CHAPTER ELEVEN
1752 Words
The night was starting to get busy, the hum of conversation and clinking of glasses filling the air as gamblers drifted in and out of the casino floor. Wes sat slumped at the bar, stirring the ice in his glass with a frown.
He was broke. Not just the usual kind of broke—no, this was the catastrophic, life-ruining, “your boss is probably gonna have you killed” kind of broke. His stocks? Gone. His savings? What savings? And to top it all off, he had somehow managed to bet away an apartment that wasn’t even technically his.
He groaned, rubbing his hands down his face. “I’m so screwed.”
Behind him, a very amused voice spoke up. “Having a crisis, Lucky?”
Wes groaned louder. “Oh, great. Wheels is back.”
Nathaniel laughed, rolling up beside him. “And yet, I’m not the one who just lost everything.”
“Hey, I didn’t lose everything,” Wes muttered, straightening up slightly. “I still have my—” He paused. “Wait, nope. Never mind. I literally have nothing.”
Nathaniel smirked. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”
Wes grabbed his drink and took a long sip, glaring at the man beside him. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“I really am,” Nathaniel admitted, signaling the bartender. “Give him another. He looks pathetic.”
Wes scowled but didn’t protest when a fresh drink was placed in front of him. He downed half of it before sighing. “You know, for a guy who’s supposedly dying, you sure have a lot of energy to be a pain in my ass.”
“And for a guy who talks big, you sure lose a lot.” Nathaniel smirked. “Maybe I should start calling you Unlucky instead.”
“Ha. Ha.” Wes rolled his eyes. “Laugh it up, Wheels.”
Nathaniel just shook his head. “So? What’s your brilliant plan now?”
Wes waved a hand. “I have a plan.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes.”
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly is this plan?”
Wes took another sip of his drink. “Still… in development.”
Nathaniel let out a short laugh. “You have no plan.”
“I have half a plan.”
“That’s generous.”
Wes groaned, slumping back against the bar. “I’ll figure it out.”
Nathaniel smirked. “You really are an idiot.”
“And yet, I’m somehow still your favorite person to annoy,” Wes shot back. “Makes you wonder, huh?”
Nathaniel just hummed, clearly entertained. “You’re not wrong. Watching you self-destruct is wildly entertaining.”
“Glad I could provide some entertainment.” Wes sighed. “Now, unless you’re here to magically fix my life, you can roll on outta here.”
Nathaniel grinned. “Actually… I might have a solution.”
Wes narrowed his eyes. “I don’t trust that look.”
Nathaniel’s smirk widened. “You shouldn’t.”
Wes rolled his eyes and took a sip from his drink, only to grimace when he realized the ice had melted, watering it down into something barely drinkable. He set the glass down with a sigh and reached for the fresh one placed in front of him. Without hesitation, he downed it in one go.
“You’re not interested?” Nathaniel’s voice was laced with amusement.
Wes wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Unless you’re offering me money, I might be.”
Nathaniel chuckled. “That’s an awful lot of pride for someone who has nothing.”
Wes scoffed, turning to face him fully. “Pride’s free, Wheelie.”
Nathaniel’s smirk deepened. “So is stupidity, apparently.”
Wes ignored him and signaled the bartender for another drink. He was already knee-deep in debt and had just lost his apartment—not that it was his to begin with—but somehow, sitting here drinking with this guy felt like the bigger mistake.
Nathaniel tapped his fingers against his glass. “How about a deal?”
Wes groaned. “Yeah, see, that’s where I usually walk away.”
“You don’t have the luxury of walking away.”
“That a threat?”
Nathaniel grinned. “A fact.”
Wes exhaled sharply, tilting his head back. “Fine. Let’s hear it.”
Nathaniel took his time, swirling the liquid in his glass before speaking. “I need someone to do a job for me. Someone who can get me into places, handle trouble for me, and—most importantly—owes me.”
Wes narrowed his eyes. “I don’t owe you.”
Nathaniel arched a brow. “You lost an apartment that wasn’t even yours. To me. You owe me.”
Wes clenched his jaw, gripping his glass a little too tightly. “What’s the job?”
Nathaniel smirked, victory flashing in his eyes. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Wes scowled. “I didn’t agree yet!”
Nathaniel wheeled himself back slightly. “You will.”
Wes groaned, knocking back another drink. He was so, so screwed.
