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“Touché, princess.”
“Stop fucking calling me that.”
“Why would I do that?” I stop at a light and fix my entire attention on her, enjoying the pink flush of her skin. “It’s fun to get a rise out of you.”
“Maybe because you’re a decent person.”
“I’m not.”
“But I think you are.” She turns to face me. “You took care of me when I was hurt and bleeding after all.”
I didn’t think this through.
I am so fucked in this argument.
“Don’t delude yourself to think that meant anything.” I stare straight at the light, willing it to turn green and give me an excuse to drown out this conversation with the sound of my engine. “I was protecting my investment.”
“Sure, tell yourself that. We both know you are full of shit.”
The light finally puts me out of my misery.
I keep driving.
Instead of answering her statement, I reach my hand forward and turn on the radio.
I’m done listening to her speak.
Music blares through the speakers. Angry lyrics and long guitar solos.
From the corner of my eye, I glance over at her.
She’s uncomfortable. Fidgeting beside me. Staring out the window.
She wants to say something else.
Probably wants to tell me what a prick I am.
She doesn’t need to. I already know.
No point in stating the obvious.
Luckily for me, traffic is nonexistent. A huge plus, because before long, I’m pulling up to the building she told me her class was at.
“I’ll pick you up after class.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Yeah. You’re right, but I will. You’re in no condition to walk to the train. Then, on top of that, take the subway back to my place. I’ll pick you up.”
She opens and closes her mouth, reminding me of a fish. Then eventually, she must think better of it because she nods.
There are no goodbyes.
Instead, I turn to look out my window, and she slips out of the car.
Once she’s gone, I’m left alone in front of her building with nothing to do to kill the next two hours.
I throw the car in park and just decide to work from here.
I have plenty of calls to make. Plus, I do have my laptop in the car.
I use my car as a hotspot, and then I start to look at the figures for the day.
After about an hour of work, I close out my computer and dial Jaxson Price.
“Now what?” he answers.
If I didn’t know him as well as I do, I would think he’s actually pissed, but since I do, I know he’s just messing with me.
“Can’t I call to chat?”
“Nope.” He chuckles, and I laugh back.
“Not cool.”
“Speaking the truth, bro. No one ever calls me to just shoot the shit.”
“You know I love ya, man. You’re practically my brother.” My voice is serious now.
Over the years, Jaxson has had issues with feeling this way with his family. I hope he’s not actually upset. It doesn’t sound like it, but I say it anyway.
“Nope, you’re confusing me with Cyrus.”
Of course, he minimizes the sentiment.
“I could never confuse you two.”
“He’s much grumpier.” He laughs.
“You think?” I chuckle. “But you’re right. I am calling you for something. But I promise after this one favor, I’ll stop being a complete selfish prick and ask you about your life.”
“Doubt it. Prick is the only character trait you have.”
“Not true.”
“Oh, you aren’t calling me in some ridiculously concocted plan to further ruin an innocent girl?”
I’m silent, and he laughs again.
I can picture him shaking his head.
“Just as I thought,” he says. “You need to get over this, bro. She’s getting the money. Your father, prick that he was, left it to her for some crazy reason and was a complete dickbag to you and your family, but that doesn’t mean she had anything to do with it.”
“Mmm.”
“You know that, right?”
“Maybe. But—”
“No buts. Let the woman live her life. Leave her alone.”
I’m silent for a moment. “Well, that might be hard now.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
I don’t answer him.
“Trent,” he says my name in a way that tells me I have no choice.
If I don’t answer, Price will probably hack into my surveillance system and see what’s going on at my house, and the last thing I need is for him to see how much I’ve jerked off to the thought of her. Not that he’d know it’s her I think of, but the timing isn’t a coincidence.
Payton in a short skirt, kneeling? Hand, meet dick.
Payton reaching up to dust my highest shelves, her shirt rising? Hand, meet dick.
Payton eating a banana in slow motion because she’s distracted by Carl fucking Jung? Hand, meet dick.
There’s a pattern here.
Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to put two and two together.
Jax’s company set up my surveillance camera, so it wouldn’t be very hard for him to invade my privacy. Actually, come to think of it, it’s probably a good thing he doesn’t know Payton is living with me. That means I can trust my security team not to tell him. He found me the men I employ. If I ever wondered about where their loyalties lie, this proves it. My loft is as secure as Fort Knox, unlike my office building. Take Paul’s unannounced visit. He took the service elevator, a well-paid bribe to a building employee granting him access. That breach has been taken care of.
