The Real Deal Page 2

  Chapter Two

  Zach Jameson

  "ZACH! ZACH, WOULD YOU like to tell me just what it is you think you are doing? Because I warn you, son, you are on the verge of making a rather grave error in judgment."

  Zach stopped cold where he stood, not because he wanted to but because it was an ingrained response. Anthony Jameson was a formidable man, a man respected and feared in equal parts. It was true for the people lucky enough to do business with him and doubly so for his two sons. Zach was almost thirty now, and he wasn't required to do what his father told him anymore. He wasn't required to do a fucking thing he didn't want to do after all of the success he'd carved out for himself in the world. He knew it, which only made him more pissed off when he jumped at his dad's command. And if he was going down that road, which he didn't want to do but also couldn't help, hadn't he also come to the restaurant per his dad's instructions as well? Wasn't that the God's honest truth? Nothing pretty about it, but there it was. There were a lot of things that didn't look so hot under the microscope. Zach thought it likely that many of those things involved family shit.

  "Zachery, turn around when I'm talking to you. Insolence simply won't do." The senior Jameson was using his stern voice, and Zach turned as he was told. He wanted to put his fist through a wall when he did it, but that didn't stop him from staying in line. He looked at his dad's face and saw two bright spots of color in his cheeks. He was pissed. He was really, really pissed and Zach was the sole target. That's what happened when you went against the old man. Which was why almost nobody did it.

  “What is it, Dad? Seriously, what else do you want from me?”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. You sound like a teenage girl.”

  “Awesome,” Zach said through a clenched jaw, “anything else?”

  “You know perfectly well that there is. Now, get back inside and sit down at that table. You’re embarrassing us both in front of Miss Wollenschire.”

  “You don’t need me to entertain the woman. You’ve got more than enough experience dining with the elite.”

  “I don’t have the need to make an impression here. It is you who is the important one, a fact of which you are well aware. It is the start of an important merger between our two families. You know this as well.”

  "Right, that's the problem. It's what you don't seem to understand. I've got plenty of mergers in mind, but one with that chick isn't amongst them. You shouldn't have set the dinner up in the first place. I told you already. I'm not interested."

  Zach ran an angry hand through his hair. He couldn't believe he was having this conversation again. This same, stupid conversation he'd had with his father too many times to count. He had respect for his dad, he did, but there were still lines. The issue of why he hadn't accepted the money offered to him by his dad when he'd offered it, for one.Anthony Jameson was a shrewd man. He never gave anything without reserving the right to take something of his own in return. It was like making a deal with the mafia, and it was a lesson Zach had learned more than once while he was growing up. Shit, he'd still been learning it in his early twenties, getting back to that stupid truth thing. If his dad had tried to pull this shit when he was, say, twenty-two, he had little doubt that he would have been suckered into it. By now he would probably have a couple of kids or some shit. He would have been looking around at his life and wondering how in the hell he'd gotten where he was. That kind of family life wasn't necessarily totally off the table, but it wasn't something he was looking for anytime soon.

  Also, there was Lucille Wollenschire herself. Zach was a lover of the ladies, and that included many types of ladies, but Lucille wasn't one of them. He'd interacted with her from time to time. The two of them had crossed paths at various parties and other social obligations. The impression Lucille made was, in Zach's opinion, not a good one. She was pretty in a cold, stuck up kind of way, but she didn't do anything for him. Once she opened her mouth, everything that came out of it was worse than the last. She made a habit of making sure everyone knew that most of the things in the world were nowhere near meeting her standards. To sum it up, she was your garden variety, all around bitch. If and when Zach did decide to marry, it wouldn't be to Lucille or anyone like her. He had articulated this point plenty of times and had found that Dad didn’t give a shit. He'd already decided that this was the right "next move" for the Jameson family and when that happened he was impossible. All Zach's dad needed to know was that Lucille Wollenschire was modern day aristocracy. She had proven royal blood running through her veins, which basically made her the holy grail. Jameson, the senior, exercised his will with an iron fist and levied many diverse tactics to break Zach down. There had been outright anger, passive aggression, the argument that if Zach really loved his family and legacy, he would take his responsibility like a man. His latest stunt had been this fucking dinner. Looking back on it, Zach should have known that something was up. His dad never extended dinner invitations for nothing and this time was no exception. Dad had already been at the restaurant when Zach arrived and sitting beside him had been Lucile. Zach had stuck it out through the appetizers and entrees like a good little boy, but he drew the line at dessert. There was no way he was putting any more time into this. The longer he sat at the table, the more of an impression he gave that what his dad was trying to cook up was a viable option. It wasn't. He reminded himself of that fact while he stood his ground in the restaurant lobby. Looking into his dad's eyes, his father did his best to set him on fire with shame.

  "Zach, this is not an option." His father's voice rose a notch, and the pretty girl behind the hostess' stand gave them both a curious glance. Great. Just fucking perfect. The last thing Zach needed was another stint in a gossip rag. He considered reminding his dad how bad for the family name that kind of thing was and decided there was no point. When the old man wanted something the way he wanted this, he was like a dog without a bone. Talk was useless. What he really needed to do was get the hell out of there.

