Page 15 of Parker

Chapter ten

Parker Fashion House, Glasgow

Joel

The boardroom is packed, bodies sweating beneath expensive suits. It’s a Friday afternoon, and my father has summoned us without warning. Anyone with an ounce of responsibility within the business is to attend an impromptu meeting today. The day before my supposed wedding.

In the corner, a mannequin stands draped in white silk. A wedding dress. No doubt a message about the wedding I won’t be attending.

I circle the room, nodding to each person. They speak politely, but don’t invite conversation.

Eventually, after we have hung around for twenty minutes, my father decides to grace us with his presence. The door swings open, crashing against the wall as it meets the barrier. He stops, and his eyes snap to where the noise came from.

“Someone get that bloody door fixed,” he snarls, not looking at anyone in particular.

Multiple staff members scribble on notebooks, as if adding the task to their list. Ebony and my mother walk in behind him, both with their shoulders pushed back and chins held high.

“All of you sit down. We have business to attend to.”

All attendees scurry to their seats. I watch as they attempt to sit down calmly, but there is no missing the tension in the air. My father doesn’t call meetings like these for no reason. He either has an issue to discuss or a point to make. My guess is, it’s the latter.

I walk over and sit beside my mother. She gives me a tight smile but says nothing. My father doesn’t acknowledge my existence. Ebony arranges the armful of papers she carried in on the table, then glances up and smiles wide.

“Nice of you to join us, Joel.” My name rolls off her tongue with ease, like it has for the decades we’ve known one another. “We’re sorry to interrupt your schedule.” My brow furrows. “I’m only teasing. You look like you’ve swallowed a wasp.”

My father starts the meeting, and I half expect to be called out from the opening line.

But it doesn’t happen. He discusses income and expenditures, highlighting concerns he has from going over recent profit-and-loss reports.

He throws the occasional question my way, but mostly he focuses on lower-level managers, asking them to justify costs.

It’s at moments like this I appreciate just how switched on my father still is, and how close to the business he stays.

It’s only once I start to relax that his attention turns to me. Ebony clears her throat a little as I’m caught staring at my phone, hoping for a message from Nicky. I left her tucked up in bed at lunchtime after being told to come to work. Every part of me would rather be there with her.

“Are we an inconvenience, boy?” My father’s callous tone breaks through my thoughts. I look up and straight into the eyes of the man I should trust most. His use of the condescending name doesn’t go unnoticed, and there are sniggers around the table.

“What do you need, Father?” Summoning courage from somewhere, I stare straight back at him. “This is meant to be my day off.” His lips curl, half amused and half annoyed.

“A lot of things are meant to happen, Joel. That is not always the case.” His focus moves to the staff still sitting at the table.

“Leave,” he bellows, dismissing them all with one word.

They take the opportunity to run while they can.

Once the door is closed, he leans back in his chair, stretching his arms high above his head as if relieving tension. “Ebony will tell you.”

Ebony bounces in her seat, elated at being able to hold court. My mother reaches over beneath the table and takes my hand. Her fingers wrap around mine, and she squeezes. The gentle gesture takes me by surprise.

“We need to discuss the final arrangements for tomorrow,” Ebony says.

“What arrangements?”

She ignores me. “There will be press outside the cathedral. Ensure you acknowledge them. I’ve pulled a few favors to get the best photographers I can on site.” She glances at my father, who rewards her with a half-smile. Her face lights up.

“I won’t be at the cathedral.” My mother’s grip on my hand tightens.

“You’re obligated to,” my father growls, the undertone of fury bubbling beneath.

It was a sound I became so used to growing up, the notice that it was time to leave the room and not engage.

The fear that lived in my chest for decades surfaces, but I push it down.

“I made you aware of my decision before. I won’t be marrying Eliza. She knows that.”

Part of me assumes this is one final play on my father’s part to get his own way. There is no chance he would allow the wedding to proceed on the off chance I show up. But then again, he is a man used to always getting his own way by any means necessary.

“Tomorrow, you choose. You decide if you’re a Parker or a liability.” He pauses, then adds. “Pick wisely, boy.” He stands, pushing the chair back hard enough that it slides over the floor. And without so much as a glance or another word, he walks out.

Ebony gathers up her belongings then rises. She holds them to her chest, her expression a mixture of awe and fear. “Be careful.” Her tone is hushed, as if unsure if she’s warning or mourning me already.

My mother continues to hold my hand in silence.

We sit side-by-side, neither of us knowing what to say.

After a few minutes pass, I lift her hand to my lips and press down gently, then let go and leave.

As I’m closing the door, I hear the distinct sound of a woman crying.

My heart aches for my mother, but I refuse to be her.

I refuse to be tied to a loveless marriage.

***

“I hear congratulations are in order,” Drayton says, pulling a cigarette from the packet and lighting up. He draws deeply, then puffs smoke into the air in front of him. “A married man by tomorrow night, eh?” He raises an eyebrow as if he knows a lot more than he’s letting on.

Drayton has worked for my father as long as Boyd has, and he has a ragged scar on his cheek to prove it.

The two of them oversee the darker side of Parker Enterprises, the side I don’t want to be involved in.

