Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25727 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 129(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
That was not it.
I was dumb as fuck to think that, which is why I’m sitting in this car outside of her employer’s mansion with my dick in my hand and not inside her sweet pussy.
Metaphorically, that is.
A half-million-dollar sports car roars by me with Ware’s stepson at the wheel. He nearly crashes twice before the taillights wink out of view.
Rumors are that Ware has little interest in this kid, and no one knows why he remarried. Roberta Franklin came from money, but Ware is loaded. He didn’t need her or her connections. Her looks are ordinary, crafted by the finest surgeons on the East Side. The only thing Ware seems to care about is his empire and sometimes his daughter. He needs to pay closer attention to his daughter, enough so that the kid doesn’t need a nanny anymore. The nanny belongs to me, and it’s time to claim her.
“She loves me.” Snip. “She loves me not.” Snip. Snip. The boy with the scissors laughs maniacally as the locks of hair he’s just cut fall to the floor. The call girl on his lap forces out a giggle, but the pained look on her face says she’d rather be on her knees than suffering this.
I catch her eyes and jerk my head toward the door. She doesn’t waste a minute in escaping.
“Hey, bitch, get back here,” the boy yells. He shakes the scissors at a club staffer. “I paid for that. Fetch her.”
The staffer glances in my direction. I nod lightly and stroll over. “I paid for her to go.” I pluck the scissors out of his unsteady grip and hand them off.
“Who the hell are you?”
He’s only been here an hour, but the coke and booze have him slurring his words together and swaying in his seat.
“Friend of your mom’s,” I lie.
The chair across from the boy’s is dusted with strands of light blonde hair. A staffer rushes over and tries to clean the seat for me, but the hair clings stubbornly to the velvet. “It’s fine.” I wave the man away.
“So, you’re Ware’s new charge.”
“Son.” The kid juts his chin out. “I’m Thomas Ware’s new son.”
“He adopted you? I hadn’t seen the news.”
“Fuck you.” The response is venomous. Obviously, a touchy subject.
“You seem bored.”
“You don’t know a thing about me, old man.”
“I know your kind of excitement is using a fake ID to get into a bar, snort some coke, and cut off the hair of an Insta model, which screams boredom to me. It’s giving big loser energy.”
He stiffens defensively. “I’m fucking popular. Every bitch around wants in my pants, and every guy wants to be me. Have you seen my wheels? Custom V12 Lambo with hand-stitched Napa leather—”
“I don’t care.” I am not interested in listening to this little shit talk about the things Ware has bought him so he doesn’t have to actually parent. “If you really want to do something interesting, call this number.” I flip him a card.
There’s no need to wait for an answer. Curiosity will drive him to contact me. I know his type. The question is once I have him in my trap, what do I do with the sociopath? I can’t easily make sixteen-year-old rich boys disappear, especially ones connected to Ware, but as long as this kid remains in the sphere of Jasmine Ware, my woman is out of my reach.
Things have to change, and I’ve run out of patience.
Chapter Three
VASEY
Iget up early to ambush Ware. He hardly ever loiters anywhere in the house in the morning. It’s almost like he wants to make an escape before anyone can catch him, so I station myself by the front door. Kai eyes me suspiciously.
“Don’t piss him off,” he warns.
An angry Ware makes for a miserable household. A moment later, the clickety clack of his dress shoes bounce off the tile. Kai moves toward the door in anticipation.
Ware narrows his eyes at me. “What’s wrong with Jasmine?”
“There have been a lot of small animals that she’s come across that have met with unfortunate endings.”
“Killed, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“And you think you know who did it?”
“I have some sus—”
“Darling, off so early?” Roberta’s loud voice echoes off the marble floors.
I spin around to see her practically running across the floor, her diaphanous robe billowing like a queen’s train behind her.
“This is the same time I always leave.” Ware arches an eyebrow. “Whatever dispute the two of you are having, work it out. You can submit your suspicions to me in a report with documented evidence.” This last instruction is directed to me, which means I’m getting nowhere with him. It’s not like I have anything more than photos of dead animals, Jasmine’s fear, and my hunches. No amount of bullet points and Times New Roman fonts are going to help me.
Kai opens the door.