Page 104 of Guilty as Sin

Me having to play the dumbass building manager is nothing in comparison.

I bet Cora finds it funny. She must be keeping up with the news, if only to make sure that she and Connor aren’t implicated. I imagine her smirking as she reads about me, taking savage delight in what she knows I find humiliating.

She deserves to enjoy my shame after what I did to her.

It’s no use trying not to think about my wife. Her ghost is with me at the breakfast table, in the shower, sitting beside me in the town car, lying in my arms as I fall asleep.

She was so talented in her role at my side, an asset to the O’Sullivan arsenal. But she’s happier where she is now. The men I’ve assigned to guard her report that she’s doing just fine without me. She’s back to her life as an ophthalmologist, which I convince myself is a good thing.

It’s what she wanted all along.

I go to work alone, and I hate it. Working in my office is nearly impossible. Whenever I’m in my chair, all I can think about is her bent over my knee, begging me to spank her until I leave my handprints on her perfect ass. Mine.

But she’s not mine anymore.

One night, when I return to my penthouse that’s soulless without her, I realize there’s no real reason for me to leave it again. I stop going into the office and visiting the sites in person. I’m a good manager, which means I’m a good delegator. Things run smoothly even when I’m remote.

It’s easier to get my work done from home anyway. I don’t have to shower. I don’t have to put on a suit. I don’t have to waste time getting to and from the office. It’s just as well, because my time management has gone to shit. Tasks that used to take me half an hour now take me all morning. I can’t fucking focus. I compensate by forgoing sleep and mainlining energy drinks to get all my work done.

Liam “swings by my place” one afternoon. It’s a fucking wellness check.

I’ve kept up with everything, thanks to me working through the nights. The hotels, the stocks, the real estate. Everything. And my older brother still invites himself over.

From the rebuilt security office downstairs, the guard on duty calls me to let me know Liam’s on his way up. It’s protocol now with our heightened security. No one past the lobby without my permission. Liam gets a pass, but I still have to know about it.

“You look like shit,” he says when he finds me in my office. I don’t look up from my computer.

“Did you need something?”

“We need to talk about Seven.”

That gets me to look up. I push up from my desk. If we’re going to talk about Seven, then I need to be able to fucking pace.

“Jesus,” my brother says. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“What about Seven?”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“What about Seven?”

“When’s the last time you took a shower?”

“What about Seven?” I snarl, but Liam just turns away.

I storm after him into the kitchen, where he’s poking his head into my refrigerator.

“Go take a shower,” he tells me. “I’ll fix you something to eat.”

“What the shit? What about⁠—”

“We’re not going to talk about Seven until after you take a fucking shower. And put on some clean clothes.”

I take a fucking shower. I put on some clean clothes. Just sweats and a T-shirt though, because fuck Liam for telling me what to do. But the fact that they’re clean and I’m clean does make me feel a little more like myself.

“Better?” he asks when I return to the kitchen. I don’t give him the satisfaction of an answer, and he slides a protein shake toward me.

“What about Seven?” I demand.