time to the house phone, and Logic had decided to just take the fight to the one man who might be able to do something—anything—because damn, no one was stopping them any other way.
So he’d made an appointment with one Mr. Harlan Morrow. Conor’s father. He’d never actually met the man before; he’d seen him at town functions, and once playing croquet on the side lawn of his mansion-style home.
Really? How did a townie from Greenville pick his rural sister? Wasn’t there someone on Park Street to stalk?
Still, he sat there, waiting, telling himself that he wasn’t a kid anymore. He was a wealthy man with a fucking television show, a best-selling series of books, and a kick-ass robotic career.
Fuck anyone who thought they didn’t have to listen to his queer ass.
“Mr. Morrow will see you now, sir.”
“Excellent.” He stood, smoothing his dress pants into place. He’d dressed for success.
He followed the PA into the office, coming face-to-face with the older, heavier, redder version of Morrow the Idiot. “Mr. Morrow.”
“Mr.… Logic?”
“Yes. Logic is my pseudonym.” He waited to be asked to sit.
“What is it you do, lad?” Morrow waved him to a chair. “Under a pen name.”
“I write a series of weird Westerns, and HBO has a series based on the books. It’s been quite a ride.”
“So what do you need from us? Contract help?” Morrow steepled his fingers, looking like Colonel Sanders or something. A caricature of the rich Old South.
“What I need is something more personal.” He met Morrow’s eyes. “I have something to play for you.”
He picked up his phone, then pulled up the sound file and pushed Play.
“You fucking bitch. I’m going to fuck you with my knife, and then I’ll start on your little girls. If I can’t have you, no one will. I’ll ruin your whole life. Your family.”
Then he clicked the sound file off. “There’s more. I assume you recognize the voice.”
Morrow’s face had lost color and expression. “Who the hell are you?”
“My given name is Anderson Whitehead, Mr. Morrow. Bailey is my sister.” The temptation to mic drop was huge.
Morrow’s cheeks started to glow. Then his forehead, then his neck above his starched collar. “Get out.”
“Stop your son. I will escalate this. He’s threatening to kill babies. I will take this to the Dallas market—they’d love to know why I’m here in the DFW area.”
“You can’t be that famous,” Morrow blustered.
“Look me up.” He knew this old man had never heard of him or his books or show or robots. A lot of people had, and he knew many of them in the media. “You can use your phone. It doesn’t matter if I was a goddamn drunk on the corner, you should stop your son because he is abusing a woman with four children, who has recently lost her husband. Stop. Your. Son.”
“Get the hell out of here.” The old boy was going to have a heart attack if he got any more het up.
“I will send this to Dallas. Hell, I’ll send it to People magazine. They have a crime series on ID Now.” He rose, flicking a business card on the desk. “I mean it, Mr. Morrow. Your son is a rabid dog.”
“Get out!”
“You have two days. Two.”
That was straightforward as he could be. He turned on his heel and marched out, feeling that mic drop anyway. Oh Lord, he was thankful he could channel Logic the negotiator, the one who had said no to Netflix and Showtime, no to a movie rather than an HBO series.
He’d been taken advantage of enough. He’d stopped that shit, and he meant it. He got in his car and took I-30 to Rockwall, finding a Starbucks there to sit in so he could call Mal.
“Yo. Buddy. Are you ever coming home?”
“I want to. I confronted the asshole’s father. I want to invite Jericho to come home with me. Am I insane?”
“Of course not. The two of you have so much in common! You even like his kids. I can’t wait to meet him.” Mal was bubbling for him.
“What’s he going to do, though?”
“What does it matter? Seriously? He can be a house husband so you eat something besides smoothies.”
“He’s a cowboy, Mal. Not a house husband.”
“He’s a jack-of-all-trades, from what you said. He’ll find something. Oh, honey, the least you can do is ask.”
“I will. I am. I have to. I love him.” He took a deep, deep breath, let it out. “I seriously love him.”
“Wow. Listen to you. I’m so happy