit in despite his proximity to the inner circle. He could not say the same, visually, of his two-year-old Bronco with its dirt-spattered sides that spoke of the factory’s open-air parking lot compared to the rest of the vehicles lining the drive.
The white twinkle lights from Christmas remained lit around the eaves of the roof’s high peaks all along the front, but there wasn’t a Christmas tree or garland in sight. That season had long passed for the Alcott home, it seemed. The white lights overhead matched the ones wrapped around the trunk of the birch trees lining the drive and helped to illuminate the front of the property.
The wide, winding drive, cleared of ice and snow, so one could see the hand laid brickwork leading around the circular entry rounding a large water feature that was only lit, currently, but not running with water.
“You know,” said a redhead wrapped in white mink a few cars down to the car dealership heir helping her along the drive, “I really could have done without these boots tonight, Benny. It ruins the look.”
The thirty-seven-year-old, whom Lucas had brushed shoulders with on the ice in his private high school during hockey season, uttered frustratedly, “It’s Brennan. Cut the Benny shit, Sheela.”
“Only mommy gets to use that, right?”
“Your mouth is not worth a thirteen-thousand-dollar night, but you know, if you think open-toed stilettos are better for this, next year you’re welcome to wear them and walk yourself, sweetheart.”
Ouch.
The escort—Brennan already had two nasty divorces under his belt over his penchant for paid pussy—only heard one thing in the man’s remark. “Who’s bringing me next year?”
Brennan laughed at the expense of a woman more interested in her money than her dignity. Nothing about the situation felt right.
“Exactly,” Brennan said, closing in on the front entrance of the lit up house.