Page 62 of Balthazar's Fire
“I’m sorry, little girl.” Sebastian’s arm snaked around her and although she seemed to stiffen at his touch, she didn’t reject him. “I should have told you sooner, but it was hard enough divulging my secret.”
“No, I’m sorry,” Cherie added. “I should have thought before I raised it.”
“It’s okay.” Rebecca wiped her tears away with the heel of her hand, making it impossible to know who she was talking to. “No one here should have told me. It’s my own fucking family that should have done so!”
It was difficult to argue with her analysis, and as fresh sobs overcame her and Sebastian tugged her closer, Balthazar realized for the first time how much he pitied her. Not because she was a Monroe and he had learned to loathe her family, but because of what being one meant.
Being a Vaughn hadn’t always been a bed of roses. They’d lost their parents too young, and there had been endless friction about their father’s wishes for his fortune, but fundamentally they had something that clearly the Monroes had never enjoyed—the ability to talk and trust.
“Let’s get some drinks,” Balthazar instructed, easing Cherie to her feet. “And give these guys some space.”
“Thanks,” Sebastian mouthed as he consoled Rebecca. “We’ll join you soon.”
Guiding Cherie out of the room, Balthazar was struck by how much misery Oliver Monroe had inspired. It was as if everywhere he went, a trail of destruction followed in his wake. A man capable of distributing melancholy with such disturbing ease, he decided, needed to be eliminated.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Oliver
Striding along the hallway, Oliver’s attention barely flickered from the dark doorway of his father’s office ahead of him. He didn’t pause to notice the expensive artwork on the walls, nor allow his gaze to dart to the priceless vases on display in the far corner. Just like always, Oliver was fixated on what he wanted, and what he wanted were assurances from Jonas.
His father had tasked him with securing the financial wing of the Vaughn family’s business, although Jonas had never said why. He also never told Oliver what a bitch the job was going to be, but so far, any meetings with the irritating brothers had only led to disappointment. Worse, the last time one of them had engaged him in the discussion, the others had snatched Cherie away from right under his nose.
Oliver’s jaw clenched at the humiliation. The Vaughns’ behavior was outrageous, and it was time that he officially called time on the endeavor. It wasn’t as though Oliver hadn’t tried. He’d convened with both Balthazar and Sebastian and it had gotten him nowhere.
“Those assholes are messing with me.”
Complaining under his breath, he approached the foreboding door and reached for the handle. There was a time when he would have knocked and waited for his father’s approval to enter, but that time was over. Oliver was rushing headlong toward his forties, and he was too old to keep playing Daddy’s games.
Grasping the handle, he pushed the door open and glanced around the enormous swanky office. There, at the far end was Jonas’ sleek, black desk, and leaning against it was his father. Eyes closed in rapture, Jonas’ hand was guiding the head of an unknown blonde up and down the length of his cock, her gasping and gurgling noises suggesting that she was struggling to breathe.
“We need to talk.”
Folding his arms across his chest, Oliver smirked as his father’s gaze flew open and the blonde whore tried to scrabble to her feet.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Jonas demanded, his fingers tightening in the blonde’s hair. “Stay until I’m finished.”
“But, sir, I—” Her sentence concluded early as Jonas shoved his organ back down her throat, glaring at her when she tried to resist.
“What do you want?” he asked, not bothering to glance up at his son.
“I just told you.” With one long sigh, Oliver strolled across the office and assessed the array of expensive liquor. “To talk.”
He has good taste in alcohol. Even if his taste in women is crap.
“Can’t you see I’m busy?” Jonas protested, his voice guttural as the blonde did her best to conclude as soon as she could.
“Oh yeah.” Oliver’s tone was wry. “I can see that. Shall I ask Mum to come here and talk, instead?”
The growl that escaped his father’s throat might have been perturbing, but it had little impact on Oliver anymore. He’d grown up around Jonas’ bullshit, and more to the point, he was a younger, leaner, and crueler version of the man himself.
“Don’t fucking threaten me, boy,” Jonas moaned, holding the blonde’s head against his groin. “Oh, yes!”
“For fuck’s sake.” Oliver rolled his eyes. “Make it quick, old man.”
Weren’t older guys supposed to have issues with sustaining erections? Trust Jonas to be the exception. As if it wasn’t bad enough to still be taking hand-outs from his dad under the guise of working for the family business, he also had to watch Jonas explode down some random whore’s throat? It was too fucking much.
Choosing the oldest bourbon he could find, Oliver lifted the decanter into the air and surveyed the amber color. He’d help himself to a drink while Jonas finished up. Pouring the whiskey into a glass, he placed the decanter down and lifted the crystal to his nose.