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She chuckles as we make our way out of the palace to take a stroll with the baby in the fresh air.
CHAPTERTWO
JORDAN
My office isfull of alcohol, cigars, flowers from my admirers, and sneakers.
It’s my fifty-first birthday, and I’m writing a hate email to one of my son’s assistants. I expected the results of my son’s cars’ inspections yesterday, but the fucker ghosted me. Alex is busy with his playoffs, so I don’t want to bother him with this.
I’ll take care of it myself, and I’ll fire the lousy piece of shit if he doesn’t do as toldvia email. Alex forbids me from yelling at his employees.
There’s a knock on my door, but I ignore it. I’m fixated on finishing my email. The keys of my laptop have miraculously survived the months of abuse I put them through. I change laptops frequently. There’s always a new model to test, fewer fingerprints to be left on the internet.
“Sir?”
I roll my eyes, but I finish my email, and I send it. Typos can go get fucked. I’ll show up to the assistant’s home, and then I’ll let him laugh at my typos while I extract his fucking eyes and let him eat his eyeballs.
“Come in,” I yell, shutting my laptop.
Måns walks in with a low and subdued gaze. His posture is strong and proud, though. He’s my soldier through and through. I tell him to cut his pompadour-like sandy blond undercut every day, but he doesn’t listen. My soldiers don’t need to look like Elvis. We shouldn’t add too many details to our looks as palace employees, but since Måns is my top soldier, he gets away with it. “Sir, do you have a minute to spare?”
“I told you don’t call me ‘sir,’ son. I’m Jordan,” I remind him, gesturing at the seats in front of my desk.
Måns nods, lowering his gaze. What’s so interesting about the edge of my desk? It’s plain wood, with no fancy ornaments. It looks like a low-level secretary’s desk, but I don’t care. It survived the hundreds of times I’ve knocked it over in my five years of being in charge. “I’ll make the necessary arrangements, s—”
He stops himself before calling me sir again. He goes on, “I’ve been hearing some rumors.”
“What type of rumors are we talking about?” I ask, sitting back on my chair. Måns reminds me of Fylox when he was his age, fierce and loyal. He doesn’t have a hint of darkness in him, unlike Fylox, though. He’s a good kid, trying to find his footing in this world. Måns is the younger brother of one of the doctors in the Queen I hospital. They moved to Katantia five years ago, and he’s been working for the palace ever since.
“So, my friends in California say that the databases we have are outdated….” He goes on to give me an entire oral presentation, and I take in the details. The kid isn’t dumb, and he works hard. He’s got something, so I trust him. If there’s one thing my therapy sessions have helped me with, it’s trusting others more.
Now, I know that I make mistakes. Others do so, too. Whether I let them in or not, mistakes will be made, nonetheless. We’re humans, not robots. Still, I don’t trust just about anyone. I have my favorite soldiers, and Fylox keeps teasing me about the ranking system my employees have created.
Fylox teases me.
Kamila has changed my boys. There are some days where I wish that Fylox and Alex had separate women, but then I see our young king, and I know that it works for them. Two dads are better than one. Fuck. What did the kid say?
“Excuse me?” I blurt out.
“I said Happy Birthday,” Måns utters. He’s a big guy, but he knows authority. And when I’m in the room, even the top dogs cower. “Mrs. Cross has sent out invitations. She said to dress up.”
“As what?” I ask, not having bothered to involve myself with my sister’s party for my birthday. If I could somehow stay at home, I would. However, Weston and Mandy have traveled all the way from Texas to be here for myspecial day.Aris and Valentina will babysit all the babies, their own, Kendrick and Amalia. I must make an appearance at my party.
“Ehm…” Måns struggles to find the right words. “All the women are supposed to come dressed as schoolgirls. For men, the dress code is suit and tie. Basically, we’re supposed to look like professors.”
“For fuck’s sake.” I’m disgusted at this shit, squinting my eyes and flaring my nostrils.
“It’s just a party,” Måns assures me. “Mrs. Cross doesn’t mean anything by it. Right?”
“Måns, it’s been five years. She’s Felicita, and I’m Jordan. Cut the Mr. and Mrs. shit,” I demand. He makes a note of it, but I know that he’ll start back up with it in a week or two. He’s in my sister’s bodyguard roster, but my sister rarely leaves the palace. When she does, I have one of the old guys take her where she needs to go. Måns has more intricate tasks at the palace. “And no, my sister means something by everything she does. She wants me to fuck a schoolgirl, and I’m not having it. I’m too old for this shit.”
Måns flinches at the curse word. In front of my men, I rarely lose my temper, but my sister is trying to aggravate me. She has succeeded. “We’ll all be there. We’re very sorry that your son can’t come. Mrs.… Felicita has organized an entire theater downstairs. She will live stream the game during the party.”
“For us, his game is in the morning,” I remind Måns.
“It’s a party. It’ll go all night.” Måns smirks.Fuck it. I can afford one night of entertaining my family. “I have to go back to my shift now.”
“Yeah, I know. You don’t want to lose your top spot on the ranking system,” I say.
