Devils contract, p.22
Devil's Contract, page 22
“Why would I do that? Girls aren’t supposed to be allowed up here,” he says, sounding kinda mean.
“Well, my daddy says it’s alright and he’s in charge.”
“Not up here he’s not. My dad runs The Rooftop.” He makes a funny face at me that makes me feel anxious.
“You’re wrong! My family owns this whole building!”
“You’re just a baby. What do you know?” he says.
“Dexter Andrew. Enough,” his dad growls.
I look down at my hands in my lap, picking at a loose string on my Cinderella dress.
Dex’s father scares me. He always seems so mad at everyone. Mommy told me it was because he was just lonely after Dex’s mom moved away, but that makes me even more afraid.
Now that my mommy is gone, will my daddy start getting angry like Mr. Cohen?
I don’t have time to worry about it because Mr. X arrives and he’s carrying a, “Baby!” I shout.
“Katja, no yelling young lady,” my daddy admonishes.
I’m too excited to let it deter me. “Can I hold the baby?” I ask boldly.
Mr. X looks across the round table at me and only then do I regret asking. Dex’s father seems like Santa Clause compared to Mr. X. Mommy told me to never go anywhere with that man, so when he sits down at our table and reaches over to hand me the sleeping baby, I’m so torn.
Mommy would never allow this. I glance at Daddy for permission. His face looks red, but he finally nods.
I reach out and Mr. X almost throws the baby into my arms. He—at least I think it’s a he because he’s wrapped in a blue blanket—is so much heavier than my American Girl doll, Molly. I rest him on my lap and hold his head up like Jessica taught me with my dolls.
The baby makes funny faces while he sleeps. I’m watching him so closely I’m not paying much attention until Mr. X raises his voice so loud, I can’t help but listen.
“…bitch tried to hide him from me. I knew something was up when she left town without a word last year, but Johnny saw her last week at her father’s butcher shop in Queens. She was pushing a stroller and gave him some song and dance about taking a job as a nanny, but I had Quido dig into it for me. All this time, I’ve had a son and didn’t even know it.”
Daddy glances at me, and I can tell he is nervous, but he doesn’t say anything so neither do I, until my question just bursts out. “What’s his name?”
“The bitch—” Mr. X stops mid-sentence, looks at my daddy and says, “Sorry, I’m not used to having kids around.”
I’ve heard bad words before. Mommy and Daddy use them sometimes when they have an argument, and once I even heard Mr. Cohen use a word that started with an f and Mommy yelled at him. When I asked Mommy what it meant, she said to mind my own business and never use that word.
“Anyway, his mother named him Simon or some pansy name like that. I’ve decided to change his name to just Z.”
I like the name Simon. One of the kids in my ballet class is named Simon.
My arm is getting tired from holding up the baby’s head by the time my pancakes arrive. Even with my arms free, I struggle to cut my own food, but with one arm full I just look at my plate and wonder how I’ll be able to eat.
The fathers are wrapped up in some boring conversation, not noticing my problem.
Without a word, Dex uses his fork and knife and starts cutting up my pancake.
“Do you like butter?” he asks.
“Lots of butter.”
Seconds later, “Syrup?” he asks, nodding at the glass bottle in his hand.
“Lots of syrup,” I say softer, careful not to wake up baby Simon.
I’m surprised Dex is helping me. He seemed so grumpy when we got here.
I’m even more surprised when he uses my fork to poke a bite of yummy pancake and then lifts it to my mouth.
Part of me is angry. I’m not like the baby. Not even Mommy or Jessica feed me anymore.
But part of me is happy because Dex is being nice to me. I’d always wanted Mommy to give me a baby brother, but now that she’s gone, that will never happen.
Maybe I’ll have to settle for having Simon as my little brother and Dex… well he can be the big brother I never had.
After I swallow my first bite, I am careful to say, “Thank you, Dex.”
“Don’t get used to it,” he growls, but I see the small smile on his lips.
It’s nice to have a sort-of brother.
Bonus Scene #2
Dex - Twenty-one Years Old
* * *
“I’ll have your car brought around to the front portico, Mr. Cohen. We’ll have your belongings loaded up for you as soon as you’re ready to leave.”
“Thanks, Terrence. I appreciate your help.”
I pull a fifty out of the pocket of my jeans and hand it to the head bellman. His broad grin does little to bolster my sour mood.
After the heavy door to our suite slams closed, I beeline it to the wet bar. I have a four-hour drive ahead of me, but that doesn’t stop me from pouring myself a shot of bourbon.
“You plan on picking up a DUI today?” My father’s booming voice fills the room from the doorway.
I throw back the shot, enjoying the slow burn as it goes down to my empty stomach before he can stop me.
“I’m twenty-one now. It’s legal,” I counter rather lamely.
I half expect him to give me shit, so his request of, “Pour me one,” catches me off-guard.
Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I take the opportunity to pour two more shots before turning and meeting the old man near the couches.
Taking his shot, he waves his other hand toward the open chair. “Have a seat.”
We’ve done nothing but argue for the last two weeks so I’m not really in the mood to go another round.
