Demming by Avril Ashton

Three

“So, they’re coming into the office this week.” Hart cut into his salmon and speared a piece into his mouth, chewing and swallowing before he continued speaking. “I expect everything will be ironed out and we’ll get started on that project within the next month or so.”

Across the dinner table, his father met his gaze with a lopsided smile. The stroke had done a number on Emmanuel’s left side, limiting his mobility. The droopiness on that side of his face had improved a bit, but not by much. It’d been a month since his mother’s phone call yanked him from sleep, since her screams that he needed to come over now. He still hadn’t taken the time to sit with the fact that he’d lost his father for a few precious moments.

He’d died until the emergency responders revived him. There’d been no time to deal with it, not for Hart. He’d had to jump right into taking over the running of the company, and shit like coming to terms with the fact that his father was actually mortal and would never be the same wasn’t on his agenda.

“You know, you don’t have to give me updates on the company.” His father’s voice was raspy and a little slurred nowadays. Had been since he’d woken up in that hospital bed. He’d lost a lot of weight too and now relied on a cane and a team of caregivers to help him day to day. “I know it’s in good hands.”

“Yes, honey.” His mother stroked a hand over her husband’s head as she addressed Hart. “I’d like for family dinners to be about more than work.” Jill Taylor-Asamoah’s blue eyes spoke more than her actual words. “Please remember that. Let business stay there.” She sniffed. “I would like to hear about what’s going on with you outside of work.” Her tone and expression were reproachful when she said, “We only get to see you at dinner, and even then, you’re preoccupied with the business.”

“The business is my focus, Mom. You know this. I don’t want to let Dad down.”

“Son, you could never do that,” Emmanuel said.

But he could. He didn’t feel ready for the responsibilities that’d been handed over to him. And it had been. He hadn’t worked his way up the way he’d intended to. He’d expected to take over the business—that was what his father had groomed him for, after all. But not at twenty-eight. His father’s illness pushed this on him way before he’d been ready for it and everyone knew it. He didn’t want to prove the whispers right. He had to focus on work.

“What’s going on with you and Sydney?” his mother asked.

“Sydney and I are over, Mom. It’s been months. She cheated, and you know I’m never going to accept or forgive that.” Sydney had stolen from him, too, not that he’d shared that with his parents. But he couldn’t ever trust her after that. He didn’t do the cheating thing. He had his code and he lived by it. One fuck up and it was over. He’d seen what his parents had and he wasn’t settling for anything less. The situation with Tam, on the other hand—he had to deal with that. He just had to find the time.

“See, this is your problem right there,” his father said. “All work, no play. Don’t be like me, son.” He gestured awkwardly at himself with his right hand. “Look where I ended up.”

“Ssh.” Jill shushed him with a kiss on his cheek. “Our son knows what to do. Don’t you, Hart?” She lifted a brow. “Life is for living, not working. That’s our new mantra around here.”

Easy for her to say. The weight of the company his father built wasn’t on her shoulders. Still, he nodded.

It was on the tip of his tongue to mention Sawyer Demming and his weird insistence on buying a property that wasn’t even for sale, but he refrained. He wanted to hear from Jeb, the private eye, before he said anything. It’d been three days so far and he was getting antsy. Demming’s arrogant face stayed with him, as did his absolute certainty that he had the right to buy something that wasn’t for sale.

What was it about him?

Hart couldn’t get him off his mind.

He’d taken it upon himself to go through the business records for 1845 Larchmont, as if he didn’t have nearly enough on his plate already. There was nothing that stood out to him, so he had to wait for whatever Jeb found before he made a move. But he wanted to know more about Sawyer Demming and his weird fascination with a random mixed-use property.

Or was it random?

Only time would answer that question.

When dinner was over, the three of them didn’t leave the table right away. Ever since he could remember, the dinner table was his parents’ hang-out spot. No matter how late his father worked, which he did—a lot—inevitably, no matter the time, those two would be at the dinner table.

