Page 23 of Save Me
I’m going to lose everything! The business, the house, the car, the kids’ schooling, probably Jen and the kids too. Shit!
The clock is already reading ten o’clock, just half an hour before Oliver told me he was going to come by to discuss the ‘takeover’. The only fortunate thing about this is the fact that Jen and Riley will already be out of the house. She’ll be taking him to football, probably followed by a couple of milkshakes, which after this fuckup, we will no longer be able to afford.
The man is going to destroy me and probably with a smile on his face. I have no idea why he’s targeted me; my business is positively small fry for him. I don’t even know why he would want it. Maybe I can talk him round, perhaps offer him something else. Lord knows what, but I at least have to try and appeal to his better nature. I mean, would I have insisted he give me his business if it were the other way around? I would like to think not.
I move about the house in a daze, looking at my pathetic body from above, all the while it goes about its usual, robotic routine. By the time I’ve jumped out of the shower, I’ve already thrown up three times, which doesn’t bode well for when I actually have to face the man himself. When I’ll actually have to use my brain to think of something rational to argue with. Begging won’t be this guy’s pleasure, so I put on my most expensive suit, which still probably costs about a fraction of what the Lawrences wear on a daily basis. I then gulp back a shot of whiskey. You may well scoff at my choice of drink on a Sunday morning, especially after last night, but if I’m going to survive this, I seriously need to have hair of the dog.
The chirpy little doorbell soon rings, taunting me with its welcoming, all-is-well, tone. I have to physically breathe in deeply three times before I even attempt to move toward the door and open it. When I do, vomit threatens to work itself up my throat again, while the man before me looks the epitome of cool, calm, and collected. A picture of health that betrays how much of an act he was putting on last night, when he had slurred his words and laughed at ridiculously unfunny shit with me. His suit outdoes mine by about ten grand and he smells like power, probably because he has all of it.
“Take a seat,” I offer with a dry throat and a raspy voice. I fluster about clearing magazines and other such nonsense away.
“How are you feeling today, Malcolm?” he asks with a tight smile that doesn’t quite reach his cold, blue eyes. He crosses his ankle over the opposite knee, owning the room without even trying.
“Well,” I reply with a heavy sigh, not even trying to act the alpha in my own home. Having someone nearly half your age bring you to your knees over one night of idiocy tends to do that to a man. “You can imagine how I’m feeling, Oliver. Last night was a huge mistake!”
“I do hope you’re not trying to back out of our deal, Malcolm,” he says, slanting his head to one side with a predatory grimace, “because that would be most unfortunate.”
“No, no, I know I owe you, Oliver, but I was kind of hoping we could renegotiate terms or perhaps change the stakes a little. My business is everything and if you take it, my family and I will literally have nothing.”
Fuck! Having to beg this man, at my age, in my own house, is paramount to cutting off my balls and hand-delivering them while kneeling upon bended knee.
“Seems like it was a bad idea to gamble with it then,” he says with smug smirk. “You realize you signed a contract last night. It is legally mine.”
“Oh, I know that!” I reply on another sigh and a slight mirthless laugh. “It was convenient of you to have it there, ready and waiting for me. It was as if you already knew what was going to happen. I guess the healthy supply of whiskey got my mouth going before my brain had a chance to think about it.”
Just then, Beth, my eldest daughter, comes skipping down the stairs, dressed in her summer denim shorts and an oversized t-shirt she borrowed from me about five years ago. It’s an old ‘Live Aid’ shirt from the eighties and still going strong. I love seeing her in it, knowing that she’s a chip off the old block and still thinks her dad’s cool for going to see those iconic bands all those years ago.
Her wayward locks are pulled back into a simple braid and her face is free of make-up, reminding me that she is still one of my greatest achievements. She and Riley both are.
And you’ve just gone and fucked things up for them, Malcolm!
I sigh at myself for being such a failure to her, when she looks over and beams at us. She then politely wishes her old man and this unknown guest a genuine, ‘Good morning’. I mutter the greeting back, but I’m unable to look her in the eye. Instead, I take a glance back at Oliver, only to catch him taking in her every move. The way he’s smiling at her and replying to her innocent greeting has me feeling uncomfortably itchy and I instantly get the urge to want to get her as far away from him as I can. As she walks into the kitchen, he studies her retreating figure with a lascivious lick of his lips, only stopping himself when she calls back to ask if either of us wants anything.
“No thanks, sweetheart,” I reply nervously, “you go ahead.”
My eyes remain on the man before me as he continues to look in the direction of the kitchen, when suddenly, I feel her sling her arms around my shoulders and kiss me on the cheek. This is a rare occurrence, one that would have had me teasing her if it wasn’t for the unwelcome guest in our house.
“Ok, Daddy dearest,” she teases me with a giggle. She straightens up, then looks over at Oliver who is smiling back at her with lustful eyes.
“Sorry, how rude of me, I’m Beth.”
“Hello, Beth,” he returns, oozing charm. The same charm he used on me only last week. “My name is Oliver Lawrence. I’m one of your father’s business associates.”
He stands and holds out his hand for her to shake. Being the good girl that she is, she accepts it and reciprocates the gesture. Their skin-to-skin contact has me feeling even more uncomfortable, but she soon drops her hand away and retreats back inside of the kitchen.
“Tell you what, Malcolm,” he says all of a sudden, completely shifting his attention back to me again, “I may have another proposition for you. But first,” he says, then pauses to look me right in the eye before telling me, “I would like to talk to your daughter.”
“Why?!” I snap, perhaps a little too aggressively considering what kind of hold he now has over me. However, he only grins in my direction before stepping away from the chair altogether.
“Trust me, Malcolm, it will be in your best interest to let me.”
Before I can even agree to his request, he begins walking in her direction where I can hear her humming along to a tune only known to her, together with clinking cups as she reaches to get one down for her customary mug of tea in the morning. Before he reaches the doorway, which I desperately want to block and tell him to leave her the fuck alone, he turns and puts his hand out toward me.
“I want to talk to her alone!” he says without any humor or friendliness to his tone of voice.
My mouth drops open while my voice remains impotent, leaving me to watch him enter the kitchen without me. Fortunately, the door is left slightly ajar, so I move in more closely to listen.
“Excuse me,” he says to her back; her continuous humming telling both him and me that she hasn’t yet registered his presence. His voice surprises her and she jumps around with a small yelp. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says, then offers a polite and friendly chuckle. His gentle smile seems to soothe her, and she giggles a little before placing her hand over her heart as if in relief. He really is the perfect wolf in sheep’s clothing.