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He sits back and just stares at me. "You have too much money and time on your hands?" he asks sarcastically.
"Something like that."
The truth is, I hit it big two years ago, when I bet some serious cash on the oil prices going down when everyone else thought they were going up. When the oil prices took a sharp tumble as more oil reserves opened up in Alaska, my bet paid off. In a big way.
I don’t need to work another day in my life – hell, my hypothetical grandkids won’t need to work a day in their lives either – but I didn’t step down as the CEO of my investment firm and float off into the sunset on my yacht. Who wants to just sit around all day and have their every need taken care of, almost before they can think of it? It sounds good in theory, but I get bored easily.
I can wipe my own ass, thankyouverymuch. I don’t need someone to do it for me.
Speaking of getting bored easily, that character flaw is what got me into this trouble to begin with. Lately, even the challenge of making my clients boatloads of money wasn’t much of a challenge.
I need something new. Something interesting. Something I can do that keeps my interest for more than three minutes.
I hear my lawyer mumbling something that sounds like, "God save me from spoiled rich kids," but when I ask him to repeat himself louder, he brushes me off. "Nothing, nothing," he says brusquely. "I’m here to post bail. I’ll get you out, and with any luck, I’ll get you off with just some fines."
"Thanks," I say gratefully. Because as bored as I’ve been lately, not even I am bored enough to want to continue to sit around in a jail cell all day long. That’s a new level of boredom that I just can’t stomach.
As my lawyer takes off to get the paperwork done and out of the way, I stare at my hands clasped in front of me, my hands cuffed together like a common criminal. I really need to find something to do with myself that doesn’t include breaking the windshields of police cruisers. Maybe I should try hang-gliding. I’ve heard it’s a lot of fun. It would certainly mean less time behind bars.
Either way, I’m going to put in a word with the bartender at the Bungalow 8. A few Benjamins might convince him to keep an eye out for Ms. Mystery. Greasing palms has never failed me before, and she’s worth whatever I need to pay.
Brittney
"Read this," Erica says, shoving a newspaper into my hands. I stare down in shock at it – first off, who reads newspapers anymore?? – but then the words on the page jump out at me, and I’m just blown away. I stare at the grainy black-and-white photo above the article, trying to decide if that was really who I saw on Friday night. It’s hard to say. I wasn’t exactly sober when the guy had been busy bashing in the cop’s windshield, plus it had been dark and he’d been far away.
But…yeah, sure, it looked like him.
"Kaden Charles was the one who broke the cop’s windshield?" I ask in shock. "Kaden? Really?!" Everyone knew of Kaden the Wonder Kid. He’d made a name for himself a couple of years ago with some oil trade or something, and he was worth billions because of it.
So why was he going around, breaking windshields? It didn’t make any sense.
"That’s what the article says. Apparently, he spent the weekend in the clink."
"Do you…" I hesitate, the words sounding insane, even to me. "Do you think he did it for me? To distract the cop?" God, how self-centered do I sound! Am I seriously suggesting that someone would go to jail for the weekend, just to save my sorry need-to-go-pee-right-fucking-now ass? That seems a little extreme.
Erica stares at me contemplatively. "Well…I don’t know. It sounds a little nuts, I’ll grant you that, but on the other hand, does it really matter why he did what he did? Whatever way you slice it, he saved you. And I think that deserves a proper thank you."
"Are you thinking what I’m thinking?" I ask her breathlessly.
"If you’re thinking that you should fall face first onto his lap and give him the blowjob of a lifetime, then yes. If you’re thinking we should go out for tacos for lunch, then also yes."
I roll my eyes and toss the newspaper at her. "I have places to go, people to do," I say with a naughty grin. "Don’t expect me back in time for tacos. I prefer hot dogs anyway."
Erica bust out laughing. "I cannot believe you just said that," she said between snorts of laughter.
"How is it that you’re surprised by my naughty side?" I ask with another naughty grin, slinging my purse over my shoulder. "I’d think you would expect it by now."
"I should, I really should!" she calls after me. I saunter out, putting on my sunglasses to ward off the too-bright sun. It’s time to see what the Wonder Kid’s dick looks like. With any luck, it’ll be as magnificent as his bank account.
Kaden
I know it’s Tuesday morning because the calendar app on my phone says that it is, but I can’t shake the feeling that it’s really Monday. After not getting out of jail until late – even Mark Anthony, as good as he is, struggled to save my ass – I just didn’t go into work yesterday. Which makes it the first day off that I’ve taken in almost two years, and quite frankly, my idea of a day off really shouldn’t include an orange jumpsuit.
I contemplate hang-gliding again. It could be fun. It could give me the rush I’ve been missing for a while. Gweny, my secretary, hurries over to greet me as soon as I arrive on the top floor of my office building. This whole floor is my office – ridiculous, right? Who needs 10,000 square feet of office space? But I will admit that the view is fabulous.
"Oh my god, you’re here!" Gweny says, checking me over as if she’s expecting that I’ll be covered in knife cuts and bruises. "I was so worried when I heard about the reports."
"I’m fine," I say, shrugging away her concern. She’s in her late 50s, and in many ways, feels like my grandmother.
