The Untouchables(103)

“I get it! Now go ask Senator Colemen, ‘cuz I still don’t understand why you’re pestering me.”

“You’re his son-in-law, you’ve been on his campaign trail for months. You bought your wife a brand new diamond necklace the same day you went to a soup kitchen. You’re a fucking prince, and your whole family feeds on greed. Have you ever worked a day in your life? All this money you people just suck down your fat throats—”

Snatching his neck, I pulled him up onto his feet. “Now that we’re both standing, say that to my face you fucking—”

“NEAL!” Mina, my least favorite political strategist and leash holder, grabbed my arm, doing her best to pull me back. “Neal, we need to go now. No more drinks.”

I let him go, but the asshole couldn’t seem to shut his dirty fucking month!

“Do you have an addiction, Mr. Callahan?” he asked, rubbing his neck as he held his phone up.

Snatching it from his hand, Mina left a bill on the table. “Journalists used to be respected. They didn’t stalk citizens, wait for them to drop then poke at them. You can quote me on that. Good night, Mr. White.”

I felt like a child the way she dragged me from the bar. Her tiny olive toned hand wouldn’t let go of my shirt until we crossed the ivory floors into the damned elevator. Of course my master suite would be on the 67th floor.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” she hissed at me, her dark eyes burning with rage. “You could have killed him.”

“No, I should have killed him. He didn’t have any right to speak to me like that. I’m a fucking Callahan!”

“So what?”

“So what? Being a Callahan…”

“Being a Callahan doesn’t mean shit here! It’s about being a Colemen, being President. I get it, you’re used to breaking the fingers of people who even look at you funny. But, like I said when you first joined the trail, you have to take the mud thrown at you, and you have to take it humbly. The big picture, remember? We’re on the home stretch. Just keep doing everything you’ve been doing up until tonight.”

“Yeah, you mean keep being a bitch. Thanks for reminding me, Mina. I’ll just go iron my money suit now.” I stepped onto my floor.

“That’s all I ask.” She shook her head as the door closed and all I could do was flip her off.

I wanted to flip the damn world off. Moving from the suite’s living room, covered in pastel colors and generic paintings of flowers, I found myself at the mini bar.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?” Olivia whispered, stepping out of the living room in her red silk robe.

“I’m not supposed to think, remember? I’m just the funny, supporting husband with the big wallet,” I told her, popping open the champagne that was recently delivered.

“Why is this so hard for you? I don’t get it. For weeks you’ve been brooding like a kicked dog!”

Of course she didn’t get it; she never got it! “Because, I am a fucking kicked dog! My family exiled me to this damn position because I didn’t know my place.”

“Exile? You’re in a fucking master suite in a five-star hotel! For once you’re out on your own and you can’t even handle that! You’re a grown man, Neal. Act like one.”

“Shut the fuck up! For the love of God, Olivia, shut up! It’s my mistake to think you would get it, but you just can’t. Family is everything! You have no brothers, no sisters and your parents hate each other. Of course you have no idea. You’ve never trusted anyone, you depend solely on yourself and it’s why you’re dying inside. You’re dying for validation and love from people who really don’t give a shit about you, who don’t know you. But you prefer it like that.”

“You’re drunk, I’m going to bed before you damage our relationship any further.”

“You do that.” Was all I could say before falling onto the couch. Rolling around, I tried to make myself comfortable, but of course, the great five-star hotel couldn’t get a couch that fit all fucking sizes. I found myself staring at the chandelier above, unsure whether or not I should go to her. I didn’t have to wait long before a pillow landed on my face.

“Fuck you for making me too angry to sleep,” she snapped before punching my arm.

“Aye! Stop it.”

She didn’t and I grabbed her hands, pulling her over the couch and forcing us both onto the ground.

“Olivia, Jesus, control yourself!” I yelled, pinning her arms across her chest.

“Get off of me, you son of a bitch! I’m dying for validation? How about you? You’re dying for your little brother to love you, your father to respect you, for some meaning to your life. Well guess what? If you didn’t give up your title as Ceann Na Conairte you would’ve had all of that and more.”