Sit, Stay, Roll Over ✓

(38) That Little Spice That's Left

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"DADDY'S HEADING TO WORK, okay? I'll be back before lunch so we could eat together," I say to my dog, Hunter, who was busy barking and wagging his tail at me while I walked to the door. I wore my shoes and looked back at him so I could pat his head. Hunter obviously liked it a lot because he started circling around me and was even standing on his two feet so he could reach my face to kiss it.

     "Alright, I'll see you later," I say as I finally went out of my apartment, which was still my same old apartment since I thought it wasn't a good idea either to move out now.

     As soon as I closed the door behind me, I looked at the other apartment doors that belonged to my neighbors. Damien once told me that the association was always watching. They had eyes everywhere, and one of those eyes was my cracky neighbor, Martha. She was apparently arrested the other day for being an accomplice, so now her apartment's empty, which made our floor feel empty too.

     Association member or not, Martha was somehow a good neighbour.

     Everything about the Companion's Association was broadcasted everywhere and people talked about it like it was two hot celebrities getting a divorce. I didn't really like how they showed my uncle's picture in the news, but I guess this was something that he also anticipated when he decided to shut it all down.

     I didn't know much when I was in the hospital, but Neilson told me that there were reporters waiting for me outside the building too. I don't know who told the media about it, but my name suddenly got caught up in the news. I was found out and revealed to be The nephew of the founder of an exclusive prostitution house, Dane McCartney, even though I had nothing to do with it. Chairman Herbert had to work his way around the media just to keep my name a secret, even risking his company name for it, but we all knew how impossible that was.

     It's a bit strange too since none of the other guys were shown, like Damien, Jonathan, and even that bastard Anderson, but my uncle's and my face were an exemption.

     To be honest, I didn't really care if they talked about me. I'm a writer, so I knew that news like that would be a buzz for a couple of weeks, and then people will eventually move on and forget about it, which they did. But what I was really mad about was the fact that people cursed at my uncle.

     I hated how the big dogs ruined the name of the Companion's Association—home to a lot of people who treated it like a home. I hated how they ruined his legacy, and how everyone's saying that it's a good thing my uncle died. I hate it...I just hated it all. But there's nothing else I could do. My uncle is dead, and dead men can no longer defend themselves. What's important now is that the big dogs are gone and the association is finally shut down.

     People eventually stopped talking about me, my uncle, and the association. My life became calm again, and so I was back to work like nothing happened. I could tell that my coworkers were dying to ask me what the news was about and what my involvement was, but they had the decency to keep their questions to themselves; I really appreciated that.

     "Mr. McCartney!" Someone shouted when I got to the company. I turned around and instantly frowned when I saw Mr. Peters running towards me with a wide smile. I'm not really mad at him for what happened, but his face still pisses me off.

     "Good morning Mr. Peters," I greeted with the most uninterested tone I could give him. But surprisingly enough, Mr. Peters didn't really mind my rudeness and decided to joke about it instead.

     "Come on, what's with the attitude? I thought we were buddies now?"

     Buddies? Who still fucking uses the word buddies?