And Hart would join them.

Until he’d moved out to go to college.

He’d moved back onto their property in Manhasset, into the pool house, after his father’s stroke, and the routine was the same.

This time his father leaned on a cane and his voice was different, his appearance too. It made Hart’s chest hurt, looking at him, taking in just how much had changed in such a short time. The man he knew as larger than life, untouchable and indestructible, had been diminished.

It messed with his breathing as he took in his parents sitting side by side. They were as different as they were similar, but there’d never been a moment where his mother being white and his father being not just black, but from Ghana, had ever mattered. He saw the way they were with each other, how much they loved each other, and so nothing else mattered. Not to Hart. As a teenager, he’d learned why he only ever knew his father’s family and not his mother’s… They’d disowned her for who she loved. There’d been sadness in her eyes when she shared that with him at thirteen, but acceptance too.

She’d chosen and never regretted it. He loved her for it because she’d been with his father back when he’d truly been struggling, before he was the man people knew now as billionaire real estate developer Emmanuel Asamoah. She’d been with him when he’d just been a man with a dream.

Hart didn’t want to let them down.

He released a sigh and pushed his chair back, interrupting his parents, who were nuzzling each other. Even at twenty-eight, he didn’t want to see that shit so he kissed and hugged them goodnight and made his way out to the pool house. He still maintained his own apartment in the city, though, and that was where he did his grown man shit, like fuck Tam when the itch got to be too much to ignore.

He jumped into the shower, prepared to stay up way into the night handling business, but his phone rang just as he finished getting dressed.

Jeb.

Heart rate increasing for some odd reason, he answered quickly. “Jeb, what do you have for me?”

The PI cleared his throat. “Yeah. Uh. You’re gonna wanna sit down for this one.”

* * *

The next morning,in the back of his car being driven to the office--one of the rare days when he didn’t drive himself--Hart placed a call. He stared down at the simple black business card with the gold lettering, flipping it between his fingers as he held the phone to his ear and listened to it ring.

“Yeah.”

The gravelly voice had him sitting up straight, tugging on his shirt’s collar, and clearing his throat. “Mr. Demming, this is Hart Taylor-Asa—”

“I recognize your voice, Junior.”

Junior.Hart closed his eyes briefly, biting back a sharp retort as everything Jeb spilled last night knocked around in his head. “I’d like to see you, if I may. My office. Half an hour?”

A click sounded in his ear and he narrowed his eyes at the phone. What the— Was that a yes? A no? He almost called back but dropped the phone next to him on the leather seat instead. He’d know Demming’s answer in half an hour. He picked up his iPad and scrolled through the files and records Jeb sent over last night to back up the things he’d told Hart.

So much shit, he couldn’t believe…

He’d always known who his father was, how ruthless he could be. After all, that was how he managed to build the business he had. But seeing it laid out in front of him in black and white was different. Hearing and reading about the collateral damage that ensued was different.

Hart didn’t know what to do with the information he now possessed.

When he arrived at the office, he still didn’t know what he’d say to Demming. Kenya’s head jerked up as he strode in, eyes wide behind her glasses. The frames were red today, matching her earrings and heels as she stood and walked out from behind her desk.

“I’m expecting Sawyer Demming to—”

“Um.” Her eyes darted to the side and he followed her gaze, muttering a curse when he saw who waited for him.

“Tam.” Exactly who he didn’t want to see.

Tam shot to their feet. “Oh, you recognize me now?”

Aw, hell.

* * *

Tryingto pin down his brother was turning out to be impossible. Clearly, Bryce wanted nothing to do with Demming. He wasn’t answering his phone and wasn’t responding to any of Demming’s texts.

Didn’t mean Demming stopped trying. His mother wanted him to talk some sense into Bryce and he would. But first, he had to find his ass. In the meantime, he had another matter to deal with.

