Boy Issues - Morticia Knight Page 0,3
being that he’d struck out on finding someone to warm his bed—or preferably—a hotel bed. He didn’t dare to take a stranger to either of his homes.
What had Silver’s parting shot been about? Had he been fucking with him? Or perhaps leaving the door open? Donovan pondered whether he should investigate the possibility. If he managed to convince Silver to spend some quality alone time together, Donovan was certain his efforts would be rewarded.
Silver was one of the finest specimens of rock-solid man Donovan had encountered in a while. His body was perfectly sculpted, his face stunningly handsome with soulful dark eyes and a delectable mouth. That, in addition to Silver’s take-charge attitude, had made the rejection that much worse.
The door to his office burst open and Donovan was rudely yanked from his reverie. He fought the urge to sneer at his brother. The slimy bastard had no sense of propriety when it came to the boundaries between them. He behaved as if he had the right to dictate every aspect of Donovan’s life.
Like our father.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Donovan’s tone held the usual edge of sarcasm it always did when speaking with his family.
“Why didn’t you answer my email? I expect you to respond to me immediately.” Lawrence scowled at Donovan. “Instead, I had to waste my time and come over here personally.”
“You are aware there’s an invention called a phone?” He gave a shrug as if it were all so boring. “All you have to do is pick one up, dial a special set of numbers and then you don’t have to drag your sorry ass the twenty feet down the hall to my office. It’s magic, really.” Donovan offered him a tight smile. “You should try it sometime.”
Lawrence’s face flushed, his jaw clenching. “I’ve had enough of your shenanigans, Donovan. That’s why I dragged my sorry ass over here. Half the time when I use the phone, you hang up anyway.”
Donovan coughed into his fist to hold back the snort of laughter that had almost busted out. “What is it you want? I have a long list of tasks that require my attention, and whatever was in your email, it must have gone into spam. I was online a moment ago and there was nothing from you.”
“Did you block me again?”
As funny as it had been when he’d done it, even Donovan recognized how childish the move had been. “No. I didn’t block you. I genuinely didn’t see your message.”
Lawrence crossed his arms. “That doesn’t make any sense. I just sent it.”
Donovan rolled his eyes as he woke up his laptop. Why didn’t the idiot get to the point already? Instead, Lawrence had to poke at him with a stick the way he’d always done. The way he always had since they were children. Lawrence had to be right. Had to prove that even though he was the younger brother, he was also the smarter, better-looking, biggest ass-kisser and straighter brother.
Sure enough, the email was there. However, the time stamp was less than a few minutes old. The little weasel had probably hit send then raced across the hallway so he could fuck with him. Donovan was not in the mood. Then, he checked the subject line.
Donovan clenched his teeth then glared at Lawrence. “What’s this bullshit?”
Lawrence smirked, his arms crossed in apparent defiance. “I felt I was quite clear. Lance Sherman isn’t interested in your half-assed designs, so me and father would appreciate it if you wouldn’t pester him, and let the Fonterra architectural team who have specifically been hired for that job—and who actually know what they’re doing—handle that task. You’re the CEO. Nothing more.”
Nothing more.
Donovan swallowed down the bile of his fury. He wouldn’t come apart in front of his self-satisfied, smug brother.
“Mmm. I see. Just the CEO?” Donovan used the deep, sarcastic tone he knew drove his brother insane. “Why not get one of the interns to run the company then? I think Eric in the mailroom is almost out of high school. Perhaps he’d like to oversee a multi-million-dollar corporation? That way you can be reassured that I won’t be pestering the clients.”
Lawrence twisted his features into one of his extra-pissed faces. He had an entire repertoire of pinched lips, flared nostrils and wrinkled brows that he could don at will. Sometimes Donovan would see how many versions of his bizarre expressions he could squeeze out him in one meeting.
“Knock it off, Donnie.”
Donnie. Uh-oh. Lawrence was pulling out the