Brett Kingston leaned back in the chair swirling the Double Black Johnnie Walker in the tumbler. The music, lights, and a mix of cigarette and cigar smoke barely registered. Then again, neither did the scantily-dressed women who vied for the numerous businessmen's attention. But moreover, their money. A gentleman's club to him, but locally referred to as a "Buy-me-a-drink" bar.
He glanced at the two men accompanying him, well soused and to his mind, doubtful to be able to make sound decisions. Which explained why he had signed documents- in an inside pocket of his three-thousand dollar suit- giving Midas Development the land he'd come to acquire.
Not that it will make the old bastard happy. It had taken two days longer than he'd anticipated. This upset him as he preferred to keep to his schedule. He took a drink and savored the smoky flavor.
A young woman sauntered up to him and he knew she saw a chance to make good money. She reached out to touch him, but he snagged her wrist before her initiated contact occurred.
"Private dance?" Her slight and childlike voice grated on already thin nerves.
"I make you very happy." She tried sounding sultrier and in his estimation, failed miserably. A woman shouldn't have to work so hard to sound sexy. Or look it.
His expression never changed while on the inside he smirked. "I doubt it. I didn't come all this way to get robbed by some whore."
He shoved to his feet in a smooth motion, ignoring her mixed look of pain and anger, then walked off, simultaneously swinging on his coat. The two men were forgotten and left to fend for themselves. Outside he withdrew his phone and pressed speed dial three.
"What?" a graveled voice barked.
"Do you know what time it is?"
"Hopefully early enough that I disturbed your sleep."
Brett waved down a taxi and climbed in. "You're the one who told me to call when it was finished. It's finished. Never once did you say to take into account the time difference." He covered the mouthpiece and gave his destination.
"It's barely after three in the morning, here."
"You can get an early start to your day then." Brett had no remorse about waking the old man early. None at all. The only thing better was when he could ruin his time with a lady. Nevertheless, he'd take this.
"You really are an asshole."
"Molded to the image of my father." His tone was dry and sarcastic.
"Wait, don't hang up. You need to come here."
Brett covered the mouthpiece again. "Pull over here for a moment." Back to the call. "Why?" Suspicion flared immediately.
"Because I said so and despite what you think, I'm still your boss. Unless of course you don't want the company. My first-born is on his way in. I'm sure he could get it done and probably in half the time as you could."
He ground his teeth at that bit of information. Asa, his elder by two years was the "golden child" whereas Brett had carried the label "bastard son" and had done so his entire life. His mother had been one of Jules' many women and it was only a miracle he managed to carry the Kingston name. He and Asa had never been friends, always pitted against one another, even now. Giving new instructions to the driver, he sat back in the seat.
"Fine. I'm flying out as soon as we get to the airport."
The evil chuckle let Brett know he'd been played as expected and he shoved back his anger, continuing to maintain his cool composure.
"Anything else?" he asked.
Brett hung up on him before the bastard could say another word. He made a fist and tried to calm down. Asa. He hadn't seen him in a few years. Blowing out an exasperated breath, he waited to get to the private airstrip, placing one call on the way. Tossing some bills at the driver, he stepped out, smoothed down his coat, and walked to the waiting and readied private jet.
"Go as soon as we have clearance," he said, heading for his seat.
Brett thought about the few items in his hotel room. "No. I have everything I need." And he did. The signed papers were what he had come all this way for. Nothing else mattered.
"Very good, sir." His pilot closed the door and went back to the cockpit.
The minute they reached cruising altitude, he walked to where his bag sat and pulled out his computer. This stuff never went to a hotel room if he wasn't there. He didn't trust people. He handpicked even this pilot and the crew, having fired the ones his father had sent with the plane, wanting his own. This was all his now, plane and crew. Powering up the computer, he got to work and wondered what devious plan the old bastard had in mind this time.