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“It’s not,” Bellamy admitted. “In my defense, some came with the estate.”
The estate.
Yes, of course.
Wealth on his scale was rarely made in one generation.
He’d inherited from his parents who likely inherited from theirs.
And if Bellamy procreated, he would pass it on to the next generation.
Generational wealth.
That was how you got a giant, private Maldives villa sitting empty but perfectly maintained all year round.
“That’s a weak defense. You could have sold them. Or turned them into women’s shelters or halfway homes or something. At least they would be in use. You could rent this place out, at least.”
“And make more money to add to my avarice?” Bellamy shot back, and there was a tightness in his voice that let me think I was getting to him. Most of the women he brought along on fancy vacations were probably happy and thankful and treated him like a god because of the once-in-a-lifetime experience. He probably wasn’t used to anyone calling him out on being a little bit absurd.
“At least this wouldn’t be a waste,” I said, waving at the villa.
“Tell you what, love. I will rent it out and donate the proceeds to a charity of your choosing. Name one.”
“Any one that aims to help inner-city youths rise out of poverty and get an education,” I told him. That was where most of my charitable donations went.
“Done,” he said, reaching for his phone.
I had no doubt that he was setting that in motion.
Which made me hate him just a tiny bit less.
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “I know you think I’m a spoiled asshole who spends money like water. And I am. And I do. And I make no apologies for who I am and how I act, but when someone makes a valid argument, I am willing to see the error of my ways.”
“Just not about the whole drugging and kidnapping thing, right?”
“Right,” he agreed, eyes dancing. “You must be dying. Let’s get you into something more—“
“Yeah, um, fuck no. You are not helping me out of or into anything.”
“Relax, love. You have your own room with a locking door. And a closet full of more appropriate vacation attire.”
“You just keep closets full of women’s clothes?” I asked, grimacing. “Yeah, that’s not creepy at all. Out of curiosity, is there a lampshade made out of human flesh around?” I asked, eyeing him. “A belt made out of nipples, perhaps?” I went on. At his drawn-together brows, I clarified, “Ed Gein. Famous serial killer. Obsessed with his mom. Raised as a girl. Killed women and made things out of their body parts.”
“I’m sure your parts are nice and all, Shawn, but I can’t imagine a belt made of your nipples would work with my suit.”
Damn him.
I laughed.
I wanted to keep up the angry and bitter, because a part of me was angry and bitter about this whole asinine situation, but that was unexpectedly clever, and I hadn’t been prepared.
“If it makes you feel any better, love, the clothes were bought and brought here for you.”
“Actually, no. That’s kind of worse,” I told him, shaking my head. “You really just have no clue how fucking creepy this whole situation is, do you?”
“I think it is actually rather nice of me, considering how much I’ve already done for you.”
“Yeah, well, maybe if you hadn’t drugged me and fucked with my memory, I would know what you have supposedly done for me, and would be duly grateful.”
“Don’t be silly. Trying to get you onto a private plane with me while you were sober would have been a nightmare,” he said, walking past me and back into the house.
I let him make his way toward the bar, preparing a drink before I went inside and upstairs to find the bedroom with the closet full of women’s clothes. It wasn’t hard to find. Since the bed had a fancy cream and pink silk robe sitting on it.
Cream and pink.
What about me screamed ‘cream and pink’ to Bellamy?
Then again, it was probably one of his employees who’d done the shopping. And she was likely shopping for her personal taste, not mine.
My wardrobe consisted almost entirely of various shades of black and gray.
I locked the bedroom door before shrugging out of my leather jacket that was, admittedly, making me more miserable than necessary.
Making my way toward the closet, I found several days’ worth of clothing. Everything from linen shorts and tanks to sundresses and bathing suits. Not my style bathing suits, mind you. I tended to like suit bottoms that covered almost my entire ass. And I was greeted with one bottom that was an out-and-out thong and another that was so cheeky at the bottom that it might as well have been a thong. And yellow. Yellow. The happiest color of all.
Double-checking the back deck to make sure Bellamy wasn’t being a Peeping Tom, I quickly stripped out of my Jersey appropriate clothes, and slipped into a pair of shorts and a flowy tank instead.
