“I’ve cancelled the morning appointments. Would you like me to start rescheduling them now?”
She doesn't acknowledge that I've spoken. Instead, she reaches into a desk drawer and pulls out a pair of reading glasses, which she perches on the edge of her nose. Reads something on her computer screen.
The silence reigns for several moments.
Then she shatters it with an announcement that makes my stomach twist with panic.
Chapter Three
Jax
The dumb blonde I brought home last night—it's not a joke, by the way, she's got nothing but static between her ears—pouts at me with puppy-dog eyes. I’ve got to get her out of here.
“Do I have to go?” She stretches her arms above her head, arching her back over my pillow. Her whine disgusts me. Alisha? Alisa? Her name is useless information to me. She won't be staying long. Her smoking body, topped off with a gorgeous pair of tits, was her ticket in. Unfortunately for her, that ticket expired this morning, right about the time I woke up.
“Yes.” I toss her dress from last night at her. She doesn't like that much.
She was still sleeping when I went to work out with my new trainer. The guy knows what he’s doing, I’ll give him that, so it’s no surprise that I hated his goddamn guts by the end of it.
“You're a prick,” she spits, throwing her long legs over the side of the bed.
“I never said I wasn’t.”
In the mirror I can see her shoving herself back into her skintight dress. The sight of it does nothing for me now. Last night was all about convenience, and she was very convenient. Too bad for her, she thought this was the start of something much, much bigger.
That’s what they all think.
But fuck if I’m going to get conned into some big, romantic love affair, especially with someone like Alyssa here. Even if I had feelings for her—no, I can’t even say it without my mouth curling into a sneer. Having “feelings” for women is a surefire way to lose control over your life, over your reputation, everything.
Mine is too valuable for that. On the scale of ten billion in net worth, at my last count.
I turn to face her as she stands up from the bed, my arms crossed over my chest. My workout gear is soaked. All I want is a shower.
Yet I don’t see her leaving. Instead, I see her putting on an expression like she’s searching for something. Damn. She really is that stupid.
“Where…” She’s making a show of looking for her panties, a worthless scrap of lace that I had down around her ankles within three minutes of walking in the door. Don’t act shocked. She wanted it as much as I did. Well, maybe not exactly. Maybe she was in it for more than a hard fuck and just a hint of bondage, my tie around her wrists. But I wasn’t.
“By your left foot.” They’ve been there the whole time. If she was hoping to entice me back into bed, she’s going to be disappointed. She only needs to be a little bit smarter to realize that this display is worthless.
She bends and scoops them up, her tits almost popping out of her dress, then straightens up, stepping into the panties and sliding them back over her sculpted ass.
I’m about to ask her if she needs help finding the door—we’re in the penthouse, after all, and it’s probably too huge for her tiny brain—when my cell rings in its spot on top of my dresser. I answer it before the first ring is over.
“Hunter.”
Alina rolls her eyes and pads out of the room. Good.
The voice on the other end of the phone launches into a business proposition, and instantly Alana is forgotten, last night’s conquest filed away along with all my other irrelevant memories. Then I get a whiff of a challenge. If there’s one thing I can’t resist, it’s a business opportunity on the brink.
“What happened exactly, John? It seems like the resource management here has been abysmal.”
On the other end of the line, John, the representative for the board at Williams-Martin, the publishing group, sighs. Williams-Martin, John has explained, owns Basiqué—their heavy hitter—and puts out a bunch of other magazines that lose money every second they exist. Not that I give a shit about magazines. But this company is about to go over the edge, and I could stop it…if I choose.
“I can’t argue with that.” He sounds defeated.
I take another long moment to consider my options. I don’t need this business. People can’t stop giving me money hand over fist. Come up with your own revolutionary development in condom technology and watch your net worth shoot into the stratosphere. But I can’t get enough of this shit. I’ll probably find out that none of these magazine properties are worth anything, and I won’t feel an ounce of sadness about shutting most of them down. Maybe all of them. Who knows? I buy them out, I have all the power. And another successful turnaround will only increase my legitimacy.