George
“You’ve been avoiding me!”
The voice on the phone ripped into him like a gale, sharp enough to sting with accusation.
Liam Vinson placed the other man’s voice–George Garlic–Dr. George Garlic, Ph.D. –probably the most arrogant asshole on the face of the planet. Liam’s previous plans for the day included anything but dealing with George. He’d rather take a trip to the dentist.
“Dr. Garlic?” Liam held the phone, his voice smooth and easy. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
Liam knew George’s type. The kind who thinks their shit doesn’t stink, that they can treat anyone like dirt.
He even dressed the part. George wore the most expensive suits Liam had ever seen–Brunello Cucinelli’s. Just the pocket square cost more than Liam’s suits. Tailored for intimidation, dressed for dominance, he was detailed right down to his socks. One suit cost a couple of house payments. He wanted you to know, upfront, how superior he was and how inferior you were.
Wasn’t working now though.
Liam’s attention was on the woman across the room waiting on him, top model, Daniella Stevens.
So, what was George on his high horse about now?
“For the amount of money I owe you, you at least owe me the decency of returning my calls!”
Liam sighed. He remembered the deal George had begged for. He had come to Liam for a loan to build a “smart park”, and Liam was the man with the money. He owned a highly successful chain of pawnshops and was in the moneylending business.
The deal was simple and sharp-edged: fifty acres of prime commercial land for collateral, one year to pay back the loan, or the land became Liam’s. A simple pawn ticket with a countdown. And George had walked into it like a man too smart to believe he could ever lose.
Liam did not even know what a “smart park” was, and still didn’t, but he figured he’d find out if he repossessed it.
“Don’t you ever check your messages?” demanded George, his voice so sharp that Liam winced and had to hold the phone further away from his ear.
He exhaled slowly, as if the call itself was a waste of breath. “I’ve been out of the country,” Liam replied, pacing now and glancing at his wristwatch. “You have to change SIM cards on your phone when you do that and change carriers, which changed my phone number. I just got back yesterday. So, what’s on your mind?”
“Well, while you were doing... whatever it is you do,” George informed him. “I’ve been dealing with something of your creation. That renter for my house? He hasn’t made his December rent payment.”
“What’s that got to do with me?” Liam replied, his tone casual.
“You rented it to him!”
Oh, yeah. That’s right. He had.
To keep George afloat, Liam had lined up a high-end renter for George’s impressive hillside estate overlooking Puget Sound—glass walls catching the light, a manicured drive curling past a private gate, swimming pool glittering like a jewel. Double the market rent, two months’ paid up front. Clean. Easy.
George wasn’t living there anyway; he was off chasing his smart-park fantasy five hundred miles away. Liam had solved his problem, covered his interest payments, and got an associate the house.
Liam hadn’t expected to hear from George again as once the loan papers were signed, he became immediate trailer trash to George. Thus, this call came as a surprise.
Liam kept his posture relaxed, trying to keep George’s venom at bay. He uncrossed his arms, moving slightly to the side, leaning against the counter.
Liam turned as Daniella, wrapped in a hotel-white towel, padded barefoot across the floor to him. She carried two mugs—his toddy already starting to fog the rim.
“That’s only a few days late.” He tilted his head slightly while placating George and accepting the drink with first a wink and then an offered gentle kiss before returning to the call. “He’s an MIT professor with perfect references and no other financial obligations. Unless he lost his job, he can afford it. Have you called him?”
“The phone number you gave me for him is disconnected.”
“Maybe he moved out?” Liam suggested, his tone level, as if he were discussing something trivial—like ordering a drink at the bar.
Daniella Stevens listened, waiting for him to finish the call and join her outside in his hot tub.
“Or maybe he never moved in,” George countered. “When his number came up disconnected, I looked him up on the internet, which lists an entirely different address and phone number for him.”
“Did you call it?”
“Yes! Sure, I called it! And I reached Professor Michael Verou and spoke with him personally, and he denied ever renting the house!”
Liam’s grip tightened on the phone, his face still cool. He shifted his weight, the movement small but deliberate. He wasn’t worried. Not yet. “I made certain he put the utilities in his name, and he did,” Liam said. “He rented it, alright.”
“Then I’m going to call the police on him.”
“You can try,” Liam explained, his eyes drifting back to Daniella Stevens as if he imagining himself somewhere far away with her, anywhere but dealing with this man. “But the police don’t take those kinds of calls, George. If you call the police and include them, you can expect them to write you a citation for a false alarm. This is a non-emergency. You’ll just have to go out there yourself.”
George did not like that at all. The volume of his voice further increased. He was now at DEFCON 3. “I want you to come with me. You rented it to him!”
“Go out there with you?” Liam asked mid‑sip, incredulous. “What? Are you here in town?”
“I am. I can be at the house gate in an hour.”
For him to be in town caught Liam off guard. George was serious. He wasn’t expecting this. He tried to get out of going. “I’m not in the business of collecting your rents, George.”
He tried to give Daniella an appreciative look as she pressed close, a spark of amusement in her eyes. She kissed him lightly, then slipped onto the sofa with a graceful ease that carried more challenge than submission. Her raised brow said what she didn’t: Hang up the phone already. I’ll make it worth your time.
It was definitely a reminder to get off the phone.
“You’re not a licensed realtor either,” George was saying, “but you just rented out a house. That’s illegal!”
