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"And how’s my favorite sister?" Sloane says the moment I pick up his call. I haven’t heard his voice in a while, and I had almost forgot how sexy he sounds when he’s not being an asshole, which is pretty much all the time.
"What do you want, Sloane?" I ask him, throwing my purse on the couch and sitting down by its side.
"That hurts, ‘sis. Can’t a guy call his sister just to see how she’s doing?" he starts, but I can tell by the tone of his voice that he doesn’t care if I see right through his nice guy facade.
"I know you, Sloane. You’re not the kind of guy to make small talk, so let’s have it. Why are you calling me?" I ask him again, but my sixth sense tells me that it has something to do with my company. I guess my success did more than impress the whole world; it impressed my family. And you don’t impress my family easily, that much I can tell you.
"I want us to have lunch," he says, his voice changing to an all-business, no-bullshit, tone. "I want to discuss your company. Dirty ‘Lil Demons, right?"
"Dirty ‘Lil Angels," I correct him. "But speak of the Devil," I chuckle, distractedly playing with one stray lock of blonde hair. "I just ran into Drake, and he wanted to talk about my company as well."
"Fucking Drake," Sloane hisses, more to himself than to me. There’s no love lost between these two, that’s for sure. I never really got Sloane’s hateful attitude toward our stepdad, but whatever; it’s not like our family is a close-knit one. After my mom and Drake divorced, I guess that whatever bond existed between all of us kinda vanished.
"What did he want?" Sloane asks me, and I know he won’t like my reply one bit.
"Well, I actually agreed to have dinner with him to talk about my company, so there’s that."
"Just tell him to fuck off, will ya? And have lunch with me. I can promise you that having dinner with him won’t be half as interesting as having lunch with me, ‘sis. You can take that to the fucking bank."
Oh, I seriously doubt that, sweet brother, I think to myself, replaying in my head the way Drake’s eyes seemed to devour my body.
"That’s not really fair, is it? I have to meet Drake; I told him I’d do it. But we can agree on having dinner the next night, what do you think?"
"Fine," he grunts, still not happy about the fact that I’m having dinner with our stepdad. According to my mom, these two always butted heads for everything, and now I guess they’re butting heads over me. Men, right? "Let me know when and where, and I’ll be there," he finishes off, and then ends the call without waiting for my reply. I guess some things never change—an asshole once, an asshole always.
That feeling that things are about to change for good creeps in again, and now I become positive about it. Running into Drake, and now Sloane’s call… Something’s definitely afoot, and I’m pretty sure that both my fate and my company’s is intertwined with what's looming on the horizon. Maybe they’re looking to invest, and if that’s the case… Well, with a few million in my pocket it’d be a matter of months until I dominated the whole sex toys industry. Maybe weeks.
But I simply can’t focus on business right now. Although I’m good at crunching numbers, it’s no use if I don’t know what their intentions are. But let’s be real for a second; the real reason I can’t focus on business is because my mind is busy with other things. Other dirty things.
Yeah, one’s my stepdad and the other’s my stepbrother. I read the memo, hun, I’m aware of all that. It’s taboo; it’s sinful, blah, blah, blah. Do you need me to say it again? It’s not like I want it to happen. It’s just fun to think about. And a little fun never hurt anyone, right?
I look at my work table, grab one of the prototype vibrator bullets, and then sink into the couch. What? As far as I know, daydreaming isn’t a sin.
Sloane
Honestly, the spy that I have in Drake’s administrative assistant pool has paid for herself so many times over; it's insane. I mean, I’m smart about it. Don’t get me wrong. I usually only contact her a few times a month. Tell her what I’m interested in, or what I’m looking for.
Really, the spy is more of a way of making sure Drake doesn’t do anything crazy trying to get back at me or bring me into the fold.
You want to know who she is don't you?
I mean, it doesn't matter so I guess I can tell you. Her name is CJ and she works for Drake Carlton. On the side, she spies for me. I pay pretty handsomely.
It’s my early warning system of keeping track of him.
So I never figured that I’d use her to find out where Drake was taking Natalie. But it was useful.
What? Don’t look at me like that.
I had to find out where he was taking her. You think if I just called up my stepdad and asked him, he’d tell me? Fat fucking chance.
Besides, I should've figured out that he was bringing her here to the Yale Club.
The elevator door opens up and I step out into the formal dining room of the Yale Club.
If you haven’t been here to this bastion of fucking privilege on Vanderbilt Avenue next to Grand Central, let me just tell you that the dining room is gigantic, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Midtown Manhattan. There’s a terrace that you can walk out to, if you want to stare down at the people who aren’t able to get into this exclusive little club.
And, of course, there’s a fucking bar that travels the entire length of the wall of the dining room. Stocked with liquor from seriously all over the world.