“I need to get on the road before rush hour.”
“Sit.” It’s an order. No one, including me, ignores an order from Hans Cohen.
After taking my seat, my father raises his glass. His “Salute,” is followed by a fast downing of the high-end liquor.
I follow suit, more than happy to get in another shot before I head back to college where cheap beer will be my daily beverage. It’s just one of the top ten reasons why I tried to get out of returning to campus this fall. I learned all the damn place had to offer. I belong in NYC, next to my father, learning the only business I care about from him.
He doesn’t agree.
We sit in silence long enough I start to wonder if the old man is losing it. I’m about to push back to my feet when he picks up a previously unseen folder from the cushion next to him and tosses it across the coffee table to me.
I pick it up, slowly opening the folder. Inside is a stack of paperwork with a single photo of a pimply-looking kid on top. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him.
Glancing up at my father, I silently wait for him to explain. I don’t have to wait long.
“You know Sebastian Korvic?”
It’s a stupid question. The man is only one of the most notorious art thieves across multiple continents. He’s damn-near royalty in my father’s world having acquired multiple pieces previously thought to be theft-proof for his exclusive clients. For the right price, he is said to be able to deliver almost any piece of art. That he’s never been convicted makes him a legend in my father’s circles.
Since NYC has no shortage of high-end pieces for his acquisition, he’s been my father’s guest at The Whitney more times than I can count.
“What’s this kid have to do with him?”
“I know you don’t want to return to Harvard for your senior year. You’ve made it clear to me that you think spending another year there is a waste of time, but like I told you when we chose your school, there’s a lot more at stake than grades and graduation. Not only are you gaining the education to take our financial enterprise to a whole new level, more importantly, you’ve done well making dozens of connections with some of the most influential families in the country.”
He pauses as a small kernel of satisfaction sparks in me. My father is a hard man, and his little speech is as close to a compliment that I’ve gotten from him in a long time.
I don’t have much time to enjoy the feeling as he continues on. “This year, I’d like you to shift some of your focus to this young man.”
I glance back down at the kid’s picture, a feeling of dread growing. I’m not a fucking babysitter.
“Who is he?” I ask again.
“He’s Sebastian’s illegitimate son and technically the heir to his extensive estate. As you know, the Korvic family is practically European royalty. Sebastian’s extra-curricular activities aside, he is the head of his extended family now that his grandfather died, and while he has three daughters with his lovely wife, and many nieces and nephews who will fight to carve up the legitimate side of the family wealth, he is hoping to mold this young man into a worthy heir for his more lucrative acquisitions business.”
Trying to read between the lines, I still have no clue what my father is asking me to do.
“And what does this have to do with me?” I ask.
“His name is Atlas Giannopoulos. His mother is part of a wealthy Greek shipbuilding family. Her father was less than happy when she turned up unwed and pregnant at seventeen. She got sent off to London and has raised Atlas there, trying to keep him sheltered from getting sucked into either the Korvic or Giannopoulos family dramas, and for the most part, she’s succeeded.
“Sebastian has provided for them financially over the years, but he made paying for the kid’s college education contingent on him studying in the States, away from his mother, in hopes of molding him into a proper Korvic, if you get my drift.”
So, he really is asking me to fucking babysit.
“And let me guess. He’s going to be a freshman at Harvard this fall.” I don’t pose it as a question. I don’t need to.
“I know this is a heavy ask, but you need to look at this as an excellent opportunity to solidify not only my relationship with one of our best clients, but more importantly, for you to build your own partnership with not just one but two very powerful families. Sebastian came to me to specifically ask for our help. You’ve obviously done something right because you’re on his radar and he chose Harvard for his son, not because of the school’s reputation, but because you will be there.”
Conflicting emotions war inside me. The idea of having a fucking freshman on my coattails all year makes me dread returning to campus even more than I did an hour ago. Still, that Sebastian Korvic has specifically asked for my help and is trusting me to mold his son’s education helps that earlier kernel of happiness grow into real pride.
A reluctant sigh escapes as I ask, “And what is it exactly Sebastian would like me to do with the kid?”
My father’s gaze pins me as he answers. “Turn him into a man. Apparently, his mother has coddled him. Sebastian needs to know if the kid has what it’s gonna take to inherit the darker side of his business or if he needs to start making alternate plans.”
My old man doesn’t realize it, but he’s just paid me another compliment. He has ridden my ass so hard all summer, I’ve become resentful because he’s still treating me like a fucking kid. Clearly, if he’s asking me to turn the Korvic kid into a man, he’s indirectly saying I’m now a man in his eyes.
I mull the request over before I poke for more answers. “Anything more specific? Does this kid even know I exist or am I supposed to be pulling his strings from behind the curtain?”
“I’ll let you ask those questions of Sebastian in person. I gave him your contact info. He’s arriving in Boston tomorrow and will be in touch.”
My pulse escalates. I’ve had dinner with the man many times over the years with my father, but he’s paying me yet another compliment by trusting me to meet with Korvic alone.
