Vicious (Sinners of Saint #1)(33)

“Is there a problem?”

I closed the door without answering her, then stormed back to my office, where Help already stood. Good. At least she knew that my generosity and willingness to make this work had its limits. She was focused on her iPad and seemed to give zero shits about my semi-tantrum.

“Book a flight to San Diego for this afternoon,” I barked. “And arrange for my father’s limo to take us to Todos Santos.” Without a glance at her, I fell into my executive chair and rolled it toward my laptop, pushing my sleeves up.

“Us? I’ll need the other person’s name for the ticket.” She tapped on her device, the trace of a smile still on her lips.

“The other person is you.” My voice was flat.

Her eyes arrowed from the screen to me. “I can’t leave my sister.”

“I clearly remember you agreeing not to argue with me, Help. Don’t start a war with me. I come equipped.”

“That was before I realized my sister’s health could be compromised—”

I cut her off. “Rosie will have a private nurse attending to her while you’re gone. Have my people move her to your new apartment today.” I scrawled the address of the building where I was living.

I wasn’t stupid enough to tell her I was living in Dean’s apartment. The HotHoles had invested in a few smaller units in the building. One was a corporate place we used as backup if we were all in town at once. Also a convenient place to get laid. The apartment was vacant and minimally furnished. That was more than enough for these two.

“And what do you know, this apartment has heat,” I added, remembering the cold, drafty hallway in her ancient brownstone.

She shoved one of her hands deep into those pink-purple locks and massaged her skull in frustration. Seeing her sweating made my cock twitch. Luckily, I was behind a desk.

She had no way out. This was happening.

“I’ll call Rosie and see what I can do,” she muttered, her eyes shooting daggers at me. Blue with light purple hair. And that Harley Quinn courier bag.

How could you not want to fuck this chick? Of course I was hard. She looked like a rainbow.

“Here’s a friendly reminder. Your sister’s not your boss. I am. So you better not come back with the wrong answer.” I twisted to my laptop when I heard a knock on the door.

“Come in,” I called out, and Floyd entered my office, reeking of Brooks Brothers.

“You wanted to see me, Mr. Spencer?” he stuttered, smoothing his starched shirt. He looked like he might’ve shit his pants.

I was hoping he had because that would absolutely kill any chance of him and Help ever hooking up. I nodded at him while Emilia gave us a hooded glance, wrinkles knitting the corners of her eyes.

“I’ll get out of your way, then” she said and turned to leave.

“Stay,” I ordered sharply and pushed back, sprawled in my chair. I’d always been comfortable with other people’s defenselessness. “Close the door and take a seat, Floyd. You too, Ms. LeBlanc.”

They did as they were told, and I took a deep breath. I needed to tread lightly on this one.

But I needed to remind Floyd who was in charge more.

“Who am I?” I asked Floyd before he had a chance even to make himself comfortable in the chair in front of my desk.

He shifted in his seat, rubbing the back of his neck and throwing a glance toward Help before his eyes landed back on me. “The CEO of Fiscal Heights Holdings,” he said.

“Try again.” I knitted my fingers together, leaning back and tapping my two index fingers on my lips. “Ms. LeBlanc, who am I?”

“A sadistic jerk?” She examined her nails.

And my blood fucking boiled. I felt it bubbling in my veins as I grinned away my anger. Anger that quickly turned into delight. I liked her sassy. Floyd, on the other hand, gasped in horror.

“Wrong. Try again.” I turned to him. “Your turn.”

“Baron Spencer,” he said.

“Ms. LeBlanc?” I asked, even though I knew she’d be rude. This wasn’t an argument. This was foreplay. She just didn’t know it yet.

“The world’s worst neighbor? I think I’m beginning to enjoy this game.”

“Floyd?” My eyes landed back on him. “One last chance to get it right.”

He looked so miserable. Sweaty and helpless and confused. I knew that if this leaked, I was going to get shit from Jaime, Dean, and Trent for the next century. Among us, I was known as the one who always took it a little too far with the staff.

“You’re my boss,” Floyd stammered, finally—fucking finally—getting it right. “You’re my boss, Mr. Spencer,” he repeated louder when he saw the approval in my expression.