He hadn’t been surprised to get Hart’s call, but it had surprised him how relieved he’d been to hear the other man’s voice on the line. His PI must have delivered his report, so what would Hart’s reaction be?

He rode the elevator all the way up to Hart’s office on the top floor of the building. As soon as he exited, a loud argument reached his ears. Well, there was only one person doing the arguing while he made out another voice, lower, calmer. The second one was Hart.

He walked over to Kenya, who had earbuds in, but she took one of them out at his approach.

“I have a meeting with your boss,” he told her.

“He’s busy right—”

“And don’t think you can call me up in the middle of the night, either.” The person arguing drew closer then came into view. Tall, skinny, dark skin, and harshly beautiful features that had Demming blinking. “I’m done with your ass, Hart!”

“Tam, all of that isn’t even necessary.” Hart’s tone remained even as he followed behind Tam. “You knew what this was.” His gaze landed on Demming and he paused then blew out a breath.

“Fuck you, Hart!” Tam was breathtaking, dressed in a body-hugging neon-green top tucked into the skinniest jeans Demming had ever seen, and black lace-up boots. With a handbag in one hand and phone in the other, Tam breezed past Demming, smelling so good, he almost spun around and followed them.

Damn.

Long after Tam disappeared with the elevator, Demming stood awkwardly staring at Hart, who stared back until Demming cleared his throat.

Hart jerked. “My apologies about…” He gestured. “That.”

Demming shrugged but didn’t say anything. Wasn’t his business.

“Right. If you could follow me.” Hart motioned for Demming to follow him into his office. “Kenya, I don’t want to be disturbed. Unless it’s family.” They entered the office, Hart closing the door on Kenya’s reply. He motioned for Demming to have a seat then took one as well. “I had my PI check into you.”

He didn’t beat around the bush and Demming disliked how much he admired that. He sat back, index finger at his right temple, ankles crossed, silently inviting Hart to continue.

“But you’re not surprised.”

“Why would I be?” Demming asked. “You’re a businessman. I’d be surprised if you hadn’t checked up on me.”

Hart’s lips twitched. “Maybe. Or maybe you wanted me to know exactly who you are. Why?”

This guy shouldn’t keep impressing Demming the way he did. He lifted an eyebrow. “Who am I?”

Hart regarded him steadily. “I’m sorry about your father. The way you lost him, I’m sorry.”

Even though he knew that topic would come up, Demming’s body still stiffened at the mention of his father. What he hadn’t expected was an apology. Its sincerity damn near took his breath away, but he managed to barely keep his composure. “Why did you summon me here?”

“I know why you’re here.”

Demming leaned forward, holding Hart’s gaze. “You were the one to call me so I should hope so.”

Hart didn’t back up nor did he break eye contact. The force of that gaze had heat settling in the middle of Demming’s chest. His fingers itched to touch that spot and he had to fight back a frown. What was that?

“You think just because your father died, you’re owed something. Your circumstances change nothing about my decision. Larchmont is not for sale.”

Demming couldn’t hold his bark of laughter if he tried. Hart kept surprising him at every turn and he liked that shit way too much. “You brought me here just to say that? Man, people like you…” He shook his head. “You kill me.”

“What does that mean, people like me? Who are people like me?”

“People like your father.” The anger reared its head so quickly it staggered Demming even though he was sitting. The heat of it washed over him, dampening his armpits. “People who take because they can with no regard to the damage they leave behind. He stole from my family and you are just as complicit in that theft.”

Hart’s jaw ticked with every word Demming uttered and when he was done, Hart said, calmly, “I am not my father.”

Demming lifted an eyebrow. “No? Could’ve fooled me.”

“Do you know why I’m here and my father isn’t, Mr. Demming? A month ago, my father had a stroke. That’s why I’m here in his office.”

Demming didn’t want to hear the anguish in those words, but he did. He didn’t want to see the pain that peered back at him from Hart’s brown eyes but he did. He’d heard nothing about Senior being ill. So they’d kept it under wraps then?

