Free I, Porn Star (I #1) by Zara Cox Page A

Albany?”
    “Answer me, boy!”
    “Am I out of my
mind? We both know the likelihood of that answer leaning towards yes is high.
Sadly, ten years of therapy later, Dr. Nathanson hasn’t found her way to a
clear diagnosis. Perhaps we should invite her over, discuss the matter over
cheese and wine?”
    He rushes toward
me, six foot one feet of thoroughbred Blackwood stock. I keep a loose-limbed
stance, but my blood spikes in anticipation.
    He stops a dozen
feet away. I’m disappointed.
    “Is everything a
joke to you, son?”
    My bark of laughter
strangles off within a nanosecond. “I never joke about wine. Or cheese.”
    At fifty-one,
Maxwell Blackwood is in prime, Blackwood condition. He’s fourth generation in a
long line of power-wielding Blackwoods, built from the ground up in pure New
York royalty. His brief but illustrious stint in the army has also added a
touch of grit to his innate charisma. What Maxwell Blackwood couldn’t obtain
with a smile he claims with an iron fist. It’s what makes him one of the most
respected and feared men in the country.
    We face off in
the wide hallway of the mansion. Felix hovers at a discreet distance, his
decades-long service to my family having anaesthetized him to confrontations
such as these. I stare at my father. His snowy white tuxedo shirt indicates
he’s just returned from one of the many functions that demand his time these
days.
    Hands planted on
lean hips, eyes two shades darker than mine narrow and glare in white hot
anger. “Did you or did you not give away my Miami condo project to a fucking homeless charity?”
    Maxwell seldom
swears. So twice in two sentences is an achievement.
    “Oh…that. The
quarterly charity drive is weeks away. I thought I’d get a jump on it.”
    A vein pops in
his temple. “That project is worth eighty million dollars. You didn’t think to discuss it with me first, before you
issued a goddamn press release announcing the donation?”
    I slide my hands
into my pockets before he can see them bunch. “Frankly, no.”
    He looks
furiously incredulous. He starts to whirl away, but checks back almost
instantly, points a finger at me. “You will cancel the contract tomorrow,
Quinn. Take out another press release stating you made a mistake. Give them
something else if you must, but you will not give them the Miami project.”
    “I could, but
then how would you look, Dad?
The donation was made in your name, from a company that bears your name. Think
of the embarrassment factor.”
    “ Jesus Fucking
Christ , you’re the goddamn embarrassment!” He reaches up and yanks loose
the first stud securing the tuxedo.
    I roll on the
balls of my feet. “Thanks. Now, are were going to get to the real reason I’m here,
or shall I leave and go back to ignoring your phone calls?”
    “What the hell is
wrong with you?”
    I’m almost
tempted to tell him. Surely, he can’t be that dense? But then I remember that
hubris is a giant flaw of the Blackwoods.
    So I shrug.
    “I need an answer,
dammit. A shrug isn’t going to cut it, son.”
    I grit my back
teeth against the tug of satanic rage that engulfs me every time he calls me son .
“If you say so.”
    We go back to
facing off again.
    Felix clears his
throat. “Mister Quinn, can I get you something to drink?”
    “That would be
excellent,” I reply without taking my gaze off my father. “You have any of that Macallan ’46 still tucked safely
away, old man?”
    “Of course.
Coming right up, sir. Same for you, Mr. Blackwood?”
    My father breaks
my stare long enough to glare at Felix before he turns and stalks off. “No,” he
snaps. “Quinn, we’ll finish this in my study.”
    I nod at Felix
before I follow at a much more leisurely pace. I’m halfway to my destination
when I hear the click of heels behind me. I don’t turn around. The faint cloud
of Coco Mademoiselle is enough to
announce her.
    Warm hands slide
over my shoulder to rest at my nape. Somewhere along the line, she’s gotten