Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55984 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
I go to my suitcase in the corner and grab a change of clothes before locking myself in the bathroom. Only then do I realize I still clutch the envelope from Mr. Tacone. I stick my thumb under the flap and tear it open. Six crisp hundred-dollar bills slide out with a note of paper.
I draw in my breath. For someone who has pretty much been broke, eating nothing but ramen noodles through college and grad school, it’s a lot of money. I had scholarships and assistantships in college, but that still put me below the poverty level. Adjunct teaching hasn’t exactly paid the bills, either.
The note’s written in the same neat penmanship on the envelope.
Sondra—
Sorry for scaring you. Money doesn’t fix everything, but sometimes it helps. I hope you’ll return to work tomorrow.
—Nico
My heart skitters. Nico. He signed his first name? And apologized. Not in person, but still, it’s an apology.
I hope you’ll return to work tomorrow.
The image of his face leaning just inches from mine as he gripped the towel that bound me against him flashes through in my mind. My knees go weak. He wants me to return?
He guessed correctly that I planned to quit and never set foot in the place again. I fan myself with the six hundred-dollar bills. Some people would take a high moral ground. Say they wouldn’t let him buy their silence or compliance or whatever. But not me. He’s right. Money does go a helluva long way to fixing things.
Still, the asshole held a gun to my head. And stripped me naked. And I peed. It was the most humiliating moment of my entire life.
But my sense of violation fades as I remember the way he also shoved me in the shower, toweled me off and murmured, you’re okay.
I stare at the money. Six hundred dollars closer to moving off my cousin’s couch and into my own place. Six hundred dollars closer to getting another car. I can buy groceries and pay my cousin back for what she’s already spotted me.
Maybe it wouldn’t kill me to show up at work tomorrow. Yes, it had been utterly humiliating, but I’ll probably never see the guy again. It would save me the trouble of finding a new interim job while I figure my life out.
I exhale slowly, trying to erase the vision of Tacone brushing my hair back from my face, his penetrating stare. I won’t have to see him again. And that’s a good thing. Definitely a good thing.
Nico
Sondra Simonson. It’s her real name. I asked security to pull everything they can find on her and bring me the file. Along with the video feed of our interaction.
Turns out Samuel, the head of housekeeping, already fired Marissa, Sondra’s boss, for leaving her up in my suite, but I call him myself to say it’s all right.
And to request Sondra replace the regular penthouse suite housekeeper.
Because if she doesn’t quit, I definitely want her up in my room again.
Naked.
Preferably naked and willing this time, but I’d be a goddamn liar if I said I didn’t like her a little scared. There was something so appealing about the way she both trembled and got turned on when I stripped her.
Or had I imagined it?
I’ll find out soon enough. Where is that damn video feed? I’m like a junkie waiting for his next hit. I can’t wait to watch the video of her. I’m going to be fucking my hand all night to the sight of her pouty lips and wide blue eyes decorating my screen.
A knock sounds on the door. “It’s Tony.” The deep voice of my right-hand man echoes through the door.
“Yeah?”
“I dropped her off.” He steps in and gives me a careful look. I know he didn’t come in here just to tell me that. He came in to find out what the hell happened. Why I sent the maid home wet and scared.
He’s worried about me. My mental state is starting to crumble with the inability to sleep. He’s too smart to come out and ask me what happened. He knows I’d tell him to mind his own fucking business. But he’s made a career out of standing around me silently, serving as my bodyguard, making himself available when I do feel like confiding.
He’s not family. He’s not even Italian. He’s just a big, loyal guy from Cicero who decided I was the guy he was going to follow into the bowels of hell. I guess you could say he’s the closest thing I have to a friend.
If a Tacone ever really has a friend.
“She’s new. I thought she looked off, so I strip searched her.”
A muscle in Tony’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t say anything. Tony is absolutely a defender of women. His ma was abused by his dad pretty bad and he’s still eager to even that score with any guy who manhandles a woman. Probably even, if it came down to it, me.