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“Dance floor. Dark hair, strappy black dress dancing with that blonde from upstairs who comes here regularly. See?”
”I see them.”
“The goof talking to her in the red shirt? Show her he’s a goof who’s been hittin’ on women all night.”
“Has he?”
“Shouldn’t you know the answer to that?” I fire back.
“Don’t think he has. Think he just got here.”
“You have your orders,” I advise.
The phone is silent for a beat before Shep asks, “Reason I should know about?”
“My private eye is gonna get ahold of you for surveillance on them. Particularly the brunette, Chloe. I’m coming up behind you. Wait thirty seconds before you approach.”
“Ah,” he replies knowingly, despite the fact that this is the first time we’ve ever done this. “On it,” Shep says and hangs up.
I put the phone down and pull air into my lungs before releasing it slowly, rolling my shoulders, flexing my jaw. I tip my head to the left until my neck cracks, pocket my phone and a business card, and make my way out of the office, into the club.
I’m this pretty thing’s hall pass. No way is that honor going to the schmuck in the red shirt.
Her words, how much it sounds like she gives a shit about this guy. And more than that, the sound of the utter and complete longing in her voice? It’s lit a match in me.
Tired of boring and repetitive sex but wanting even that after not being touched in seven months? Spends all her time looking after a guy who can’t even bother to get her off when she’s spent seven months loyally looking after him? Didn’t feast on her offered pussy when it would’ve cost him just minutes of his time to keep the girl who was standing by him feeling desirable, wanted?
He doesn’t deserve it. I don’t know him, but I know if he did deserve it, he wouldn’t leave a question in her mind about how much he wants her. About how much he appreciates that she’s sticking by him.
People who don’t know me well think I’m ice-cold and unshakable.
People who know me well know I’ve got a few screws loose. I hide it pretty well otherwise. Yeah, takes a bit to rattle me but once you do… results aren’t pretty.
Me and most of my siblings are a little damaged. Rich and powerful prick of a father who clawed his way to the top through a blood bath, getting organized crime hooks embedded deep with an unstable drama queen retired supermodel of a mother who requires a whole lot of attention to keep her out of emotional spirals. My father sees what he wants, and he takes it. In life, in love. Flat out. Anyone who’s tried to steal from him has paid the price, either dished out by him or one of his kids.
We were raised by nannies under the critical eyes of busy parents who are fully focused on one another. They’ve got high standards and rules for their offspring that results in frustration from my siblings. I’m handled differently. Probably because I’m more damaged than most of my siblings. Thad excepted, though Thad is no longer anyone’s problem.
I’m probably as twisted as I am because of being abducted and held for ransom for two weeks by my child psychologist who played mind games with me as he spiraled even deeper into madness.
It was mere minutes before the deadline. No one was coming for me. He was melting down. I got my hands on his gun.
Though not sure that was all that cracked me, because why send a kid to a psychologist if he’s well-adjusted? They all say Thad was the psycho. Nobody says anything about me. They pretend everything is all right with me, except Grace, who is the youngest of the seven of us but who tries to mother us all.
I don’t trust people. I keep hookups unemotional. I don’t do emotions in general, because my default emotion is best served to make shitheads pay for their sins.
Tonight… after being a fly on the wall for that conversation and now watching this girl dance, foreign sensations have woken in me. Maybe they’re emotions.
I want to give this tight little brunette the hottest night of her life. What I’ll want after I give her that remains to be seen.
I get to the dance floor just as Shep is ready to walk the dick who’s got the nerve to touch her out of my club.
While dancing with my friends, I’m tapped on my shoulder. I turn to see a nice-looking blond-haired, man-bun wearing guy in dark jeans and a red button-down shirt smiling at me.
“You wanna dance?” he asks.
“Thanks, but I’m having a special night with my friends,” I reply.
I feel bad as the smile falls off his face, so I add, “You can dance with all of us for a song or two if you really wanna just dance.”
