226
Tony
My penthouse, once a haven of tranquility and luxury, now felt like a pressure cooker about to burst. I had Matt and Quillan with me, our little family unit, but the constant barrage of phone calls and business-related crises had turned my sanctuary into a hotbed of nerves. I felt the tension growing between my shoulders and building in my temples. Matt, luckily, had been keeping Quillan occupied with games and updates about Ginevra. I didn't know exactly how he was keeping Quillan's mind off of things or what he was saying, but I knew it couldn't last long.
I set my phone down and a few moments later it rang again with a call from the Council's office. I growled, remembering that though they had changed the registration, they hadn't bothered to change the contact information on file. The fuckers.
I answered the phone. "If you're calling about anything related to the Blue Moon Pack, you're calling the wrong person."
"Tony--"
"Don't take that fucking tone with me," I snarled into the receiver. "You crowned him alpha again--"
"Well--"
"You made Cline his beta--"
"Tony--"
"You call them. Take my fucking number off the records, and if you call my brother, you're going to be in bigger fucking trouble, understand?"
"It's not that simple! Chance Industries..."
I was tempted to listen. I already figured they were calling like this because of what they were and weren't doing.
"Call them, not me," I said.
"Wait!"
I hung up, closing my eyes and fighting down the urge to call back and fix it. Images of everyone in the pack who had relied on me, from the weakest hybrid to the ones who simply didn't want to starve flashed through my mind. Even Eliza's face flashed through my mind. Guilt ate at me and the thought of them fueled my anger and refusal as my phone rang again. Whoever it was, I didn't care.
They had betrayed me. They had betrayed us. I owed them nothing. After everything Matt and I had done to build Chance Industries, to build the Blue Moon pack up after what our father had done?
They could do it themselves this time.
I answered. "If this is--"
"Mr. Chance, this is Glen."
I held back. Glen was one of my lower-tier analysts. He was brilliant. Human, weird, but he did his job well.
"What is it, Glen?"
"I made you a promise to tell you if I was submitting my resignation. So, I'm calling you."
I blinked. "Why?"
"Because I refuse to be laid off due to a cashflow problem created by the new management."
I blinked. "I'll write you a letter of recommendation."
He said nothing. "Thank you, Mr. Chance. I hope you're... enjoying your freedom."
"Freedom?"
"Word has it that you're taking a much-needed vacation and letting your oaf of a father run the company back into the ground for being an ungrateful jackass."
I snorted. "That's the rumor?"
"No, that's just my interpretation of it. Most people think you've gone and gotten some woman pregnant, or off on a binger. Having met your father briefly, I figured my version was more accurate."
I winced at the truth of that statement. "Thanks, Glen. Look for my email."
"I will."
I hung up, chuckling to myself as I thought through my decision to let our father and Cline run the company. The company had only been thriving since I took it over. It had been little more than a frame of business that had been picked clean and given to the pack when Matt and I took over the pack.
My phone started ringing again and I left my office to head out to where I could hear Matt and Quillan in the kitchen. Quillan squealed and a big puff of flour went up between them. Matt laughed.
"Maybe it needed more water."
He looked up and smiled at me. "Good to see you, champ. We're making pasta."
"Yeah!" Quillan said rolling something that looked like dough. "Uncle Matt is letting me mix it."
Quillan hummed happily, talking about how gooey it felt. I didn't know what Play-Do was, but I was glad to see him blissfully being a child in a way that I don't remember being.
"He said that he and your mommy used to make pasta together."
I blinked. I looked at Matt whose lips twitched.
"Really?"
He nodded. "Ravioli all the time."
My phone started to ring again. I frowned and turned back. The ringtone was different, meaning it was a phone call I couldn't ignore. I answered.
"We're calling about Blue Moon's taxes for the half year. They're delinquent, and the interest accruing is--"
"You've called the wrong person," I said. "Call the alpha and his beta. Here are their numbers."
I rattled them off and hung up before heading back out to join them and ignore the twinge of guilt for passing the responsibility onto my father and Cline. But it was a necessary step. I had bigger concerns than what our father and Cline did with his pack.
I watched them for a while, cutting and stuffing the ravioli before setting it all aside to dry or do whatever pasta did when freshly made. Matt lifted Quillan onto the counter to wash his hands as Matt cleaned up and pulled out pans.
"I didn't know you could cook," I said.
Matt smirked. "One of us went away to college. The other didn't."
My lips twitched. Matt wiped Quillan's hand.
"Thanks, for your help, champ. Why don't you pick out a book while I get the sauce started?"
"Okay!" He scurried toward the living room. I took a moment to observe Matt as Quillan disappeared and went looking for a book. It struck me that I hadn't fully appreciated just how great Matt was with children.
"I never realized how good you are with children. I thought you never wanted children."
"I don't, but I had a lot of practice. One of my internships was at a kindergarten."
"You never told me that."
He shrugged. "You snickered at me for going in for Psychology. I figured it was better to not earn any more snickering."
He smirked. "Didn't you wonder how I kept the pack under control while you were making sure we ate?"
I blinked. "You? I thought Eliza..."
He scoffed. "You remember what she was like when we were kids, didn't you? Think of those poor kids. I had to do something before they overran their parents."
He winced. "Most of them didn't even want to be parents..."
He sighed and shook his head. "Tony..."
"What?"
"Never mind."
"What is it?" I asked. "I don't need you to clam up on me right now."
His lips twitched and he leaned on the counter. "Let me workshop it. Who was calling?"
"Workshop it?"
"Take it back to the drawing board. Same difference. The call?"
"Pack stuff. Chance Industries is... crashing. Taxes are late on the supernatural side... I can only imagine the human taxes are going to start breathing down their necks soon after."
Matt snickered and started washing tomatoes.
"You know, you could always just wait until it all crashes and burn, buy it for pennies, and take over. They have a word for that, right? A fire sale?"
I blinked. "That's... a strategy. Are you talking about the pack or the company?"
"Both," Matt said with a shrug. "Mostly the company. I don't really care about the pack, but Quillan's going to need a college fund, yeah?"
"Well... yeah, I suppose so," I paused. "I'm learning more about you by the day."
"Huh?"
"Cooking with mom? Cunning?"
He shrugged; his expression nonchalant. "Sometimes, Tony, you've got to be pragmatic. It's not about what you want; it's about what needs to be done."
I regarded him for a moment, realizing that my brother was revealing facets of himself I hadn't seen before. He had always been the quieter, more reserved one. I had always taken charge because I thought I knew what needed to be done and how, but listening to him now, I wondered how much of that was true.
"You're changing."
"Am I?"
I nodded. "You wouldn't have said that a few months ago, let alone a few years ago."
He went still. His eyes were haunted as he dropped the tomatoes into the skillet, and they started to blister.
"I suppose not." Matt's lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "But the same could have been said for you. I guess we're both changing."
I chuckled, realizing that he was right, and walked into the kitchen. "You need help?"
"From you? Hell, no. I want it to taste good. Why don't you go read to Quillan? I've got this."
"Fine. Just don't burn the place down."
He scoffed. "That's why I'm sending you out."
I went into the living room as Quillan finally picked one of the four books he had and held it over his head with a triumphant grin.
"This one!"
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