  "Sorry, Dad, but it is. It is an option, and it's what's happening. If you want somebody to go in for this crazy shit–"

  “Watch your mouth with me, boy.”

  "If you want somebody to go in for this shit," Zach continued, "you should talk to Camden. He's made it pretty clear that he wants all of this. He wants the company, and I think it's pretty safe to bet he'd gladly take the girl, too. You know, if she's into that."

  “Absolutely not. Your brother isn’t the first son. There’s an order to things, Zach. You know that as well as I. I’ve already told you how this will go. Don’t mention your brother again. It’s not your place to make substitutes.”

  Zach shook his head. It wasn't disbelief he was feeling, unfortunately. He was wondering how Camden would feel if he’d heard their dad refer to him as a substitute. The sick thing was that it probably wouldn't change anything. The Jameson family was in the dark ages when it came to the whole birth order thing. As in it still mattered. Both brothers had been apprised of this from a very early age, and Camden had spent a lifetime trying to prove himself to their father. It was sick, and it made Zach hate them both a little for it. He didn't like feeling that way, but at the moment it was a useful tool to have around.

  “I’m going to go, Dad.”

  “You will do no such thing!”

  “Yeah, actually, I will. Make my apologies to Lucille. You can use whatever excuse you want. Doesn’t matter to me. I’m not going to marry her, Dad. I’m just not. This isn’t the dark ages. We don’t do arranged marriages in this country, or hadn’t you heard?”

  “Zachery! Don’t you even think of walking out that door!”

  Zach was good and pissed off at this point, and so he took a certain amount of pleasure in pissing his dad off in return. There was still that feeling of panic constricting his heart when he walked out the door. He would be lying to himself if he denied it. He thought there was a chance that a person always felt that when they went against the expressed will of a parent. Defiance was thrilling
, but that didn't mean it felt all that great. He burst out into the night air, turning his face up to the sky and welcoming the feeling of precipitation hanging heavy in the air. Even with his eyes shut tightly he could see the light coming off of the moon. It was bright enough that, when combined with the thick moisture in the air, the world looked as if it had become something mystical. He took a deep, shuddering breath and was mildly disgusted with himself to find that his hands were shaking. He needed a distraction, anything to take his mind off of this latest confrontation with his dad and all of the implications it held.

  "Hey, boss. What's got you looking so pale? Someone proposition you on the street here? Offend your delicate sensibilities?"

  Zach grinned through the rolled down window of the black Escalade parked by the curb. Matty, his occasional driver, sometimes bodyguard, gave him a half-assed salute and nodded for him to get into the car. It was only after he was in the passenger seat with the door slammed shut that Zach was sure he wasn’t going to have to deal with his dad anymore for that night. He was a little disgusted with how relieved he was about it. A grown man, but not grown enough to want to take on that particular crusade.

  “Do I want to know?” Matty asked.

  “Depends. You interested in a story worthy of a daytime soap?”

  “Not likely. Is that what you had going on in that fancy restaurant?”

  “Basically. Just your average attempted arranged marriage. No big thing.”

  “What?” Matty barked out laughter and thumped one hand on the steering wheel as he ushered them out into traffic, “Please tell me you’re shitting me. You’re getting married?”

  "Not a chance. I said ‘attempted.’ That was the important word there. No way I'm marrying anyone anytime soon. Especially not Lucille. She's about as sexy as a light post, and she's got the same shape as one, too. I need a little more meat on my bones if you know what I'm saying."

  “Oh, believe me, I do. And you know what I say? I say amen to that, brother.”

  “Good,” Zach sighed, “I’m glad. That makes one person on my side.”

  “So your dad–?”

  “Pissed. He thinks I’m a piece of shit, but there you go. What are you going to do?”

  “I was just going to ask you that same question. What do you wanna do now, boss? Seeing as your dinner came to an early close.”

  “You know what I could go for? Ice cream.”

  “For real? That’s what you want?”

  “Sure, why not? Take me to The Bellevue. We used to go there when we were kids. Maybe a little bit of nostalgia will do me some good.”

  “HEY! HEY, CAN YOU GENUINELY not hear me? Or, for that matter, the bell on the front door?” Zach pounded his fist on the counter once, just for emphasis.

  “Come on, let’s not get–” Matty started, his voice managing to be both mild and reproachful at the same time. It was the reproachful part Zach didn’t much care for. He’d never taken too kindly to being taken to task. Unfortunately for whichever waitress wasn’t getting to him fast enough, it was her he was going to take it out on. Petty as shit, but there you go.

  “Not get what? She’s a server, right? Which, last time I checked, meant it’s her job to serve her customers. We may be late, but we’re still customers. Unless this place isn’t actually interested in business, in which case I will happily find someplace else.”

  “Dude!” Matty said a little louder this time, “Come on. You don’t gotta talk to them like that. They’ll get here when they get here. Nobody needs ice cream that badly.”

