Til Debt Do Us Part (Married At Midnight #4)

Chapter 3

Three

Dare

I stand near the window in my grandfather's study, my brows drawn low. I should be scowling, but I keep my face as blank as I can so that my brother can’t read what I am feeling.

That’s the longstanding game between us. We have been playing poker for our entire fucking lives.

Burn looks at me, a tiny smirk on his lips, his tall frame perched almost jauntily on the corner of our grandfather’s desk. His well-muscled arms are framed by a white dress shirt with the cuffs shot. He has on a pair of charcoal gray bespoke slacks and looks as though he was born in them.

Burn and I both wear the extreme wealth and privilege we have grown up in like a king wears his mantle. He is cocky and handsome, presumptive and eerily self-assured. Practically perfect.

I want to fucking strangle him.

Burn arches a brow, his expression practically screaming in my face. You’re wrong. I’m right. It’s the same story as always.

If I flinch, if I so much as let a sneer rise to my upper lip, he wins. We've been playing this game since we were born; he was born only twelve minutes after me. And lately, I’ve been on a losing streak.

My fists bunch at my sides, and I cross my arms to hide my anger. My losing streak can’t go on for much longer.

Not with so much at stake.

"Just hold on a second here." My grandfather, Remy Morgan, grouses. He flips through a couple of sheets of paper that are spread out on the desk before him. "What page are we on?"

I run a hand down my crisp white button up and dark silk tie, pursing my lips. Remy controls the room without a thought, pulling his reading glasses out. Everyone waits for him because he said so. He’s the big swinging dick around here and he won’t hesitate to use it to publicly fucking humiliate anyone who steps out of line.

Remy’s navy sweater and blue button up are rumpled, his shock of white hair is finger combed back, his skin sallow and papery. He narrows his eyes at the papers before him, his mouth puckering in concentration. Eighty-eight years’ worth of wrinkles begin at his temples and pour down his face like sluggish water, culminating at his lips.

"This is fucking gibberish," he mutters. He slices his gaze at me, skewering me. "Did you put this packet together, Dare?"

My neck heats, and I straighten. I can feel my twin brother grinning at me, but I don’t give him the satisfaction of my attention. I gesture toward Dr. Phadreet, a tiny man who seems to be doing his best to blend in with the navy wallpaper.

"I brought a scientist to walk us all through exactly what I have planned for the drilling project."

Dr. Phadreet steps forward, raising his hand as though he needed to be allowed to speak. But Remy waves him away before he utters a word.

"Bahhhh," my grandfather growls. "I’d rather hear what the accountant has to say first. At least he works for Morgan Oil. He wants what’s best for all of us. Don’t you?"

The accountant clears his throat. "Ah, yes, sir."

Remy looks up at all of us—his two grandsons, his two sons, Dr. Phadreet, and the accountant. We all wait for him to speak, like he’s doing us a favor by letting us be here. Like we don’t all work for him because he is the owner and CEO of our billion dollar company.

A bitter feeling sweeps through me, proving very hard to stifle.

"Well?" Remy asks the accountant. "Let’s hear it. What has Dare been working on for half a year? Why would buying mineral rights off the coast of Maine be such a fucking fantastic idea?"

The way he tosses it off tells me everything I could ever want to know about how Remy feels about the project. I try to guard my expression and not give away my anger and frustration as I prepare myself to listen to the accountant tell the group of men gathered what a bad investment deep sea drilling off the Maine coast would be.

The accountant stands before the members of my family, looking rather nervous as he gestures to the large map on the easel in front of him. He has a funny way of clearing his throat before he speaks that makes me want to punch him in the mouth.

"You see in this area," he says, pointing to a sliver of blue water just off the green land. He clears his throat, making me tense up. "This area is where the most valuable resources would be for us. Studies have been done with ground-penetrating radar and sonar?—"

"For God’s sake, man. Hurry up. Time is money!" Burn snaps.

Remy purses his lips and then inclines his head. "He has a point. Get to the good stuff."

The accountant flushes. "There is a lot of oil down here, along with natural gas and probably even other more traditional minerals. Tanzanite, lucite, and even titanium, maybe." He flips over a page on the easel, revealing two big columns, one on the left in black and one on the right in red. The cost of the drilling versus putting the hypothetical money into another already profitable project. He turns, a frown on his face. "It would take us seven to ten years to turn a profit, considering the immense cost of the drilling. We don’t even have the technology to extract everything that’s down there yet. And I don’t think I have to tell you that research and development can be quite a money pit."

"So you’re recommending against the project," Burn announces, a barely checked glee in his voice. "That’s the gist of it, right?"

The accountant looks at his figures and nods. "Yes."

Burn smirks and crosses his arms, disguising a victorious fist pump. "I knew it."

"You’re being very shortsighted," I snap. "In twenty-five years, when we have tapped nearly all of the gas and oil deposits here on earth, deep sea drilling will be our only recourse. Then you’ll be wailing about how we should have been developing this exact project for years. I’m trying to anticipate our next move as a company."