He asked to meet me today to discuss some complexities happening within the walls of Guilty Secrets the past few weeks.

I don’t respond to his quip. He doesn’t need to know. Anyway, I’m sure he’s only fishing for information, probably at my father’s request. I wanted to meet at Parker Fashion; he insisted on meeting here.

The gentlemen’s club is on the top floor of a boutique hotel we own in the city.

It’s in a residential area, and only those invited get past the gates.

The old manor house sits on over an acre of manicured gardens.

A huge fountain creates a roundabout in front of the entrance for prestige cars to drive around when dropping off their clients.

Sandstone pillars on either side of the dark wooden door signal where patrons are to go.

The only sign detailing where they are is a small brass plaque: Guilty Secrets.

Drayton and I walk up the stone steps, and the front door opens before we reach it. A tall brunette wearing a black corset and tight red skirt pulls the door wide. “Good evening, Mr. Parker,” she purrs. “Are you interested in some personal entertainment before your meeting?”

I raise an eyebrow at her. I never sample the merchandise. It’s not my style, apart from a few times in my mid-teens when my father brought me here to make me a man. Losing my virginity to a hooker didn’t whet my appetite for sex with the staff—it did the exact opposite.

“No, thank you. Just ensure we aren’t disturbed.” She nods and scurries off.

Drayton’s office is on the top floor within the club.

The whole place oozes class and wealth. This establishment attracts men who desire quality surroundings and high-class products.

The stage sits in the center of the room with a silver pole extending from floor to ceiling.

Surrounding it are huge leather sofas set in groups for up to ten.

City celebrities, businessmen, and politicians hold many types of meetings here on Friday afternoons.

At the back of the room, a chrome bar runs the length of the wall.

The glass behind reflects the twinkling lights shining down from the ceiling.

The girls who work here wear as little as possible, most prancing around in skimpy thongs and skyscraper heels.

We operate on a no-touch policy unless otherwise arranged, and these arrangements only take place downstairs in the private hotel rooms. You can’t just book a room for the night online.

We vet all our guests for discretion and financial capability.

A concealed door behind the bar leads to the office. The club is filling with customers in search of some fun. I slip behind the slick surface and push open the door. Drayton saunters in behind me and immediately goes to pour us both a drink. Asshole. He knows I’m sober. I wave it away.

He sits on the dark leather chair, throws his feet on the desk, and smokes. “I must be in trouble if you lowered yourself to coming to see me. Am I on a warning?”

“You asked me to visit,” I mutter. “What the fuck is going on, Drayton? This place is causing me nothing but a headache. You need to get a grip on it, or I’ll be looking for new management.”

“These things happen,” he says with a sneer. “The kind of people whose money you take means there are going to be incidents.”

“A police visit every fucking week is more than an incident,” I snarl. “What did you want to discuss?”

Just then, I am aware of men behind me. When I turn around, my father stands surrounded by his men. I look between them all, a mixture of friends, family, and staff. They all have drinks in hand and raise them in my direction.

“You didn’t think I’d let you get married off without a bachelor party,” my father drawls, already half-cut. “Missy is waiting for you in room three.” The bastards all glance at each other, dirty smiles creeping over their faces.

My jaw locks, dumbstruck. I look from my father to Drayton, then back to the man who created me. Boyd is nowhere to be seen. My father takes three steps forward and grabs my shoulder. He crushes the muscle beneath his fingers.

“Now, get downstairs, boy. Ride a whore, then get up tomorrow and marry the future mother of your children.” He lets go, turns around, and raises his arms high.

Whiskey splashes over the edge of his glass.

“Right, men, let’s have some fun.” They all push each other out of the way, trying to leave the office and get to the ‘fun’ outside.

Without waiting for any other shit to happen, I tap my pocket to ensure my car keys are where I left them, then walk straight out of the building without looking back.

Let them drink. Let them fuck. I’ll take war instead.

***

Night has fallen by the time I’m back in my office. Most of the staff are gone. No one interrupts me. After today’s meeting, they’re staying out of my way. There are benefits to being the pariah.

I think back to Nicky and the way she has gone all in. You’re the best fuck I’ve ever had, and I’m not letting you go without a fight. That made me laugh. In a matter of weeks, I’ve gone from being alone to having someone on my side willing to fight. Someone I can see a future with.

I can’t believe she stayed. Needing some connection, I pick up my phone and send her a quick message.

Still thinking about you. I’ll be home soon. Stay fearless for me.

As I sit, waiting for her response, a knock at the door surprises me. Louise from reception pushes it open, the usual smile on her face missing. She walks over, not meeting my eye, and offers me the white envelope in her hand.

“From your mother,” she says, solemnly. “For your big day tomorrow.”

I take the envelope as if it might burn me. Louise watches my hands as I slide the card from its casing. I don’t hear Louise leave, too lost looking at the message in my hand.

‘Good luck’ is the perfect message—neutral. Empty. Safe.

The question is… do I comply with my father’s demands and marry for the good of the family, or do I go against everything the Parkers stand for and grab love with both hands?

Whatever I choose, something breaks.