I tilt my head, plucking a dark brow at him - an obvious demand for an explanation. I wait. The window winds down, revealing his clear-blue eyes. Of course, he’s wearing a tailored black three-piece suit. He’s always ‘on‘.
There is a refined kind of confidence to him. One that teases others with a lingering indifference. He’s got emotional walls the size of the goddamn Himalayas. I couldn’t even guess how he actually feels if my life depended on it.
He smiles softly. “The boys are going to be late today. I’ll take you to school.”
I smirk at him, leaning back on the heel of my black ankle boots. “I don’t get into stranger’s cars without lollypops. It’s just slack. You should have come prepared.”
He holds his hand up as his driver says something to him. “That’s an inappropriate joke,” he states, looking deadpan at me.
I smile nervously. “Yes. But ajoke.”
Clay slides over the two leather seats to push the passenger door open for me. “Come on, Shoshanna. I don’t bite. And I’m sure I can find a mint if that is a requisite for your company.”
I blink at him as he moves back to his seat. I’m a little thrown by his attempt at humour. Suddenly feeling prickles hit my neck, I peer over the black roof to find several of my neighbours in their gardens, pretending to trim their twiggy rose bushes. I get it. At twenty-five, Clay Butcher is a household name. ‘He’ll be the premier of Western Australia one day, running the entire state’, people whisper.
Sighing, I step in, dragging my heavy school bag with me. I drop it on the leather seat between us.
Clay leans back, comfortable in his space while I feel anything but. It’shisspace. I scoot closer to the door, leaning against it.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask, trying to not feel the beat of my heart in my ears. I can’t remember ever being alone with Clay Butcher. Not once in the four years that Bronson and I have been dating. I like him, but he’s definitely not the kind of man you let your guard down around.
Twisting his torso to face me, he lifts his knee on the seat. A casual position he might offer a friend.
That’s weird. . .
Staring at me with that smooth, rich Clay Butcher smile, he says, “Don’t be nervous. You’re very important to my brother and to my family.”
I nod. “Your family is very important to me.”
He lets out a deep chuckle. “Did you know I wasn’t around much when the boys were young? I never really had time to protect them. From-” He considers his words. “Our lifestyle.”
As the car begins to roll, I feel butterflies move inside my stomach. “There’s a big age gap, so I bet they annoyed you,” I say, trying not to appear nervous. I just don’t know the direction of the conversation, and since he is unreadable, I can’t pre-plan my answers.
He eyes me with calm confidence. “Belt, Shoshanna. Mark is an excellent driver, but he’s not used to carrying such precious cargo.” I fumble for words while my hands search for the belt and drag it over my shoulder, doing as I’m told. I doubt Clay oftenasks. He commands.
“No,” he says, after I have clipped the belt in. “They never annoyed me. I didn’t see them enough for them to annoy me because Victoria had me young. When she was your age, actually.”
He knows. I speak through a sigh. “Bronson told you?”
He clasps his hands in front of him, resting them on his lap. “Yes. Congratulations.”
I scoff once but clear my throat to mask it. “But you think I’m too young. That we’re too young. That I’m ruining his life?”
His clear blue eyes measure me up with the slightest of amusement. “I think you are in love with my little brother and youaregoing to be very happy.”
Woah.I smile tightly because the way he played with the wordaremakes my butterflies dizzy. I’d murder all the fuckers if I could; they have no place in my stomach. “Wow. . . Well, thank you?”
“Shoshanna.” He speaks my name in a serious tone. “It is important you understand what this means. What your part is-”
“Did you pick me up to interrogate me?” I cut in, gazing at the driver as he navigates the streets of the District. He doesn’t turn to look at us, and I wonder what it would be like to know these powerful men’s secrets and dealings while pretending to be ignorant and uninterested.
“No, not at all,” Clay assures me. “Let’s start here. When I was born, Butch was a newly made man in his twenties. Just starting out. Jimmy and this life kept him very busy. Boxing and the business. . . kept himverybusy. So they sent me away to boarding school.”
“Is that why Butch is with Victoria? Because she got pregnant?” I ask. What is he implying? That I am like her? Bronson is not with me out of obligation. “That’s not what’s happening here, you know that, right?”
“I know that,” he says. “My brother breathes for you.” I sigh my relief, not wanting anyone to think that. “It was a business deal,” he says, correcting me. “Victoria and Butch, that is. Through all her faults as a mother, she makes a very skilled and loyal partner in our business.”
My stomach flips. Why is he being so candid? “Why are you telling me this?”