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The sound of bars slotting shut echoed in my ears and I scrubbed a hand over my face. I wasn’t going back to sleep. Tossing the expensive sheets off, I rolled out of bed and onto the floor. Starting the day with push-ups was part rehab, part discipline. Scars on my lower back tugged, the skin there tighter than before.
Keeping my pushes sharp, and aligned, I ignored the ache from the knife wounds. The stabs in the back had been deep and they’d bled a fuck ton, but they hadn’t killed me. I healed. If I felt them for the rest of my life—fucking fine. The bastard who had me stabbed was dead, my sister was safe, and I was alive.
I could live with a little pain. Hell, I was alive and doing my push-ups on plush carpet that was softer than the beds I’d slept in growing up.
At fifty push-ups, I rolled over to do sit-ups. The coffered ceiling with their pearlescent white grid lines replaced my view of the pale gray carpet. A strip of lighting ran around the edges of the room, allowing for varying degrees of illumination. The simplicity of Mayhem’s rooms in the apartment seemed to suggest she didn’t live here full time. But I had a feeling the lack of personality was more of a personal choice.
My lower back protested as I forced an extra ten sit-ups and then I rose to stretch. There was a small workout room in the apartment. The building boasted a much more luxurious gym. Everything in it was too clean and too shiny. The equipment looked freshly installed rather than used. Instead of hard work and sweat, it smelled of polish and lemon water.
Mayhem said there was a treadmill, an elliptical, and a standard exercise bike as well as a television and a virtual trainer if I wanted to use it. The treadmill was fine. I didn’t need the bells and whistles. Straightening, I eyed the note on my side of the bed.
Pretty Boy,
I have meetings today for two charities. I doubt very much you want to attend the Upper West Side Conservatory Board meeting or the Mercy Hospital luncheon. Normally, I’d skip these but appearances need to be kept. I won’t be back until this evening. If you decide that I’ve been stubborn and made decisions for you, ring Milton downstairs. They’ll call Wood and he can bring you to where I am.
If, however, you don’t feel like joining me—and I promise you that I am absolutely not offended by the prospect—then don’t and enjoy your day. I had more research pulled on Julius King’s business activities and various interests. There is a significant number of shell companies and corporations standing between him and his investments. My investigators are cracking the code. Everything is on my desk in the library and I got you a laptop because I needed mine today.
See you tonight…
L.
Blowing out a breath, I glanced back at the rumpled bed again. It was almost nine. What time had she gotten up this morning? We’d been up until after two. It didn’t seem to matter how often I had her, I always wanted more.
Well, she was right about the charities. If sheneededme there orwantedme, I’d go in a heartbeat. But she was fine and as she often tried to remind me, she could take care of herself.
Still…I’d keep an eye on the time. How late could a luncheon go? I went to the drawers and pulled out a pair of boxer briefs and shorts, then dragged on a t-shirt. I hadn’t intended to have so many clothes here but one of the maids had unpacked me and Mayhem ordered me a number of outfits.
The suits alone were a ridiculous expense. Arguing with her on that front did nothing, because I need them to navigate in her world. Liam would cover the costs if I asked him, so would Ivy. But I didn’t want their money.
I didn’t want Mayhem’s either. I just needed to keep a solid accounting so I could pay her back. I carried my shoes through the apartment to the kitchen. The sound of humming reminded me that Marlene was there. I’d scared the hell out of the housekeeper the first night I spent here. Mayhem had laughed so hard she’d nearly cried.
As it was, I apologized and Marlene forgave me. I also never left Mayhem’s room naked again. Not unless I was dead certain the apartment was empty. The staff did not live in the apartment. They did have smaller apartments on one of the lower floors. That way, the housekeeper and the driver were available as needed. Apparently, that wasn’t as often until lately.
I cleared my throat as I reached the kitchen door and the older German woman pivoted to face me. “Mr. Hardigan,” she greeted me with a warm smile. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Marlene.” I wanted to address her properly or for her to just call me Milo, neither she allowed. So I just did as I was told. “Sorry to interrupt. I wanted to get a bottle of water for my run.”
“No interruption. I was just going over your schedules for the week so I could plan for meals. You have no food allergies, yes?”
“No,” I told her.
“Do you have any preferences? Any favorites?” She moved to a cabinet and pulled out a reusable water bottle that she filled from the chilled refrigerator dispenser. “Miss Benedict, for example, loves stroganoff. She won’t eat it that often, because she worries about too many calories.” The last she delivered with a scoff like it shouldn’t remotely be a problem. “But she does adore it, so once a month, I make her stroganoff.”
“That sounds really good,” I said as she passed me the bottle. “And I could have done that.”
“My kitchen, Mr. Hardigan. When I am here, this is my kitchen, therefore my rules.” She fixed those stern, dark blue eyes on me like she was ready for my arguments. The woman probably was. She was over fifty, but I could only peg that because Mayhem mentioned she’d just celebrated that birthday. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even try.
I had a feeling Ms. Stephanie would have gotten along fine with Marlene. That twinge robbed me of some of my mirth and teasing. “Yes, ma’am.” I told her. “I’m going to run… and whatever May—Miss Benedict prefers. I can eat anything.”
With that salute, I left the kitchen and retreated deeper into the apartment and toward the gym. The place was huge. Even the new suite the guys had built at the clubhouse couldn’t compete with this apartment. It was two stories, and more than six thousand square feet of space. Easily.
It was probably bigger. I didn’t ask.
There were four bedrooms, four full bathrooms, a half bathroom for visitors, the kitchen, library, living room, formal dining room, and a billiards room. She said they didn’t use it often unless she or her grandfather were entertaining. All of this, staff, charities, and she spent forty-five million dollars on some ugly-ass painting.
Rome could do so much better.
Once in the gym, I cracked open the water and took a long drink before I sat down and pulled on my shoes. It didn’t take me long to get started. I’d rather do weights, but she didn’t have the right ones here and I would be damned if I asked for them. I sure as shit wasn’t going down to the fancy gym. A run would be fine. While I needed to get to know the city better, I’d cleared my first mile on the treadmill before I even started to feel the burn.
