Still Not Over You(20)
Too big for me to handle?
I bet finding Dallas and wringing his fucking neck would give his sense of size a whole new meaning.
This smug, shitty asshole, pretending to actually give a damn about me or my company or my reputation –
But he’s still talking. He’s always talking.
Fucker treats the sound of his own voice like music.
“When it’s too much for you,” he says, “there’s always a place for you at Crown. I hope you know it. Your father would've wanted it that way. He’d never have wanted you to lone wolf it, to leave the company he worked so hard to build.”
There's a long, arrogant pause. Here it comes.
“Landon? Tell me one thing: why can’t we just bury bad blood and work together? Partners?”
Not in this lifetime. Not in the next ten.
“Because I don’t work with fucking vultures,” I spit. “Fuck you, fuck Crown Security, and fuck the idea that you and I could ever work together. I'm not your friend, Dallas. And you weren't mine, even though you did a damn good job getting under my skin after dad was buried, and you thought I was all busted up, needing a shoulder to cry on. Go fuck yourself. I’d rather choke on glass than work with you.”
“You'll certainly choke on that overgrown ego of yours if you’re not careful.” Smug piece of shit. There's always a comeback. “Remember, Miss Holly has a reputation for litigation. Not to mention, the star power – and funding – to eat you alive in court. Screw up, and you’ll lose more than a contract. You’ll lose –”
“My patience with this conversation,” I interrupt. “Get to the point. Whatever you really called for, Dallas. Because it wasn’t to play ‘whose dick is bigger.’ We outgrew that years ago.”
“Am I really so transparent?” He sighs. At least when he speaks, this time, it doesn’t sound mocking and trite; it sounds tired, and genuinely so. “Look, I’m not comfortable talking about this on an unsecured line, but we should meet soon.”
I go still. There’s only ever one thing Dallas wants to meet in person about. My entire body tingles with tension. It's too good to be true, especially when it's the very thing he holds over me, baiting my sorry ass into taking more of his calls. “You’ve got new intel?”
“Possibly. New details the police hadn’t released before. It’s best if we discuss it in person, Landon. You know that.”
“Fine. When I get back from Sonoma. I'll call.”
“Lovely. I really think we might be close to a break this time.”
“That’s what you’ve said every time.” It’s the closest to polite I can manage to be with him, when one more word will have me seeing red. My hands are aching, my knuckles white, from how hard I’m gripping the steering wheel, and if I’m not careful I’m going to swerve off the road just trying to unclench. “I’m driving and can’t talk, Dallas. Gotta go.”
He makes a sound that doesn’t quite become a word before I slam the dash button, ending the call.
Shit. the last thing I need when I’ve got Kenna on my mind and in my house is Dallas planting seeds of doubt.
I’ve got this, though.
I’ve got this, and I don’t need a massive security company behind me to make it work. Smaller is better. Lean. Tough. Focused.
That's how I built Enguard compared to the bloated beast that's Crown.
It means we can keep it tight and coordinate well with a trusted group of handpicked pros. Even before I’d left, Crown Security was starting to get sloppy. Careless.
Dallas is too ambitious, too focused on expansion, and not even personally involved ensuring the job gets done right on every contract.
Dallas is the problem. Not me.
I have to remember that, and not let him get under my skin, or inside my head.
Especially not when he’s sitting on intel that could point to my father's killer.
Information I’ve been after for five dreary years. And I’ll be damned if that smug, bouncy, hyper-competitive asshole gets to the truth before I do.
*
Five Years Ago
After dad's funeral, flowers will always make me choke.
As long as I live, I'll always associate their bright colors, their perfumes, their circle-of-death arrangements with my old man's stiff face in the casket.
And the same goes for a few select fork-tongued words.
“It's all right, Landon, you shouldn't look so worried. My dad's talking to your mother right now. He's a good guy. We'll make sure you're both set for the rest of your lives and –”
“Fuck you, Reese,” I snarl, tearing his hand off my shoulder. “If you think it's money that's got my balls in a knot, think again.”
He sniffs, taking several protective paces away from me. “Yeah. Sorry. I was being kind of an insensitive jerk, right?”
“It's cool,” Steve speaks up, a few paces behind me. I whip around and glare, knowing he's just trying to keep the peace, and fucking hating it.
“Landon, he's just trying to help,” my friend says, leaning to my ear.
“Fuck him again. I don't need –”
“Landon. Dude. Micah's barely in the ground. I know that's got you torn up, your head all kinds of bad, but the whole world isn't your enemy. I'm here. Your mom's here. So are my parents. And even that creepy kid you're not too keen on is just trying to lighten the load.”