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I squeeze my cell so hard that the glass almost shatters. It can’t be true, I tell myself, because the brunette was too giving and real, her curves lush and inviting as she moaned her pleasure. The way she curled into me while we just talked and got to know each other was incredible too. Maybe it’s just wishful thinking, but a part of me is certain that she wouldn’t do all that just to make a couple bucks.
Then again, maybe I’m the one who’s being stupid.
“Amanda, cancel my meetings for the rest of the day,” I say abruptly. “I have a headache. I’m going home.”
“Oh Mr. Moore, is there anything I can do?” she simpers, gaze bright and voice demure. I keep my eyes focused on hers even though I know her well enough to know her chest is puffed out like a peacock looking for a mate. But the thought of spending more time than necessary with Amanda is fucking poison to my soul. She’s the exact opposite of Katie—cunning, superficially beautiful, and self-serving—just like all the others.
I close my eyes briefly and say shortly, “Just cancel my meetings.” I turn away from her, signaling that our conversation is over, and she scampers away to do my bidding. There is no way I can do any work, so I close my laptop and shrug on my coat. Without another word to Amanda or any of my other employees, I escape down the stairs and out the back exit where my Lamborghini is parked in a private garage. After the door slams shut, enclosing me in blessed silence, I fumble around the glove compartment for some aspirin. Fuck. Is Katie going to sell our story to the tabloids? Hot Billionaire Gets It On With Party Planner? God, please no.
Finally finding the bottle of aspirin, I empty two pills into my hand and swallow them with a swift chug of water. I can feel them slither down my throat and into my system. If only the relief could come instantly. I turn the key in the ignition and let the Lambo’s tires squeal as I pull out of the garage. What a hellish day. I just want to be at home, where a glass of scotch might make things better.
Since I left in the middle of the afternoon before rush hour, the drive home is calm and peacefulness sets into my frame. But as I’m getting closer to my mansion, I notice a car parked on the side of the road ahead of me. It looks strangely familiar, like the hatchback Katie made her getaway in after our one night together. It’s yellow and faded, with a dent in the rear bumper. But I shake off the weird feeling. It’s nothing. I’m being a moony fool, and want to smack myself for being so obsessed. Why the hell would Katie be stopped on the side of the road near my home in the middle of the day? My headache is clearly causing delusions. I’m definitely going to need that scotch ASAP.
In less than ten minutes, I pull into the garage, parking my Lambo next to the red Ferrari. Finally, I can get some peace and quiet in the comfort of my home. But once I’m inside, my head of security practically jumps me.
“Sir,” Bruno says, “welcome home. You didn’t mention you’d be home early.”
I pat the large man’s shoulder reassuringly. I keep Bruno at home because I’m more worried about an unwanted presence here than at my office. Sure, my business has its enemies, but that’s all in the realm of white collar crime. By contrast, the mansion is under threat of ex-girlfriends and vengeful former lovers. Let’s put it this way—I’m much more afraid of a scorned woman than I am of any corporate titan out for blood.
“It’s okay, Bruno,” I tell him, stifling a yawn. “I have a bit of a headache. I’m headed upstairs.”
Before I can take another step, I’m accosted by Charles, my butler. Again, I have too many employees who have nothing to do all day but wait for me to get home. Charles meets us in the entryway and helps me remove my coat. “Sir, welcome home. Would you like some lunch? Roast chicken, perhaps? Or something lighter, like a crisp wedge salad?”
A ham sandwich sounds better than that fancy stuff, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings. So instead of just ignoring him and walking past him like I desperately want to, I respond. “A scotch is fine for now. Please have it sent to my room.”
And finally, I’m left alone, both individuals scurrying off to tend to their tasks. I continue through the foyer to the stairs leading to the second story. I led Katie up these same stairs two months ago. I thought about pounding into her right here, in fact, but that would have left a bad impression on my guests. If I had my way, I would ravish Katie in every room in this monstrous mansion. And then I’d do it again. That’d be a good use for all this space instead of useless antiques that are collecting dust.
