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If he only knew the horrors that were really out there, he’d never leave his fuckin’ bedroom.
“I appreciate it,” I said carefully. “I’ll have my secretary get in contact with your assistant and figure out logistics.”
With a shake of his hand, we parted ways, them leaving my office, and me going to my ensuite bathroom and closing the door behind me.
Last night was a huge failure.
After hours of scouting out a new location we felt might be a local hot spot for men and women to conduct their illegal business dealings, I’d left only to run into a very pretty distraction.
But when I’d gotten back, I’d learned about the cargo ship of little ones that’d been left to rot out in the middle of the ocean.
With some help from the Cajun Navy—a whole slew of men and women who liked to help during times of disasters—we’d located the cargo ship and checked every last shipping container.
All we found were dead souls on board.
None of them had lived.
Usually they stock them with enough water and food to get them to where they’re going, but something had happened and they’d run out. That meant that they’d been sitting there for God knew how long before they’d died of starvation.
Needless to say, my good mood after I’d left the woman walking into her home had vanished, and now all I was left with was anger.
I washed my face off in my sink, then took a moment to study myself.
I looked old.
I felt fuckin’ old.
I felt every single one of my forty-two years, and I was burning out.
But there weren’t many people in this world willing to do what I did, and even more who were set out to throw hurdles at us at every step.
It was sick and disgusting, but there were so many people who were willing to help the abusers—even if by looking the other way—that it was sometimes just so defeating.
“Sir?” I heard a knock at my outside office door.
I yanked the stupid monogrammed towel—my sister’s idea—off the towel rack and wiped my face before throwing the stupid thing into the sink.
Someone, likely my sister herself, would come in here and hang it back up.
Yanking open the bathroom door, I headed back to my desk and said, “Come in.”
Lisandra, one of my two assistants, came into the room.
She looked frazzled.
“I know that you said you needed some time, but I have the weirdest thing happening to my computer right now,” she said as she walked over and showed it to me.
I glanced at the laptop.
“Call me?” I asked.
A phone number then blinked on the screen.
I sighed and picked up the phone, putting it on speaker before leaning back in my chair.
If they wanted to play a game, I’d let them.
I had my own in-house computer gurus, but I was in such a shit mood that it seemed easier to just play their game than fight right now.
About two dozen times a year, we’d have hackers try to break into some of the most secure parts of our business—at least the ones they knew about—and try to make a name for themselves.
And each time, my computer people would shut them down.
Now, well, now wasn’t one of those times.
Sometimes it was just easier to handle them directly.
“Hello?” a female voice said.
“You wanted me to call?” I rasped.
My voice sounded like I’d just drank a fifth of whiskey and gargled with gasoline.
To say I was tired and needed sleep would be an understatement.
“Winston?” the voice asked.
“That’s me,” I replied tiredly.
“Are you alone?” she asked.
Did it matter?
“No,” I admitted. “Why?”
“Can you get that way?” she asked.
Rolling my eyes, I said, “Get my assistant’s computer back to normal so she can go.”
It took two seconds.
My assistant left without another word, shutting the door softly behind her.
“Did she leave?” was asked.
“Yes.” I closed my eyes and leaned my head back against the chair.
Another one of my sister’s purchases.
It was the most uncomfortable chair I’d ever sat in. But it had ‘feng shui’ or whatever the fuck that was.
I longingly wished for the one she’d replaced it with.
It’d been well worn from use, and was the ugliest thing I’d ever seen, but it was comfortable.
My sister was right, though.
My chair was ugly and not befitting a multi-million, almost billionaire.
At some point last week I’d rolled into the nine hundred and ninety-nine million range instead of the billions. That was due to an emergency purchase that had cost me a cool fifty million. But it’d also gotten me back thirty kids, so it was worth it.
“Good,” the woman on the other end of the line said. “Now, for why I’m calling…”
I opened my eyes and glanced out at the Dallas skyline.
I hated living in Dallas.
What I wouldn’t kill for the view of my seven-thousand-acre ranch in Luckenbach.
“I called you,” I pointed out.
