The Love Triangle (BWWM Romance) by Violet Jackson, Interracial Love Page A
Authors: Violet Jackson, Interracial Love
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amber liquid burned its way down my throat and I followed the sip with a deep breath that I blew out again with billowed cheeks. The alcohol was supposed to calm me down. It worked most of the time to keep the rage at bay.
There were days when I felt that it would consume me, that I was just going to get angrier and angrier until I spontaneously combusted. In the business, being that kind of boss was a good thing. People ran to do what I needed even before I snapped my fingers. In my personal life, it wasn’t always such a good thing.
I leaned my hip against my desk and glanced over the files and papers that were scattered across it. Most of them had Grace’s curly signature all over them. She was the best lawyer this company had ever had. Of course, now that we were living together – or at least, now that we had a relationship, the living together was suddenly this big question – I would have to get another lawyer. She would argue with me about it, she already had and she would again. But it was something that had to be done.
I took another sip of the whiskey. I imagined it spreading through my veins. I felt powered-up again when I drank. More on top of things. If I could just keep it together long enough to sort this out, we’d be okay.
As long as Justin didn’t interfere. Just the thought of him brought the anger back. Who did he think he was, coming back into her life like that? Convenient for him that she couldn’t remember that she didn’t want him anymore. When I thought of him, the anger built and built until it was full blown rage. That same itch was back in my chest again, and I couldn’t reach it. I gulped down the rest of my whiskey. It did nothing. I could have poured another glass, but I’d felt like this before. I knew it wouldn’t help. My fists balled as if they had their own free will. I let out a groan that turn into a frustrated yell and swept my hand over my desk, knocking down everything that was tall enough.
The lamp crashed to the floor, the bulb broke. I wanted to stomp on it until it was in a million little pieces. I wanted to pick up the chair and throw it through the window. I wanted to throw something against the door.
Instead, I stopped and tried to breathe.
It had been a while since I’d tried anything harder than alcohol, but I was in the mood for something terrible tonight. When things got this dark, I needed a pick-me-up. I picked up my phone and called my contact at the gentleman’s club in Dayton. It was about two hours’ drive away but if the money was right, he would drive anywhere for me.
“I’m in town,” Kyle answered. I didn’t ask for what, or for how long. I hung up the phone and scooped my keys off the desk. I was going to meet him at the Inn in fifteen minutes. That was how it worked.
The Banbury Inn was about as old as the town was, and still had the feel of a western saloon, complete with the wagon-wheel-chandelier and the round tables that you could book for poker. It was a strange combination of old and new, with speakers against the walls that blared the latest radio hits and the computerized ordering system. When I arrived, Darla, the waitress, smiled.
“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Wilson.”
“Good to be here, my darling,” I said. She led the way to one of three private booths, only installed much later. The bartender nodded at me when I passed him and reached for the bottle of whiskey. They knew me. They loved me. They had better damn well bring me that alcohol.
Kyle was already there. He stood up and shook my hand.
I always felt like a dwarf next to him. I knew I was on the short side for a man, but Kyle was a giant. All muscle, wearing black shirts that strained against his biceps and wrap-around sunglasses even though it was almost nighttime and we were inside. There was a thin line of blond stubble across his chin and all the way over his head, like he’d decided to ditch the
There were days when I felt that it would consume me, that I was just going to get angrier and angrier until I spontaneously combusted. In the business, being that kind of boss was a good thing. People ran to do what I needed even before I snapped my fingers. In my personal life, it wasn’t always such a good thing.
I leaned my hip against my desk and glanced over the files and papers that were scattered across it. Most of them had Grace’s curly signature all over them. She was the best lawyer this company had ever had. Of course, now that we were living together – or at least, now that we had a relationship, the living together was suddenly this big question – I would have to get another lawyer. She would argue with me about it, she already had and she would again. But it was something that had to be done.
I took another sip of the whiskey. I imagined it spreading through my veins. I felt powered-up again when I drank. More on top of things. If I could just keep it together long enough to sort this out, we’d be okay.
As long as Justin didn’t interfere. Just the thought of him brought the anger back. Who did he think he was, coming back into her life like that? Convenient for him that she couldn’t remember that she didn’t want him anymore. When I thought of him, the anger built and built until it was full blown rage. That same itch was back in my chest again, and I couldn’t reach it. I gulped down the rest of my whiskey. It did nothing. I could have poured another glass, but I’d felt like this before. I knew it wouldn’t help. My fists balled as if they had their own free will. I let out a groan that turn into a frustrated yell and swept my hand over my desk, knocking down everything that was tall enough.
The lamp crashed to the floor, the bulb broke. I wanted to stomp on it until it was in a million little pieces. I wanted to pick up the chair and throw it through the window. I wanted to throw something against the door.
Instead, I stopped and tried to breathe.
It had been a while since I’d tried anything harder than alcohol, but I was in the mood for something terrible tonight. When things got this dark, I needed a pick-me-up. I picked up my phone and called my contact at the gentleman’s club in Dayton. It was about two hours’ drive away but if the money was right, he would drive anywhere for me.
“I’m in town,” Kyle answered. I didn’t ask for what, or for how long. I hung up the phone and scooped my keys off the desk. I was going to meet him at the Inn in fifteen minutes. That was how it worked.
The Banbury Inn was about as old as the town was, and still had the feel of a western saloon, complete with the wagon-wheel-chandelier and the round tables that you could book for poker. It was a strange combination of old and new, with speakers against the walls that blared the latest radio hits and the computerized ordering system. When I arrived, Darla, the waitress, smiled.
“It’s good to see you again, Mr. Wilson.”
“Good to be here, my darling,” I said. She led the way to one of three private booths, only installed much later. The bartender nodded at me when I passed him and reached for the bottle of whiskey. They knew me. They loved me. They had better damn well bring me that alcohol.
Kyle was already there. He stood up and shook my hand.
I always felt like a dwarf next to him. I knew I was on the short side for a man, but Kyle was a giant. All muscle, wearing black shirts that strained against his biceps and wrap-around sunglasses even though it was almost nighttime and we were inside. There was a thin line of blond stubble across his chin and all the way over his head, like he’d decided to ditch the
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