Smooth Like Latte
“If you continue to do things the same way your brother did them, you’ll end up in the same predicament… no career, no money, and no help from your father. Under no circumstances will I tolerate another good for nothing son!”
Brendan’s father’s last words jilted him from sleep, causing him to rise quickly from the mattress. He ran his hand through his newly cut hair and sighed inwardly. “God, I need a vacation.”
A permanent one.
Brendan rubbed his eyes and opened one to peek at the clock on his side table.
“Fuck!” Brendan whipped the covers from off his body and swung his legs over the side of the bed. A part of him wanted to jump in the shower and get his day started while the other wished to remain in bed and relive the moments from last night’s anonymous lay.
Thinking of the man he’d brought home with him from the bar, Brendan smiled to himself, slightly tugging his hard cock. His date, or rather, his fuck buddy for the night had the mouth-power of a Hoover vacuum and allowed Brendan to take complete charge over him.
In truth, he’d never allowed anyone to dominate him because all the men he’d met were usually willing and weak. Just once, he’d like a man who’d measure up to him in stature and in bed.
That would be the day.
Being in the closet definitely had its disadvantages.
Still in thought, Brendan pushed himself up from the mattress and trudged to the bathroom to get his day started. If he didn’t, he’d get a wakeup call from his father, Alexander, asking why he was late.
Brendan made a face while he stood over the toilet. He could really use some time to himself, to get his head together and figure out the best action to take next. Coming out of college, Brendan had no choice but to follow in his father’s footsteps instead of going the way of his older brother, Brian, to make his own path. He liked money too much to directly defy his dad. So to stay in Alexander’s good graces and his will, Brendan went along with everything he wanted.
Done with the first dire duties of the morning, Brendan turned to his right, heading for the shower. He slid the door open, twisted the dials until the water temperature nearly scalded his skin. Once he grabbed his favorite shower gel, Brendan pressed the on button for his sound system to change his mood. He needed that or else the rest of his day wouldn’t amount to much of anything.
Sounds of saxophones and bass guitars blared through the speakers in the walls, and Brendan lost himself in the music. He stood under the hot spray, letting it cascade over his head and down his body. Brendan leaned against the wall a moment, enjoying the water loosening his muscles. He cupped his hands under the showerhead, then pulled them up to his face, splashing his cheeks. That movement finally woke him from the doldrums, making him feel alive. Brendan wished he could experience that feeling for the rest of the day, but going into Walsh Towers, he highly doubted it.
Before long, the water started to turn cold, forcing Brendan out of the shower to face the reality of work in his near future. He stepped out, grabbing the nearest towel on the rack to dry off with. While doing so, he looked at himself in the mirror.
“I hate this haircut.”
Brendan loathed the new do his father’s barber had given him yesterday. He’d wanted to grow it out past his shoulders, but as Alexander Walsh always did, he interfered—no, make that bombarded his way into Brendan’s life. And unfortunately, Brendan did not possess the balls to tell the man to back off.
Just as he finished up, his cell phone rang an unfriendly tune.
“Speaking of the devil.” Brendan threw his towel over his shoulder and walked into the bedroom. He eyed his iPhone, wondering if he should ignore the call or pick up.
Brendan sighed inwardly and did the latter. He thought he might as well get the first call for the day over instead of waiting for his father to bug him when he got into the office. “Good morning, Dad.”
“Ah, Brendan. Good to see you’re awake. Listen, son, I’d like you to come to dinner with me and Dwight Harrisford this evening. He has a very pretty daughter you might like to get to know better.”
Annoyed, Brendan eyed the ceiling above. “No thanks, Dad. I have some work to do this evening and besides…”
“Oh, Brendan.” He laughed. “I do appreciate you wanting to get a head start on this month’s fiscal projections, but you are allowed to take time out for yourself.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not really much in the mood for socializing, Father. I’d be horrible company, and how many times do I have to remind you—”
“Brendan, please don’t remind me of your… um… preferences. Like I’ve said before, you haven’t done anything to meet a pretty woman, and I intend to change that tonight. I’ll have Gilbert pick you up at seven thirty.”
“Brendan, no lip, alright? I want to find you a suitable wife before I go back to California. I can’t have you shacking up with just anyone before I hand you the keys to Walsh, especially not a man. I will not allow you to run this company and be an embarrassment to me. Now, I’ll see you in the office in about an hour and please be prompt. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Father.” Brendan hung up the phone and tossed it on the bed next to him. Due to the conversation with his meddling parent, the tension in his neck returned.
Can I fake sick today?
Brendan breathed heavily and rolled his shoulders.
The last thing he wanted to do was piss Alexander off. That would mean another lecture he just wasn’t prepared to handle.
Brendan stared at his feet a moment before dropping back on the bed. Talking to Alexander those few minutes had caused his body to ache in places he’d never had discomfort.
At his college graduation, his brother, Brian, warned him about allowing Dad to take over his life, but Brendan ignored those cautions, saying he could handle his old man just fine. Two years, three takeovers, and many sleepless nights later, Brendan knew that not to be the case.