Rebel punk, Oscar Bradley, discovers that his party friend, Max, is the prince of Kingsport's Irish Mob; fierce rivals of the biker gang that's served as Oscar's surrogate family. With Max quickly pulling him deeper into his luxurious but deadly wor...
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Max turned in his leather upholstered desk chair when he heard the creak of his office door opening. Elise poked her head in and waved, but Max gave her a discouraging look. She didn't appear hurt or panicked, and nothing seemed to be on fire, so whatever she did want or need, now wasn't a good time.
He had his phone pressed against his ear, and the dumbass on the other line was threatening to give him a considerable headache.
"No, no, no, no," Max cut in, turning his chair away from the door again. "Luke, listen to me. Listen to me. My problem is that you're talking to me like I'm some ignorant teenager. That's not a mistake I'll keep forgiving. You agreed to the work. Arturo and James agreed on a price. And you're gonna honor that agreement."
The man on the other line raised his voice again, and Max had to hold the receiver further away from his ear.
Elise hadn't left like he'd wanted her to. In fact, she'd done the exact opposite, her kitten heels lightly clicking across the floor as she ventured father in, purposefully crossing into his line of view, as if to be extra sure he knew she was there, and wanted his attention.
Max exhaled heavily through his nose, jaw clenching, as he tuned back into whatever bullshit Luke was spewing now. By the look on Elise's face, she'd caught at least part of his nasty comment about their "potato peeling mother and father".
That didn't sit well.
"My mom's from West Bengal, you stupid fuck," Max snapped back. "...Yeah, well, I hope you've hugged yours recently, because if that shipment isn't delivered by the end of the week, I'll be paying her and that little parakeet a visit over in Glasspoint."
When Elise didn't seem deterred by the intensity of the stare Max was giving her, he glanced back down at the open planner on his desk. "...That sounds like a you problem, and I'm over listening to your excuses," he replied to Luke before switching the phone to his other hand and pulling a pen out of the holder near his computer monitor.
"...No. Get it done." With that, Max hung up, tossing his phone down onto a pile of folders and marking something off of his planner with enough force that the pen stroke was easily heard in the now much quieter space.
"What?" he spat, looking back up at his younger sister.
"Angela got invited to Carter Davenport's party."
"And?"
"And Carter told her you'd already confirmed you were coming."
If people could bristle like cats, Max absolutely would have. He hated people making decisions for him. His parents only had the privilege because they were his parents, and even then, Max frequently found ways to skirt around certain rules as he saw fit.
But Carter Bauer Davenport's friendship was a valuable commodity to the family business... Max didn't want them losing that kind of a connection. At least not on account of anything he'd done or said on his end.