  Zach opened his mouth, not entirely sure what he planned on saying. Matty was right. That was one of the annoying things about him. He was usually right, which was one of the ways he had made it so easily from employee to friend. When you grew up with a lot of money and managed to make boatloads more for yourself, it was hard to know who to trust. Matty was solid gold in that department, and the look he was giving him said a whole lot. It said that Zach, in a piss-poor mood or not, was acting like a class a dick. When he saw a waitress hurry around the corner and bustle in his direction, the look on her face told him that Matty was right. When she lifted her eyes to greet him, however, she was all smiles. It was such a quick transformation that Zach almost believed he had imagined the first expression. Whatever else she might be, she was good at putting on her poker face.

  “I am so sorry about the wait, gentlemen. We’re getting ready for shift changes, settling down to a skeleton crew, but that’s really no excuse, is it? I’m here now, though, and seeing as you’re my last table for the evening you will have my undivided attention, I can promise you that.”

  Now that he could see her up close, Zach immediately regretted the way he'd dressed her down for not doing her job. She was not what he'd been expecting from a waitress in a shitty old diner. If he'd known he was going to have a girl as gorgeous as her walk up to greet him, he would have come in with a little more charm, more finesse. That probably didn't say a whole lot about him as a human being, but that didn't make it any less true. It also didn't make her any less hot. Her body type was the exact opposite of Lucille Wollenschire. Where that uptight chick was all beanpole all day, this one was nothing but curves. If Zach's judgment was accurate, and it almost always was, she was working with a body that was almost completely symmetrical, which was something that you didn't often see even in the hottest women around. Her hair was a seep brown, falling in long, loose waves halfway down her back. Her eyes were wide and blue. She had an innocent look about her at first glance, but when he studied her eyes further, he got the feeling there was something else going on underneath the surface where people couldn't see. Maybe it was his imagination, but he got the feeling there was something worth delving into with this chick, and he'd already managed to piss her off. Go figure.

  “Hey, you know what? I was a real asshole just now. I apologize. I’m having a hell of a night. How about you have a drink on me? It’s the least I can do.” He gave her his best winning smile and waited for her expression to soften. It didn’t happen.

  "No, thank you. I'm working. I think I better be the one getting you drinks instead." She took out a pad and pen then looked at him again, all business. He glanced at her name tag to get her name. He was deserving of the cold shoulder, and he knew it, but that didn't mean he was ready to give up. The longer he looked at her, the more effort he felt he should give. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been this immediately interested in anyone. It might have been because she so clearly wasn't interested in him, probably was, in fact, but he didn't give a shit about that. Delving into his own psychology had never been of any interest to him.

  “Okay, Betty, I can respect that. You’ve got a good work ethic. That happens to be one of my best qualities, at the risk of sounding like a pompous asshole. But you’re at the end of your shift, right?”

  “How do you know that?” she asked, giving him a mistrustful look.

  “You said we were your last table.”

  “Right,” she said with a little laugh, “I did.”

  "You did. So when your shift is over, why don't you sit down with us, take me up on that drink? It's the least I can do, and my friend here isn't as big of an asshole as I am."

  “I’m not,” Matty chimed in, “if it helps.”

  “Nobody needs to worry about being an asshole,” she said brightly, “we’re all good here. Why don’t you just tell me what you’d like to start with and we can start this evening over again?”

  Matty piped up then, ordering them both a dish of vanilla ice cream and a scotch. Betty, the waitress, cracked a joke about the odd combination and she and Matty laughed. Meanwhile, Zach sat there feeling like a chump not able to think up anything to say. When she hurried off again to get them what they wanted, Matty poked him in the arm and gave him a ‘What gives?’ look.

  “Don’t, man,” Zach answered morosely.

  “Seriously though. She’s hot, man.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

>   “This is a good lesson on why you shouldn’t act like an a-hole without knowing who you’re dealing with.

  “I kind of figured that out.”

  “Don’t worry about it, though,” Matty went on confidently, “it’s nothing to sweat. You’ve got the rest of the time we’re here to leave her with a better impression. It’s not like we’ve got anywhere to go, right?”

  “Nowhere at all,” Zach said thoughtfully.

  "See? No problem. Piece of cake. By the time that chick clocks out, she's going to be eating out of the palm of your hand. You know it, and I know it."

  Zach was almost encouraged enough to believe the dish Matty was trying to serve. His buddy had a point. Zach had basically never come up against a woman he couldn't seduce, most of the time without even having to try. It was one of the less savory things he'd learned about the opposite sex, and at a very young age. It didn't matter how you treated women if you were good looking and had money. You didn't really have to be nice to them, at least not all of the time. Most of the chicks he'd been around had at least some of that attraction to the bad boy their mamas had warned them about when they were younger. It was almost like they wanted Zach to blow them off or give them the cold shoulder. He didn't make a habit of treating women poorly on purpose, nor did he waste time giving them the impression that he cared all that much. He had enough experience to know that what Matty was saying would prove true. By the time Betty was off her shift, he would have her number. He would have more than that if it were what he wanted. Zach was a man who got what he wanted. It was just as simple as that.

  "Here we are, fellas. Two dishes of vanilla and two tumblers with our nicest scotches. Please, tell me this is right. I swear to God if Betty told me the wrong thing I'm going to kill her. That girl is something else, let me tell you."