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She stacked that same bundle of papers, then loosely tapped the pads of her fingers against her keyboard.
Priscilla was never nervous. Previous billionaire man-eater, her appetite for wealth had gained her three ex-husbands. Sadly, once married, it lost the polished sparkle and soon a prospective fortune. Hence, at forty-six-years, she despised the bank account I wouldn’t ever touch as much as she would rip it off.
After three failed marriages, she went for her fourth but failed to seduce my dad. And me, thinking I was twenty-one instead of sixteen.
Yup, you heard that right. Story of our lives, it seemed.
I loved tits. Very much so. But no, I didn’t want hers on my damn snapchat.
The story gets better, you ask? Oh abso-fuckin’-lutely.
She at last married my uncle, Cary’s brother, who she apparently did fall in love with for real. He died two years ago from lung cancer.
Volts were assholes, so I’d tell you karma was a bitch, but I’d caught her crying at her desk more than once. I still respected my uncle more than anyone, even if the dude was six feet under and his widowed wife survived on dick.
Priscilla was left with The Snake Zoo. At least I felt she took their marriage and his legacy seriously.
Never got bothered with more tit pics from her again since she married into my family.
I quickly traded that thought for something better and ended up with a set of breasts that, oddly enough, resembled those of my stepsister’s.
I sighed and thankfully refrained from a goofy smile.
Crap, I really did love Dita’s tits.
Jesus.
Everything involving Dita, the L-word was a nasty little fucker.
“We’ve been in bad papers for a while now.” Priscilla deepened the scowl on my face. She planted her elbows onto her desk and watched us with an imperious glare—meaning business. Failing miserably, her shoulder sagged. She rested her forehead against her folded hands and exhaled deeply. “There are biddings on this building and I…pumped every cent I had left into this.”
That wasn’t quite the right order to proceed, was it? Shouldn’t there have been an emergency meeting before the building was up for sale? Finances may be bad, but before there would be a For Sale sign knocked into the ground, I’d expected Priscilla to lay out the numbers.
“Is it already on the market?” I gulped, thinking about my precious healing babies.
Priscilla shook her head. “Not quite. Although, it’s not in the far future if the donors decide to keep their distance, but more important, keep their wallets closed.”
“Why are there already biddings on this property then?” I asked.
Paul hummed with an agreeable question.
“People love rumors, Ares. Especially when things go downhill. It’s like fire and gasoline.”
Well, don’t I know that?
Not only did Cary’s Twitter explode—he was a cool motherfucker like that. Insert eye roll—when he went into rehab the second time. Rio’s and mine did too, unfortunately. I deleted my page faster than I could belch a cheap beer burp.
I broke free from Paul’s fatherly wing, rubbed the back of my neck and started pacing. Well, in whatever little room there was to move around.
I caught a fidgeting Calista in the corner of my eye, feeling her stare. She lifted her butt, almost unnoticeably, like she wanted to get up but decided against it. As if she finally dared to come over and smooth out the deep worrying lines between my brows, but didn’t.
Even if she had, I would only have admired her courage. There was another girl I wanted to take into my arms. Get her underneath me. Spread those toned legs and pump home.
I was ready for this day to be over. And I was more than ready to act on these filthy thoughts I had about my prude—who was most definitely not a prude.
My dick stirred in the middle of a freak-out.
If Dita had turned around that night in the pool, she’d seen the stars in my eyes, freshly picked from the night sky.
