“Only because he feels sorry for you. You’re just a manipulative, greedy bitch trying to squeeze money out of everyone!”
The words bounce right off. Her opinion means nothing, because she’s never been fair or nice to me. Why bother listening to her anyway? “Exactly. And I’m also going to tell you that you and Peter need to replace my bed and sheets.”
“Get a job and replace them yourself. Or is honest work beneath you? Emotionally blackmailing people is all you can do, isn’t it? If it weren’t for you, Andreas wouldn’t have been so hard on Dad.”
“If Nelson had kept his dick in his pants—where itbelonged—none of this would’ve happened. Do you think I want to be his child? Or be related to someone like you?”
Viv screams, then looks around for something to throw. That is her go-to when she can’t win an argument. She grabs a bottle of toner from my vanity and lifts it over her head.
“Throw that and I’ll tell everyone in creation that you didn’t take your own LSAT.”
She hesitates. That perfect score I made for her is the only reason she got into Harvard Law. Her college transcript is average at best.
“You wouldn’t dare,” she says, the bottle still poised over her head.
“Why? Because it’s illegal to take the test for someone else?”
Her eyes glitter. “Exactly.”
“So is coercing somebody to take itforyou. How do you think it’ll look when I go on TV and tell everyone I had no choicebecause my stepmother threatened to end my real mother’s care and let her die? You and Karie have a lot to lose because you’re proud Webbers. Me? I’m just a nobody, so…”
She bites her lip, then finally throws the bottle on the bed, where it bounces a couple of times. “You.” She points a quivering finger at me. “You better keep your mouth shut if you want your cunty mom to live!”
Chapter Nine
Huxley
Sleep fades as my consciousness starts to assert itself. I feel so damn good as I laze in the soft bed, my face on the plush pillow and my body on twisted sheets. The morning after a visit with my family always starts with my mood somewhere south of zero, but not today.
Grace.
Just the thought of her makes me smile. My internal clock says it’s still early. Maybe a morning shower together would be good. With me washing herverythoroughly. I’d love to see my cum on her wet, naked body, her eyes glazed in orgasm, her nipples hard, and her mouth soft and swollen from my kisses. By then our breakfast should arrive. We can eat and then do it again, this time in bed. I’d love to have her for dessert.
I reach over to stroke her long, silky hair…and my fingers touch nothing but cool sheets. I crack my eyes open.She isn’t here.The bathroom’s quiet—and the door’s open—so she isn’t in there, either. No sound coming from the living room or the kitchen either. No scent of coffee. Nothing to indicate another person in the residence.
I sit up and rub my forehead. Displeasure tugs at my attention like a splinter stuck under my nail—not enough to hurt, but enough to make itself known. I glance at the nightstands and the desk. No note.
If it weren’t for the ripped condom wrappers, I could have dreamed the whole thing with Grace.
Why did she leave?
The sex couldn’t have been the problem. She came hard multiple times, her pussy spasming around my tongue, my fingers, my cock. She clung to me like I was her lifeline. I asked her what she liked for breakfast so I could instruct the concierge to send our breakfast at nine thirty sharp, all the while patting myself on the back for bringing her to the Aylster Residence my brother Seb still has a lease on, although he doesn’t live here. I chose this place because it was closer than mine and traffic was a shitshow. Plus, the concierge is damn convenient.
But I didn’t count on Grace fleeing the scene as I fell asleep with her in my arms. My mood craters, and a shower doesn’t help. By the time breakfast arrives, there are practically thunderclouds over my head.
I stare balefully at the Belgian waffle, all the attendant fixings and the three-egg omelet with cheese and bacon. I choke down some coffee, but don’t touch the food. My stomach is clenched too tight.
I don’t feel any better when I arrive at my place. Should’ve driven us here even if the trafficwasshitty last night. Then she wouldn’t have been able to leave so easily—Uber and the like can’t get past security without alerting me first.
I glumly stare at my mansion. It merely stands, stately, the stained-glass windows sparkling and the rock garden as Zen as the one I saw in Japan. Everything is as it should be, except my mood.
How am I going to find her again? I got the sense that the bar wasn’t her usual spot. She said her ex was a lawyer, but the city has over eighty-five thousand licensed lawyers. If she went to the bar to find a lawyer who was better than her ex…
That bar is a hangout for Huxley & Webber’s rival, Highsmith, Dickson and Associates. Most of their attorneys are from Ivy League schools or Stanford, and the massive firm has its fingers in hundreds of legal pies. And they generally employ very good lawyers.
“Hi there!” comes a high-pitched, cheery voice from…above?
I look up at the big tree in the yard. A blonde in a leopard-print dress straddles a branch about seven feet off the ground. The outfit is cut so low, I can see the tops of her areolas. She’s put a soft cloth over the branch to ensure she doesn’t chafe her toned thighs, and the skirt is riding so high I can see half her bare ass. I’d bet both eyeballs she’s going commando. With Grace, it was hot. But this chick—it’s just vulgar.
