Conrad Price, the man everyone fears. Wealth. Influence. Power. That tri-pronged scepter of dominance is his weapon of choice. He wields it expertly, intimidating people into doing whatever he commands like Zeus hurling thunderbolts from Mount Olympus.
Frankly, there’s no one I’d rather model myself after.
But his approval is hard to get. He doesn’t bestow it willingly. I can count the number of times he’s given me a hint of praise since installing me in a position of authority at the Gazette. He’s a tough nut to crack, unless you’re young, naïve, and beautiful.
Yeah, every man has his weakness—even the great Conrad Price.
“The garnish on the butternut squash leaves much to be desired,” he complains, dabbing at his finely groomed mustache with the corner of his linen napkin.
My mom says nothing and just gazes blankly ahead. She ordered our Thanksgiving dinner from one of the finest bistros in Manhattan, so he’s not criticizing her directly, just her ability to select items off a menu. She’s well into her third glass of wine, so I doubt she even heard him.
Ryan quickly shovels down what remains on his plate and stands up from the table, not even bothering to ask if he can be excused. He’s done his duty. He’s eaten with us. He thinks that’s all that’s required of him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His father’s voice is laced with venom, the kind of remark that blisters through the skin. It’s about the only thing Ryan still listens to.
“I’m done, and since I can’t get liquored up like everyone else at this table, what’s the point of hanging around? It’s not like we’re some big happy family.”
That’s brazen, even for Ryan. He might be thinking that. Hell, we all might be thinking that. But he knows better than to say it, especially on a day like today. When it comes to spending time together during the holidays, his father expects us all to play our parts and indulge him. I already warned Ryan about his wiseass remarks when we drove into the city last night, but it looks like he decided not to heed my advice and keep his big mouth shut.
“Sit down,” his father orders, clearly not brooking any opposition from his teenage son.
Ryan hates his father, and who can blame him? He basically told Ryan that he would’ve rather come across his dead body than see firsthand that he was into other guys. Ever since he caught Ryan with Ben, things have been downright icy between father and son. Conrad even told Ryan’s mother that, once he graduates from high school, he’s through with him. There will be no place waiting for the heir apparent at Price Enterprises because it’s all going to me.
“And if I don’t?” Ryan snarls, causing my mom to wince and massage her forehead.
These fights are nothing new. Lately, they’ve just escalated in intensity. My mom thought that by marrying Conrad she’d never have a care in the world. Little did she know that with prestige comes pain—a whole lot of it.
I play with the figs in my cranberry sauce, pushing them around the Wedgwood plate with my fork. While I feel for Ryan, he brought this on himself. He got sloppy. He should’ve never brought Ben to the Price family lodge. What was he thinking taking such an unnecessary risk? He was never good at covering his tracks. He certainly never fooled me.
Last year, I kicked over the wastepaper basket next to my desk after Eric had said that he didn’t think it’d be a good idea if I came over. An empty pack of Ryan’s favorite brand of cigarettes fell out. I immediately got suspicious. After reviewing a month’s worth of security footage, I caught Ryan red-handed swiping the key magnetized to the bottom of the Gazette’s mailbox on not one, but several different occasions. The little punk had been bringing Tim’s brother into my place of business to have sex. Just knowing what they must’ve done on my couch makes my stomach churn.
Turns out, I knew Conrad was going up to the lodge that day, and when Ryan texted me that he couldn’t run an errand for me because he was already there, I automatically assumed he had brought his boy toy along with him, and I was right. So did I bother to warn my little stepbrother about his impending doom? Not at all… He’d screwed me over, entering my inner sanctum without my permission, breaking my trust.
As far as I’m concerned, he deserves everything he gets as I swoop in and claim his inheritance right out from under him.
Who cares that Conrad isn’t exactly my favorite person in the world? I plan on laughing all the way to the bank. Just as long as he keeps his baby maker zipped. Everything will proceed just fine.
“I thought I’d already explained to you the consequences of what it means to disappoint me?” Conrad seethes in that calm yet lethal manner of his. “Would you rather contemplate your shortcomings out on the street tonight?”