Liam rolled his eyes. So that’s why George was calling. He wanted him to collect his rent. Otherwise, to a prick like George Garlic, who had thoroughly earned his last name, Liam wasn’t worth the time of day. Unless some poor bastard missed his rent. Then watch out.
“It’s not illegal when you do it for free,” he replied, glancing out the window of his view property at the warm mist rising from his hot tub overlooking his tennis court and covered swimming pool.
George’s voice grew even sharper. He now reached DEF-CON 4. Next was DEF-CON 5 with nuclear fallout. “You either come out there with me, or I’m turning this over to my attorney, and I’ll be including you in any lawsuit!”
Daniella tilted her head and mouthed, Everything okay? She caught just enough of his tone to know he had to take the call.
He raised his mug in a salute to her while staying on the phone.
George thought he was God, and you his lowest creation. George dressed for success and social domination. He expected respect from someone like Liam who wore blue jeans, tennis shoes, and polo shirts. In this case, though, George had probably bitten off more than he could chew. Some little bird told him this was not going to be George’s day. He could only pretend sympathy for George—who never spared any for anyone else. Why, if Liam had rented out his own house and someone missed the rent, George would hardly be offering to go out there along with him now. What was George so afraid of, anyway? They wouldn’t hurt him. They’d just pay him and get rid of him. It was simply an oversight somewhere. Still, George was serious about naming him in a lawsuit. Where George naturally confronted, Liam naturally avoided. He tried to placate him to get out of going.
“You don’t need me, George. You can handle it yourself if you’re here—”
“I’m not handling it myself,” George interrupted.
“—and, besides, I have other plans,” Liam finished, giving Daniella an appreciative look.
She mouthed: Hang up. I’ll make it worth your while.
Liam eyed Daniella, blonde and inviting with a hot toddy. Far better than a 45‑minute drive to George’s house. The only thing he’d accomplish by humoring “King George” would be making himself another one of George’s lowly servants to be ordered about. For some reason, people did things for George. It must be the suit, he decided—an expensive suit stuffed with a stuffed shirt.
Yet, for being such an arrogant jackass, he never bragged. George never bragged about anything. Not even how smart he was or what his suits cost. Yet he was still a snooty, arrogant SOB. It was the way his eyes looked at you–like you were a McDonald’s employee asking him if he’d like a super-sized order of fries to go with that multi-million dollar construction loan.
Liam doubted he’d even recognize George in passing on the streets, but for his suits.
A tall figure, silhouetted against his office backdrop, George’s demeanor exuded an air of perpetual discontent. His long, thin black hair seemed to reflect the ceiling lights, framing a face marked by pale blue eyes that held a constant flicker of dissatisfaction. A pointy nose, ever so slightly upturned, completed the portrait of a man who always looked unhappy, like there was some other place he’d rather be.
And with Liam, that “someplace else” was probably anywhere else but with him, including sharing a sidewalk. It was rather a surprise, then, for George to call now. Liam had no idea what George did in his own time and no desire to find out.
“If I don’t get my house rent,” George went on, his voice full of demanding warning, “you don’t get your interest payment!”
Liam was unconcerned. If George thought he was screaming now about his rent payment, wait until his loan payment comes due. But that wasn’t his problem. That was George’s.
To Liam, expensive dress was a burden—dictating what you could drink or eat, lest you risk a red wine spill. He dressed casual, in jeans and polos, and left it to his housekeeper to wash out the stains or replace the shirt. Clothes weren’t his status. But George? Owning that hillside estate with its glass walls, private gated drive, and swimming pool glittering above Puget Sound certainly was.
Liam really had about as much use for George as a wad of chewing gum stuck to the bottom of a chair. If not for the threat of having to go to the waste of hiring a lawyer and appearing in court, he saw no reason to put up with George for even one more minute, let alone an hour or two of his time, just to pacify him. He’d even wish George luck, asshole that he was, just so long as he didn’t have to go out to the house with him.
“If anything is going on up there, I want you with me,” George went on, still insisting. “I’m serious about including you in any lawsuit. You know who my lawyer is, don’t you?”
“Wade Tuckerson,” Liam said, his voice lowering, though the rest of his face remained a mask of calm indifference.
Daniella might have recognized the name. “Business calls during foreplay. Classic.”
He held up his hand for her to wait. He had no desire to sit in a courtroom for hours with Wade Tuckerson. The first rule of business is stay away from attorneys.
George was still talking. “Yes! And he’s the best there is! So which is more important? Your date or a date in court with my attorney? So what’s it going to be? Are you coming with me or not?”
Liam balanced on succumbing to George’s demands or not. The prospect of spending a day in court with an attorney, especially George’s formidable lawyer, Wade Tuckerson, dressed in his own Brunello Cucinelli’s, would hardly be fun. The image of legal battles and unnecessary complications of just trying to find a parking space at the courthouse clouded his plans with Daniella.
He glanced at the hot tub waiting outside, where he and Daniella awaited their fun. A sigh escaped his lips. The simplicity of a sexual match versus the looming legal entanglements presented a stark contrast. He could give in or otherwise step into a potentially undesirable situation if he stood his ground, hung up, had fun, and then faced the consequences of a brewing storm with Wade Tuckerson.
Daniella’s mouth remained in a smile, but her eyes held the faintest glimmer of challenge. Choose wisely, they seemed to say. I don’t like being second choice.
Liam was caught between the warmth of Daniella’s smile and the cold bite of Wade Tuckerson’s courtroom. Whichever way it went, someone was going to make him regret it.