“We both know if my father was here, you wouldn’t be having this meeting. Hell, you wouldn’t have made it past the lobby. I know for sure you wouldn’t get an apology, but I’m giving you one anyway.” Hart shifted. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’m sorry. But Larchmont is not for sale.”

Demming cocked his head. “And is that your final decision?” He just wanted to be clear for when he regrouped and made his next move. “You won’t return what belongs to me?”

“Does it?” Hart countered. “Does it belong to you? Because I have records proving otherwise. Don’t test me on this, Mr. Demming. You will lose.”

Hart sounded so much like his father the last time Demming confronted him, that Demming just stared at him for a moment. Was that disappointment sitting on his chest? A part of him expected this reaction, but the reality was still fucking bitter. “Your PI must have told you, so you know,” he said. “You know what your father did to mine, to our family. Did you ask him why? Because I did and his response was to have me escorted out. But I think he did it just because he could. Just like you’re doing this now because you can.”

That same disappointment stared back at him from Hart’s eyes. Though, what right did he have to feel that way? “I am not my father, Sawyer.”

Demming got to his feet. “Don’t use my name. We’re not friends.” He fisted his hands as he stared down at Hart, who remained sitting, looking up at him. Something about him got under Demming’s skin, made him twitchy. It felt as if every time their eyes met Demming got hotter and hotter. Whatever was the cause, it didn’t matter because Hart was just another obstacle in his path and just like every other time, he’d figure out a way to remove him.

He walked away without another word, jaw tight. Back in his car, he saw he had a message from Billy, who he’d tasked with finding Bryce’s location. Billy sent him an address, so he programmed it into his phone’s map app and went off, shoving Hart and his disappointed eyes out of mind for the moment.

His destination was in Jersey, a large house with a detached garage. The moment Demming exited his vehicle he heard the loud music of a live band. He paused, releasing a sigh and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Now he knew why Bryce wasn’t going to school.

He made his way to the garage and pulled the door open, standing around until the four guys and one girl noticed him. The girl did first—she was the one shrieking into a mike, piercings all over her face, tattoos on her arms. Dressed in all black, she jerked when their eyes met.

She stopped and the others followed suit.

He ignored them, zeroing in on his brother, who sat at the drums. He had a new piercing in his ear. And more tattoos. His dark hair, the same color as Demming’s, was longer than the last time they’d seen each other face to face.

“Bryce, a word.”

His brother rolled his eyes but got up. “Gimme a sec, guys.” They all stared as he went over to the girl and kissed her, pinching her ass before pulling away reluctantly and following Demming to stand over by his car. “So. You’re back, huh?”

Demming looked him over. “Mom’s worried about you.”

Bryce snorted. “Is she?”

Overnight his brother had turned into this…person that Demming disliked. Shirking his responsibilities, running off to do the band shit with strangers. It didn’t matter what Demming said or threatened him with, Bryce did what he wanted. He was twenty-one, and Demming couldn’t baby him or protect him anymore.

“You haven’t been going to class.”

“You’re checking up on me as if you care?” Bryce folded his arms and averted his gaze, aggression pouring off him in waves. He wanted to fight, but Demming would never give him the satisfaction.

“I care about you,” he said. “That’s why I pay Columbia’s exorbitant tuition. You said you wanted to go there, to study economics and math, but instead, here you are.” He gestured at the garage.

“That’s my band, man,” Bryce said proudly. “We’re making music. We’re fucking good, too.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your band. Answer your mother when she calls you. She doesn’t deserve to be worrying over you and your bullshit.”

Bryce laughed bitterly. “But it’s okay for her to worry about you when you disappear for months at a time doing all that shady shit you do?” He spat at Demming’s feet. “Yeah, fuck you.” He walked away, back to the garage where his friends waited.

Demming got into his car with a shake of his head and drove off.