AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Peyton!” Deena cried in disbelief. “Of course he lives in Chicago—Luke Preston. Of the Preston and Preston Group? You know, the billionaires.”
“W-what?” She’d been so sold on the idea that he was a lazy and languorous surf boy, she’d never imagined, never even thought about the mega-rich Prestons from Chicago. “You mean he’s from those Prestons? I thought he was a model and a beach bum and that his last name was Alexander!”
Her mind flashed back to the tattoo and the one time she’d asked him about it.
“What does your tattoo mean?”
“I have a tattoo?”
“Come on! Preston. Is that your nickname?”
“Preston? PRESTON? I told the tattoo artist it was Peyton, damn it. Now I’m gonna have to sue their lame asses.”
She’d dropped the topic because she’d assumed it was some sort of nickname and because he’d kissed her and it was only a fling and his pretense to want her name on his beautiful skin had been so sweet and because in the end she figured it didn’t matter what it meant.
Luke had fit so well in the Mayan Riviera, lounging under the sun, tangled between the hotel sheets with her, smiling at her with that sparkle in his eye, her golden angel gone devil in bed…
God. He wasn’t a beach bum. He was a billionaire. From Chicago. “This and that.” “Nothing important.” “Hi, I’m Luke Alexander.” Her ass!
And could someone please tell her what in the world the rebel child of the Preston family, a multimega-gazillionaire, was doing all by himself in a family resort playing with Toad, for heaven’s sake?
“Yeah, the guy models, all right. Merely because he loves the attention and he’s a total rogue and a total playboy with time to spare. But the man doesn’t have to do a whit to live like a king. In fact, he lives in the same building as Gary—on the top three floors.”
The woman nodded toward a man who’d been straining to hear their conversation and who was also an assistant to one of the other partners in the firm. His elbow slipped on the desk and he nearly fell. He straightened immediately with as much dignity as he could muster and nodded.
“I’m sorry,” he said, walking around his desk and heading toward them with short, bouncy steps while he clasped his hands in front of him in an angelic pose. “Excuse me, I was minding my own business, of course, but I couldn’t help but overhear you. Are you talking about my Luke?”
“You’re friends?” Peyton nodded toward the magazine advertisement.
Gary nodded. “He lives in my building. He’s very friendly! One time my dog went up with him on his elevator and the guy was really nice. And so hot I went gayer just sharing the elevator with him. Hey, did you all know he just got shot?”
“Excuse me?” Peyton was bowled over by this last bit.
She was never one to gossip but now it seemed that if she’d paid a little more attention and focused on numbers a little less, she’d have known all about Luke “Alexander” my-middle-name-is-Meaningless my-last-name-is-fucking-Fling. Oh, and did I mention I’m one of those freaking Prestons?
“Yes,” Gary said, “apparently he was having sex with some random stranger and one of the woman’s lovers got in there and shot him. Missed his heart by a hair. He’s been called a ‘Walking Miracle’ but I’d say the miracle happened when the man was born—goodness.”
Simmering with indignant rage, Peyton hastily recovered the magazine and headed toward her office. “Thank you, get back to work.”
They called him the Walking Miracle?
They should call him the Cock-Sucking Pig!
It was too much, knowing her handsome, drop-dead-gorgeous fling was the closest thing to a male prostitute. And that he was so close, yet she couldn’t see him and had to somehow find a way to forget him. It was about the hardest thing she’d ever set her mind to in her whole career and life. But still, she made an effort.
Two weeks passed, and Peyton could only lie in her bed at night and stare up at the ceiling of her small but luxurious apartment, thinking of him. She would get wet and shaky just remembering. One night she was in so much need and yet so furious at him for lying to her, for invading her life so, for branding her body with his touch, that she rose, yanked out the advertisement from the magazine, tore his face and perfect body into tiny little pieces, and flung the pieces into the trash can, only to return to her big, lonely, king-sized bed, feeling just as bad or even worse.
“Miss Lane, may I have a word with you?” Gary asked this morning as she headed toward her office. She actually liked this man very much. She’d talked to him several times recently—making sure she didn’t discuss Luke, of course—and he was a likeable, funny sort with a very sensitive heart.
“Sure,” she said, suddenly concerned as she studied his pale face. He seemed nervous.
“I’ve been invited to this huge party. It’s a major event in the party circles, actually,” he said, speaking the words to her ever so slowly as if she were a child. “And, well, if you don’t have any plans for tonight I was wondering if you’d like to come.”
She stared at him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. Whatever did he mean by this? Was he implying that he was seeing Luke tonight? Was he asking if she’d want to go? Why would she want to see that lying, sneaky…
“I’m gay, Ms. Lane,” he blurted, then smiled sheepishly. “But at least if I bring a hot woman you-know-who will love me a little for it. I’ve been told he loves variety.”
Oh, he does, does he? That stinky, filthy…oh, she couldn’t even think of a word!!!
