Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 113272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113272 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 566(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Vicious reached for my cheek and brushed a lock of hair from my eye, his body so close to mine I could feel his heat. It threw me back to the night we kissed all those years ago. I didn’t remember the moment fondly.
“Do you trust me with your life?” His voice was black velvet, caressing me in places he had no business reaching.
“No,” I answered truthfully, closing my eyes, wishing it was someone else who was making me feel what I was feeling.
Hot.
Wanting.
Wanted.
Anyone else but him.
“Do you trust me with mine?” he asked.
The man was smart. No, smart was putting it mildly. More like a genius. He was cunning and intelligent and always a step ahead of everyone else. He kept his ass covered. I knew that, even though we’d only lived close to each other during my senior year. In those months, I’d seen him walk out of so much trouble. From hacking into teachers’ laptops and downloading exams, selling them to desperate students for a ludicrous price, to burning up a restaurant at the Todos Santos marina.
But we weren’t kids anymore. We were grown-ups, and the consequences were heavier.
I nodded yes.
“Show up at work tomorrow at eight thirty a.m. sharp, Help. It’s the address I gave you at that bar. And don’t make me regret my generosity.”
I felt a breeze moving across me when he turned the corner and left the hallway, silent as a ghost. I heard the door to my building slamming shut downstairs, and that’s when I opened my eyes.
It was a good thing I remembered the address he’d scribbled for my so-called “tip” by heart. I’d somehow inked it into memory, just like everything else about him. My default mechanism with Vicious was to collect everything about him.
And now, apparently, I had a new job working beside him.
I unlocked the door and found Rosie asleep. I was relieved her meds had allowed her to sleep through the commotion we’d caused in the hallway. That was the moment I decided this was the right choice to make.
This was just another stolen-textbook moment.
I had to bow down in submission, take this Big Bad Wolf’s heat, and then walk out of the situation with what I needed. But this time, I was going to be the one to leave on my own terms, not his.
That was my promise to myself.
I hoped to God I could keep it.
“I’LL FUCKING RUIN HER.” I rolled a pen between my fingers—Help’s pen—the one I’d snagged from her at McCoy’s.
She hadn’t noticed the pen was missing—she was too flustered to realize what was happening—and that was exactly how I liked her. The pen was chewed on at the top, and it was so fucking typical of Emilia. She used to leave chewed pencils on her desk every single day in calculus class.
I may have picked them up.
I may have saved them.
They may still be in a drawer somewhere in my old room.
Shit happens when you’re a horny teenage boy.
I rolled my executive chair back, pushing from my desk and swiveling toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan.
People said New York made them feel small.
But I thought New York made me feel pretty fucking big.
From my point of view, I sat on the twenty-third floor of a skyscraper, and I motherfucking owned the whole floor. Thirty-two people worked here, soon to be thirty-three when Miss LeBlanc joined us, and they all answered to me. Depended on me. Smiled at me in the hallway, even though I was an ill-mannered bastard. I mean, how could New York make me feel small when I grabbed it by the balls and made a last-minute reservation at Fourteen Madison Park for tonight?
Some folks were owned by New York, and some folks owned it. I was among the latter. And I didn’t even live in the fucking city usually.
“You will not ruin your stepmom,” Dean dismissed with a laugh. I was still facing the Manhattan view. He was on speaker. “You’ve been watching too much Pinky and The Brain. Only you don’t want to take over the world, you just want to shit on people’s lives.”
“She texted me last night that she’s landing in New York this afternoon and expects me to clear my schedule for her,” I fumed. “Who does she think she is?”
“Your stepmother?” Dean’s voice was light and amused.
It was four fifteen a.m. on the West Coast, the ass-crack between night and morning. Not that I gave a fuck. He wasn’t used to the time difference yet. Lived in New York for the last ten years of his life. And he was chill by nature, the little fuckwit.
“And to be fair, you were supposed to be back in California by now. What’s taking you so long?” he asked. “When the fuck are we switching back?”
I heard the woman who was in bed with him—in my Los Angeles bed, fucking gross—moaning in protest at his loud voice. I licked my lips and twisted Help’s pen in my hand. I still needed to tell him that I’d hired her, but decided to wait till next week. He had no idea she was living in New York all these years, and I wanted to keep it that way.