He was about to stand up to give Nathaniel a piece of his mind when the liquor hit him all at once, making the room spin. His knee buckled, and he nearly went face-first into the floor.
A firm hand caught him just in time.
Wes blinked blearily and followed the source of the grip—one of Nathaniel’s suited men. The guy looked as blank-faced as ever, barely acknowledging the fact that he just saved Wes from public humiliation. Once Wes was steadied back onto his stool, the man reached into his pocket and handed him a card.
“See the chairman at that address tomorrow at eight.”
Wes squinted at the card, trying to focus. It was a sleek, black business card with nothing but an address printed on it.
“You gotta be kidding me.” He looked up at Nathaniel, who was watching the whole scene with clear amusement. “You really got your goons handing out invitations now?”
Nathaniel swirled his drink lazily. “It’s not an invitation, Weston—”
“It’s Wesley!”
“—it’s a demand.”
Wes groaned, rubbing his face. “Why the hell would I show up?”
Nathaniel’s smirk deepened. “Because if you don’t, I’ll personally make sure your very generous boss finds out what you did with his money.”
Wes froze.
Nathaniel tilted his head, clearly enjoying himself. “What was it again? That whole investment scheme? The one where you confidently assured him you’d double his money?” He tsked. “Bet he’d love to hear how that turned out.”
Wes clenched his jaw, gripping the business card so tightly it crumpled slightly. “How’d you even find out about that?”
Nathaniel wheeled himself a little closer. “Eight o’clock sharp, Weston.”
With that, he gestured to his men, and like that, they were gone.
Wes exhaled sharply and slumped forward, forehead resting against the counter.
He was so screwed.
He was about to scream his head off when his phone rang, completely ruining his moment.
He looked down and saw that it was his probation officer.
Wow. They’re just way too hardworking, aren’t they? It’s the middle of the damn night, and they’re still calling.
With a frustrated sigh, he answered.
“What?!”
A pause. Then a voice—sharp, unimpressed, and definitely not what he was expecting.
“Is that how you talk to your probation officer, Mr. Pierce? Just say the word, and I’ll gladly have the judge rescind the probation and have you locked up instead.”
Wes blinked. Not because of the threat. He was used to those. But because—
His PO was a girl?
He had imagined some old, balding dude with a beer belly and a permanent scowl. Someone who smelled like stale coffee and disappointment. But this one? This one sounded young. And—okay, fine—kinda hot.
He quickly cleared his throat and straightened up. “Uh. My bad. Just had a rough day.”
“That’s not my problem.”
Wes winced. Damn.
“Do you know why I’m calling?” she continued.
“Because you love the sound of my voice?”
Silence. A cold, deadly silence that made Wes immediately regret his life choices.
“I don’t have time for your nonsense, Mr. Pierce.” Her voice was clipped. “You missed your community service today.”
Wes groaned and ran a hand through his hair. Right. That stupid thing. He was supposed to show up at some hospice and—what was it again? Scrub floors? Pick up trash? Help the elderly? Something boring as hell, that’s for sure.
“Yeah, about that…” Wes stalled, searching for an excuse. “I had a very important meeting.”
“With who?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. Yeah, no way in hell was he about to tell her he spent the night getting scammed at poker by some smug billionaire in a wheelchair.
“Business partners.”
“Uh-huh.” She didn’t sound convinced. “Well, congratulations, Mr. CEO, but you’re still expected to complete every single one of your hours.”
Wes groaned again and let his head drop onto the bar counter. “Come on. Can’t you cut me some slack? I’ll make up for it.”
“Damn right you will. Double shift tomorrow. No excuses.”
“Double? Are you trying to kill me?”
“It’s community service, not a death sentence. Be there at seven sharp.”
Wes scowled. “What if I don’t show up?”
“Then I show up at your apartment with a warrant.”
Wes bit his tongue. This woman was evil.
“Fine.” He sighed dramatically. “But if I pass out from exhaustion, I’m suing you.”
“Good luck with that. Now, get some sleep. You sound like you’ve been drinking.”
“What, you’re my PO and my mom now?”
“If I were your mom, I’d be way more disappointed.”
Ouch.
Before he could come up with a comeback, the call ended.
Wes stared at his phone, still reeling.
His probation officer was a menace. A hot menace, but a menace nonetheless.
- Writer