Before I can ask any more questions, my father adds, “Not only is this an opportunity for you to build on our business relationships, but I transferred the fifty grand Korvic offered for your help into your personal account this morning. It sounds like it’s just a down payment for your assistance. Depending on how the year goes, there could be more coming your way at the end of the year.”
I know how lucky I am. Money has never been something I’ve been short of. Still, as a twenty-one year old, I won’t turn down an extra 50K in my personal account. It will help me upgrade from cheap beer to high-end bourbon for my senior year.
Funny. I’m suddenly much less apathetic about the coming semester.
Bonus Scene #3
Dex - Twenty-one Years Old
* * *
It’s late. I needed to be on the road hours ago, but the little talk with my father was too important to cut short. Glancing at my watch, I curse, knowing rush hour traffic is easily going to add an hour to my trip back to my off-campus condo in Cambridge, just outside Boston.
I rush out of the elevator as soon as it hits the ground floor of The Whitney. My friends at school give me shit for living in a hotel but, honestly, I wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s all I’ve ever known and glancing around at the opulent lobby, a wave of homesickness hits and I haven’t even left yet.
One more year and then I can stay home for good. I’ve put in three years already. If it were up to me, I’d drop out and just stay in the city to work full-time alongside my father in our family business. But despite turning twenty-one over the summer, my father reminds me often that staying home or going back isn’t up to me, and this morning’s revelations about my added goals for the year only make it more important for me to return to Harvard.
“There you are! I was afraid you’d left without saying goodbye.”
The feminine squeal belongs to Sara, one of the many front desk receptionists at The Whitney. Little does she know, I had absolutely planned on leaving without seeing her again.
I feel her grabbing my forearm, pulling me to a stop in the middle of the grand lobby. I made the mistake of fucking her once at the beginning of summer break and she hounds me for repeat performances every chance she gets. While not the biggest problem in the world, I prefer to do the hunting when it comes to sexual encounters.
“Hi Sara. I don’t really have time for long goodbyes today. I should have been on the road a couple hours ago.”
“But I thought you said you were going to come down to say goodbye last night when I got off shift,” she pouts.
I hate clingy women. The only thing that has kept Sara in my good graces is she’s never tried to bring emotions or commitment into the equation. She’s only interested in being my fuckbuddy… and there’s a part of me that respects her for that.
“Yeah, well I was busy packing my shit to leave today.” I try to pull my arm free again, but she’s determined.
“Well lucky for you, I just went on my lunch break. How about you let me send you off with a smile on your face?”
This little partnership of ours has more than run its course, but regardless, I am a healthy twenty-one year old man. While I have no problems finding women to fuck when I’m in the mood, finding partners who don’t have an ultimate goal of getting a ring on their fucking finger is starting to get a bit harder.
I glance at my watch. It’s already too late to get out of the city before the Friday afternoon exodus north. Why the hell not.
I grab her hand, pulling her into motion toward the elevator, nodding at the bellman we pass on the way there, a grin on his face as he knows exactly what we’re up to.
Only when I push the button to the tenth floor does she finally complain. “Why are we going to ten? Why don’t you ever take me to your suite?”
Hell, if I’m going to tell her, it’s because she works for the Belov side of The Whitney and my suite is in the Cohen part of the hotel. We may do business under the same roof, but our clients and employees do not co-mingle. Ever.
“We only have time for a quickie, that’s why. Do you want to do this or not?” I ask, ready to walk away if she bitches any more.
“Fine.” She pouts as the doors open to the tenth floor. I know every detail about what happens under the roof of The Whitney and that’s how I know the housekeeping team is long gone from this floor, leaving the large supply closet locked and closed. When we get to the door at the end of the hall, I take out my master key and open the electronic lock with a quick swipe.
The houseman had left the lights on and for a brief second, I worry someone is still working on the floor, but the shelves are fully restocked with linen, towels, and cleaning supplies. All personnel should be gone until the turndown team comes back in a few hours. The lingering smell of a cigarette hangs in the air, no doubt from one of the employees smoking on their break.
Wasting no time, I throw my backpack to the floor and grab Sara by her biceps, pushing her to her knees in front of me. The grin on her face reminds me how much the little whore loves rough treatment, just another reason I haven’t kicked her to the curb already.
My fingers are on my belt, unbuckling it and yanking my jeans and boxer briefs down in a fast motion. My cock is already expanding, looking forward to the unexpected treat Sara’s mouth is about to provide.
Like the greedy little slut she is, she lunges forward just as I thrust my hips, filling her throat with my growing erection in the first plunge. My low groan of pleasure is involuntary as Sara puts her tongue to good use on the underside of my shaft.
Carnal pleasure pushes all other thoughts out of my brain. My hips move in a fast rhythm as I chase my growing orgasm. If I wasn’t such a dick, I’d slow down and try to reciprocate some of the pleasure, but I never said I wasn’t an asshole. And anyway, I’ve played this game with Sara often enough to know that she’s already got her hand up her skirt, flicking that little clit of hers so she’s ready to explode herself by the time I shoot my wad down her throat.
