Page 63 of Balthazar's Fire
Perfect.
Oliver enjoyed a mouthful, relishing the way the liquid burned the back of his throat. By the sounds of the blonde behind him, she was grappling with another liquid down the back of hers.
“Good.” His father’s voice cut through the sounds of sex. “Now, leave.”
Turning just in time to see her scoop up her top and run, Oliver delighted in a second sip.
“I don’t need to tell you how fucking annoying you are.” Zipping up his pants, Jonas glared at his son.
“Chip off the old block, Dad.” Oliver sneered.
“Make yourself useful and pour me one, will you?” Jonas motioned to his drink and with a sigh, Oliver turned and prepared a second glass for his father.
“Here.” Crossing the office, Oliver handed him the drink.
“What have you come to say?” Jonas asked in characteristically ungrateful form.
“Your desperate need to own Drakon Finance is over,” Oliver told him matter-of-factly. “I’m getting no joy from any of them and that fucker Sebastian…” Oliver’s hand gripped the crystalware tighter.
“Still smarting over that, are you?” Jonas smirked.
“I’m telling you how it is,” Oliver retorted, his jaw clenching as he recalled his father’s response when he’d relayed Sebastian’s true intentions. Jonas hadn’t been surprised that Sebastian had duped Oliver, but he wasn’t pleased, either.
“And I told you already, the deal goes ahead,” Jonas insisted. “Whatever the consequences.”
“Not with me.” Oliver drained his glass and slammed it down on the counter. “Not anymore.”
“Have you forgotten who pays your allowance?”
His father’s piggy little face beamed as he leveraged the same bullshit threats he’d been doing since Oliver was thirteen years old.
“Fuck your allowance.” Oliver stared right into his eyes as he told him straight. “I don’t need your money anymore. I’ll make my own.”
“You’re nothing without me,” Jonas snarled, slamming his fist down onto his desk.
“I’ve taken everything I need from you.” Oliver almost pitied the old man. To have produced a prodigy like Oliver and watch him grow to outshine him must have been painful. The expression on his father’s face certainly said so. “I’ve got your experience, brains and contacts, coupled with Mum’s looks. You can go and fuck yourself. From now on, I don’t work for you.”
Pulling down his lapels, Oliver started for the door, tingling with conceit as it neared. Finally, after all this time, he’d told his father what he thought and he’d never felt better.
“Oliver, wait.”
It wasn’t the order that caused Oliver to hesitate, but Jonas’ imploring tone. His father had been getting frailer and slower for years, and not even the whores he bedded could perpetuate the illusion of the powerhouse he’d once been. Jonas was old and it showed. He’d had numerous health scares and his personal physician had already told him to slow down.
Oliver slowly turned to face him, aware of the smile on his face as he answered. “What?”
“Don’t do this.” Jonas’ eyes revealed how much he loathed the moment. “Don’t leave like this.”
“Why not?” Oliver shrugged. “I’ve said what I’ve come to say.”
“Because…” Jonas’ jaw tightened. “I need you.”
“What was that?” Oliver prompted, reveling in his father’s apparent weakness.
“You heard me,” Jonas chided. “You’re my only son and I fucking need you.”
His words were music to Oliver’s ears.
“Need me to do what?” Oliver encouraged him.