Remy’s head swivels, and he looks at me with a contemptuous expression. "And what would you know about looking out for a company's long-term profits? You barely made it through your fancy namby-pamby college. And I am telling you right now that, as long as I am alive and I am still in charge, you will not get a dollar to put towards this fucking deep sea drilling project. It's better that you just come to terms with that right now."

Embarrassment floods my system. I grit my teeth and look at Remy. He isn't even looking at me anymore, though.

He looks at Burn instead, rolling his eyes. "So, what are you grinnin' about? I don't see you trying to move the company forward at all."

Burn's eyebrows raised slightly. "I'm just being realistic. We're making a killing off of the oil rigs and natural gas rights that we currently have. Now, we are about to venture into strip mining in Columbia. We are the country's richest company outside of the tech world. What more is there to do?"

Remy looks disgruntled.

"Get out of my office,” he says, jabbing his finger at the door. “All of you. At least Dare is willing to dream big. Even if that means falling flat on his fucking face."

He shoves himself away from his desk, standing up with an accusatory gaze that sweeps the room. Everyone shuffles their feet until Remy snarls and chucks a book from his desk at the wall.

Apparently that gets us all to move.

Turning on my heel, I gesture at Dr. Phadreet, flicking two fingers to indicate that we are leaving. Burn is right on my tail, squeezing through the carefully studied doorway just as I step through it. I grimace and brush off my sleeve, as though he's dirtied it somehow.

“Pussy,” he whispers as he moves past me.

My whole body tenses, but Burn just keeps moving with a grin on his face. His immaturity always blows my mind.

That, in a nutshell, is why he can’t take the reins of Morgan Oil when Remy kicks the bucket.

We step out into the wide hallway, all lined with dark paneling. Portraits hang all along the hallway. A portrait of my great-grandmother’s father looks down at me from the wall, looking right at me with his insane person’s hair and his massive jowls. My distant relative has massive, florid cheeks and judging from his expression, he terrorized everyone in his path back in his day. I avoid his glare as I look around for Clive, the mansion's butler.

Burn lies in wait and then falls in step with me, jostling me with an elbow. It takes everything in me not to snarl at him. But that would be losing the little game we play. Instead, I just look at him.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" I ask, gesturing to the front door of the mansion. "I thought for sure you would be out trolling for your next hookup. Or is that not of interest to you anymore?"

He sticks his tongue out at me, making a wickedly taunting face. "I have other things to worry about, brother. Like Daisy, for instance.”

I come to a halt, my gaze narrowing on him. “Don’t tell me that she already figured out that you’re useless and is ready to break up with you?"

His lips twitch. "Not a chance. It'll be a cold day in hell before I let her slip away. I'm not about to repeat the mistakes that you made."

Resentment, bitterness, and no little portion of anger slide through my gut. I'm riled by his words, but I can’t let him win.

Not ever, not after he stole Daisy from me.

I shrug a shoulder. "I'm just waiting for you to fuck up and step over the line. You will eventually. And then we’ll see who Daisy comes running to."

Burn rolls his eyes and turns away toward the front door. "Yeah, we'll see. You have to catch me first, don't you?"

Before I can respond, he whirls and merges toward the front of the house. I watch him go, my face contorting. It's so strange to see my own reflection acting completely differently than I ever would. Even though I've been alive for almost thirty four years, watching Burn move around the world with such ease, such daring, still makes me uneasy.

I'm so caught up in staring at the empty room where Burn just was that I almost don't hear anyone approaching until Clive and my Uncle Felix are almost on top of me. I flinch when my uncle reaches out, grasping my shoulder with a steel grip.

"Hey," he says.

He and Clive circle around me. Clive is dressed in a black tux with tails, my uncle in a green leather jacket and dark slacks. At age sixty, he still dresses like a much younger man. His age is written on his face in the creases bracketing his mouth and shadowed hollows under his eyes. I look at the two men, scowling to cover my reaction to their sudden presence.

"Ah. There you are," I say, feeling stupid. "I didn't hear you coming down the hall."

Clive just bows his head, as close and silent as always. He’s been with my family since before I was born. He is tall, thin as a whip, always seems resolute, and his face remains as unlined as I remember it being as a boy. Everything about him is tightly wound and well-polished. He's old school as far as butlers go, and I appreciate that about him.

Felix, on the other hand, is downright chatty. He claps me on the back of the shoulder and smiles grimly. "This old manor plays tricks on your perception. At least, it does to me. It always has, ever since I was a little boy."

I glance at Felix, taking in his silvery hair and his gaunt face. He has the same probing blue green eyes that mark him as a Morgan, the same blue green eyes that I share with Remy, Burn, and my father.

I suck in a breath and release it. "Yeah, well. When I take over the family business, I'll move the Morgan Oil headquarters away from this damn town. We should be doing all our business in New York City. When Remy finally passes away, I will take Clive here and move the whole operation to fancier digs." I pause, looking around the house dubiously. "Good riddance to bad garbage, if you ask me."

