Chapter 7 Administrator

The waiter returned with a cream pot and a small pot of brown sugar. He shoveled in a few scoops of white and brown before emptying the pot into his cup and stirring.

“I see Becca’s not here,” Dorian said after taking a long drink of the bitter, creamy, sweet drink.

It landed like electricity in his blood. He’d have to run off the residual energy, but it was better than falling asleep at this fucking administrative meeting that was certain to piss him off.

“I certainly hope you don’t plan to attend the Luncheon in this state,” Vincent hissed. 

“Depends. I’ll let you know.”

“You little—“

“Sorry to interrupt,” a man’s voice cut in. Dorian didn’t need to look up to know he was one of the older lackeys of the Society. “The administrator will see you now, Mr. Dorian.”

Dorian glowered at his mug, wishing there was Bailey’s or whiskey on the table, but he stood and followed the man out of the restaurant hall and away from Vincent and Heather’s irritating existences. The further away the chatter of the dining hall grew, the louder his thoughts grew. 

First, fuck Vincent for getting him into this bullshit, and Vincent’s parents, and their parents, and all the way back to the founding member who started this shit. 

Second, fuck Mason and his drama. He grimaced a bit at the thought. 

Fine. Fuck Mason’s ex and her drama. Better.

If she had kept her bullshit where no one could see it for at least another year, Dorian wouldn’t be in this situation. He might already be traded off with the best offer anyone could buy, whether the Society liked it or not. Now, he was back on Fortuna, bracing to listen to the old, fat fuck tell him what the Society expected of him now. There were so many ways to tell him to fuck off, but the irritation of it was ruining his residual high.

The lackey knocked and pushed the door open before walking away. The silent expectation for him to enter made him want to walk off just to be spiteful, but he wasn’t sixteen anymore. He knew it wasn’t that simple, so he walked through it and closed it behind him. As soon as his eyes found the person on the other side of the desk, he knew things had gotten more complicated.

He didn’t recognize this man at all.

“Weight loss program, or new hire?”

The man didn’t even crack a smile or look up from whatever her was writing. Oh, great, the silent game. He loved this game. He scanned the room. The desk was clear save for the man’s laptop, but it was closed. Whatever he had to say was going to have a helpful slide deck attached. 

The man was as old as Vincent, though whatever touch-ups he’d had done were more subtle, and he had a full head of thick-looking dark hair. His suit was more relaxed, tailored to emphasize his broad shoulders. He was probably tall, not as tall as the giant, long-haired fucker on his team, or even Animkii’s mini-me, but tall enough. 

To leave or not to leave? That was the question. Would it be nobler to suffer the machinations of the Society and play along, or say fuck it and not let this fucker waste what little free time he had, and by leaving, make his future more difficult?

He sipped, holding back a smile at the drama of his own thoughts. He hadn’t read anything but a playbook in years. Maybe he should take a page out of Animkii’s book and pick up some hobbies again.

Chief among them: malicious compliance.

Dorian went to the window on the other side of the room, opened it, and climbed onto the sill, drinking. The view was nice enough over the Resort’s lawn and beyond to the ocean. The scent of the ocean and the warm, humid air was always welcome. He leaned back, pulled out his phone, and started playing solitaire, turning the sound up so every chime and ding filled the air. 

The administrator cleared his throat. Dorian didn’t turn back, sipping, enjoying the breeze, and moving a red and black stack to an empty spot.

“Dorian.”

Dorian ignored him, watching the clock. A whole minute passed, and he beat the level before starting a new one, not bothering to turn the volume down.  

“I cut my teeth on power games, and no one has been able to dick me around since I graduated high school.” Dorian glanced over the man with a vicious smile. “You’re a mouthpiece for the Society. I’m the product. Next time, I’m just going to leave and find a mouthpiece that knows its place.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I can see what he meant.”

“I’m sure it was bullshit.” He went back to his game. “What do they want? We’re already heading into a full-on back-to-back dynasty.”

The projector clicked on. Dorian rolled his eyes. Of course, there was a fucking slide deck. Dorian moved the ace of hearts.

“The Society has decided you’ve run amok long enough. Due to certain changes in the Centurion’s image—“

“Mason’s cheating girlfriend?”

“—the Society has decided to enforce some changes that will also benefit your father’s company.”

Dorian moved the king of spades into an empty spot and kept his face neutral. It was almost laughable that they were bringing up Knox Enterprises now. Once, he had wanted to wear the suits and dress shoes, sit at the table, make decisions that would affect hundreds of thousands of people, if not millions. 

Once, it had been all he’d been working for, all that had gotten him up in the morning aside from his books and the thought that one day he wouldn’t be such a disappointment, but that version of him died years ago.

Sex and victory were doing more than Vincent’s silence ever had, more than his grandfather’s anger, too. This Dorian Knox was a hockey player, a dumb jock who thought with his dick half the time and a hockey stick the rest. 

“Good for Vincent. I always thought he could deal with a better wife. Becca has always needed a better mom.”

“You’ll be matched with a woman around your age, building the relationship into a formal dating arrangement for a year, and you’ll have three to get married…”

Dorian stopped listening then because there wasn’t shit he could say that Dorian hadn’t imagined one of the mouthpieces saying before, except one thing. 

“You’ll take a three-year sabbatical from the—“

“I’m going to stop you, right there,” Dorian said, tucking his phone in his pocket after beating another level. “That’s not happening.”

“That wasn’t a request.”

“And I’m not bargaining.” Dorian slipped off the sill and finished his coffee. “Tell your betters they’ve already killed the scholar and the businessman. All that’s left is the hockey player.”

He scoffed. “You’re too old not to know that’s not how it works.”

Dorian narrowed his eyes. “I’m not my father.”

The man shifted and worked his jaw, but he said nothing. His watch chimed, and Dorian headed to the door. 

“We aren’t—“

“I am.”