The First Rule by Nicole S. Goodin

13

Jacob

“Jacob, get in here.”My father’s booming voice crackles through the intercom system sitting on my desk.

I grind my teeth in irritation but rise from my chair. I’ve been summoned. I’m well known as being a grade-A prick, and it’s no secret where I learnt my ways.

The apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Not in my case anyway. My good-for-nothing twin brother is another story, but he’s as good as dead to me these days.

I push open my office door, ignoring the questions my assistant is firing at me as I stride across the room towards my father’s office.

It’s three times the size of the one I currently occupy, and it’s going to be mine the second I can get the old bastard to retire like he should have done three years ago.

“Sit,” he barks as I enter, not bothering with pleasantries or to even look up from the screen in front of him.

I take my time, an attempt at defiance – but eventually give in to the fact that I’m going to sit – as instructed.

He taps away on his keyboard, as though I’m not sitting in front of him, waiting.

Conrad Steele is a real bastard. Powerful and intimidating. Ruthless and cunning. Men want to be him, and women want to be under him. I’ve heard the murmuring in the hallways. “Silver fox” is the most common one from the hordes of middle-aged women that work in the building.

I don’t give a fuck how handsome the old man apparently is, when I look at him, all I see is the person standing in the way of me running the cutter – like I was born to do. He’s nothing more than an inconvenience to me now.

“You fucked up,” he grunts, as he finally drags his eyes from his computer and gives me his focus.

“Can you be more specific?” I drawl. I’m in no mood for guessing games. I’m always fucking up in the eyes of my father, so it could take some time to figure out exactly what he’s referring to, and time is not something I have in abundance. Time is money in this industry, and money is about the only language I’m interested in speaking.

“With Darcy. You fucked up. It’s not dying down; the press is still having a field day with the story of the billion-dollar, second-in-charge walking out on his fiancée on the day of their wedding.”

I’m well aware of this fact. It’s been over two months, and this is a scandal that just refuses to die down.

I’m still being hounded by reporters and magazine journalists almost daily.

It is bad press, I’d be the first to admit that, but I was choosing to run with the age-old mantra that any press was good press.

“It’ll blow over eventually,” I reassure him.

“Not good enough,” he snaps. “I want it remedied. Right now. That woman did wonders for your image. She’s wholesome. If you look good, this company looks good. CEOs don’t make waves like this, Jacob. You know there’s no way I can hand over the company to you when your personal affairs are in such a state.”

The last comment has me sitting up straighter in my chair. I can see where this is going. He’s blackmailing me. I sort this mess out, or he’ll refuse to hand over the reins.

I open my mouth to argue, but snap it shut again. I learnt at an early age that there was little point in arguing with my father. Once he’s made his mind up about something, that’s the end of it.

“What do you want from me?” I grind the words out.

“Get her back. Keep her happy. Go through with the goddamn wedding this time.”

This is un-fucking-believable. Yet, I should have seen it coming. Everything is about the business. The image. The money.

I should have known better. I should have just married her in the first place, but arrogantly, I assumed I made my own rules. Clearly, I was mistaken.

“What if I can’t?” I demand.

“Find a way. No one says no to a Steele.”

I can’t find an answer inside my brain that isn’t a string of profanities, so I say nothing, I simply stand and exit the room.

“Make it happen, Jacob – or kiss your future in this company goodbye,” he calls after me.