Clive’s expression tenses for a moment. I gesture to him. "No offense. You keep this house perfectly well maintained. But I want to see you tackle a new challenge, perhaps a penthouse with a view of Manhattan. Doesn't that sound exciting?"

Felix licks one of his canine teeth, glancing at Clive. "The kid’s got a point of view. At least we can give him that, huh?"

Clive frowns. "Indeed," he says.

He bows his head and spins, crisply tapping his heels to gather before he starts down the hallway. I can never tell if I've just offended Clive or if he is just busy running this sprawling household. Felix notices me watching Clive and gives me a knowing look.

"Don't worry about Clive. He is on our side. He knows that one day soon, Remy will finally kick the bucket, and he also knows where his bread will be best buttered. I've talked to Clive at length about our plans to expand. He is definitely amenable."

I jerk my head toward the front of the house, a small sigh on my lips. "Speaking of our plans, we should talk."

"The presentation went poorly,” Felix says.

I shake my head and press my lips together. "No, it did not go well. Basically, everything bad that could happen did happen. Remy asked that spineless accountant for his recommendation on the project. And as we anticipated, the accountant shut down the idea of deep sea drilling."

"It’s all as I expected." Felix reaches the front door and pulls it open, stepping back to hold the door for me. I step through it and suddenly wish for a coat. A sea breeze blows straight through my clothes, but I repress the shudder that follows.

I continue the conversation where we left off.

"He's shortsighted. The whole damn family is downright myopic. And when the oil and gas run out in twenty years, everyone is going to be asking themselves why they didn't start drilling in the ocean before. It's a sad reality."

As he walks across the driveway and into the grass, Felix nods, crosses his arms, and coughs. The entire property is fenced in and his gaze roves around the grass, his lips pursing.

"My father is many things," he says. "First among his most awful qualities is that he’s a miserable, money loving old fool. He drove my mother and three other wives to their graves. He has been through a slew of advisors and accountants. But he's almost eighty-eight years old. He is definitely on his way out of this world, one way or another. Billionaire or not, nobody lives forever. So when it comes to thinking of the future for our company, for our whole freaking country that is so dependent on gas and oil, we can't be looking to Remy for advice on what to do. He is not looking to the future."

I nod slowly. Sneaking a glance at Felix, I purse my lips. "Remy has made some mistakes."

A snort bursts from Felix’s nose. "Mistakes? Ha!" He shakes his head, a dark chuckle emerging from his throat. “That old fucker cut me off without so much as a warning. I'm lucky to be getting my allowance of one hundred thousand dollars per year. We all know that Remy is loaded. And yet, he refuses to share his wealth with his own son."

His expression is intense and bitter. I glance off into the distance, my footsteps wandering toward the edge of the cliff overlooking the town of Harwicke. It is true that Remy did cut Felix off from his one time inheritance. Felix is older than my father and the rightful heir—or he would be if he were not an inveterate gambler.

Though I wasn't around when he was cut off, I always want to keep in mind the fact that Felix is the opposite of risk-averse. Not the best thing to have in a business partner. But that's for another time, perhaps.

Do I actually care for my uncle in the way that family should? No, I definitely do not. In fact, I find him generally distasteful. But I need him, until this whole deep sea drilling mess has been sorted.

I stifle any retorts for now.

Instead, I stare out at Harwicke, watching the town from afar. From this distance, I can just make out the landmark buildings as the land slopes down to meet the sea. I see several boats at the busy harbor and a few cars on a long stretch of highway approaching the town. The people of Harwicke are busy, and they have no idea that I am standing here, plotting to shape their futures.

After all, when I move the company’s headquarters from this little know-nothing town, it will likely die. The Morgan family supports all the sports teams, gives to the local hospital, and generally has a hand in every piece of charity pie that goes on around here. Without the family, the town will inevitably fall into decay and die a slow, suffocating death.

Too bad that Harwicke became so reliant on the Morgan billions.

"Dare!" Felix prompts me.

Drawn out of my thoughts, I turn to him.

"You know our deal," I say to Felix. "You are going to help me get the deep sea drilling deal off the ground. And in return, I will personally guarantee the return of your share of the inheritance when I take the reins of the company."

"Yes, yes." Felix flicks his hands out, waving away the discussion. "We've talked about it so many times now that I can't be bothered with another discussion. We both know exactly what we have to do."

I give him a sidelong glance. "Very true. I expect you to continue with the plan to get the mineral rights for the coast of Maine. We're going to need them. Morgan Oil may not be ready, but the future is coming faster than we realize. If we have to, I will execute a hostile takeover and drive Remy out of the company. We will be in the deep sea drilling business, whether Morgan Oil knows that or not."

Felix nods in agreement. "I'll talk to the people and see what we need to do to keep moving forward with the deal."

"You do that." I walk away from him, sauntering again toward the overlook, my thoughts drifting as I imagine how different this scene will look ten years in the future.