Heartless People |Book 2|

Chapter 31

"What strange creatures brothers are!"

—Jane Austen

BAMBAM

"Another," I hissed, throwing back my shot. The bartender simply raised his eyebrow at me, shaking his head, yet he continued to pour.

What was he going to tell me? To go home—scratch that—to go back to my hotel room? With as much as I was tipping him, he'd better keep his opinions to himself.

"Well lookie here, if it isn't the Bambam Manoban. Maybe this is my lucky night."

Fuck man. I sighed before turning to look at Archer White, the lead presidential reporter for fucking TIME magazine, a.k.a. a fucking pain in my ass.

"What do you want, Archer?" I sneered.

"One Pepsi."

"Pepsi? You pussy." I laughed.

He pulled out his cellphone, ready to start recording. "Can I quote you on that?"

"What the fuck is your problem? I'm not running for motherfucking office! Who gives a shit about what I say?"

"The people of the United States are losing democracy. Your father-in-law is running without any real opponent. He's basically won and that's without answering any real questions: women's rights, gay rights, global warming, war, economic relations, education..."

"I get it! Now go ask Senator Myoi, 'cuz I still don't understand why you're pestering me."

"You're his son-in-law, you've been on his campaign trail for months. You bought your wife a brand new diamond necklace the same day you went to a soup kitchen. You're a fucking prince, and your whole family feeds on greed. Have you ever worked a day in your life? All this money you people just suck down your fat throats—"

Snatching his neck, I pulled him up onto his feet. "Now that we're both standing, say that to my face you fucking—"

"BAMBAM!" Jessica, my least favorite political strategist and leash holder, grabbed my arm, doing her best to pull me back. "Bambam, we need to go now. No more drinks."

I let him go, but the asshole couldn't seem to shut his dirty fucking month!

"Do you have an addiction, Mr. Manoban?" he asked, rubbing his neck as he held his phone up.

Snatching it from his hand, Jessica left a bill on the table. "Journalists used to be respected. They didn't stalk citizens, wait for them to drop then poke at them. You can quote me on that. Good night, Mr. White."

I felt like a child the way she dragged me from the bar. Her tiny olive toned hand wouldn't let go of my shirt until we crossed the ivory floors into the damned elevator. Of course my master suite would be on the 67th floor.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" she hissed at me, her dark eyes burning with rage. "You could have killed him."

"No, I should have killed him. He didn't have any right to speak to me like that. I'm a fucking Manoban!"

"So what?"

"So what? Being a Manoban..."

"Being a Manoban doesn't mean shit here! It's about being a Myoi, being President. I get it, you're used to breaking the fingers of people who even look at you funny. But, like I said when you first joined the trail, you have to take the mud thrown at you, and you have to take it humbly. The big picture, remember? We're on the home stretch. Just keep doing everything you've been doing up until tonight."

"Yeah, you mean keep being a bitch. Thanks for reminding me, Jessica. I'll just go iron my money suit now." I stepped onto my floor.

"That's all I ask." She shook her head as the door closed and all I could do was flip her off.