Page 9 of Any Means Necessary

“We have work to do now that you’re finally here,” Callum says annoyed.

“It’s too fucking early for this.”

“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon,” Callum points out.

“Exactly, I woke up three hours early for you. You should be grateful.” The newcomer’s attention catches on me, his eyes lighting in curiosity. “And who is this?”

His gaze on me is lacking the hint of disgust and judgment I’ve learned to expect from a guy like this. The rakish player type who bed hops, using his looks and charms to get whatever he wants, staying out all night and sleeping late into the afternoon.

“He’s about to tell you I’m the house-sitter, which is apparently all the introduction I need nowadays,” I say, watching the look of intrigue flash across his almost too-pretty, angular face. “Then you’ll both look at each other and have a silent conversation about me like I’m not standing right here. It’s fascinating every time.” I laugh knowingly when the new guy shares a look with Callum. “Just like that.”

“Ignore her, Liam.” Callum’s easy dismissal gets me fired up to piss the man off. Let’s see if I can pick at his control enough to get it to crack.

“Ahh, Liam. He was talking a lot of shit about you earlier, maybe you two should have a little heart-to-heart,” I mock a serious expression as I lie to stir the pot, raising my eyebrows smugly at Callum’s annoyed expression.

“Lexie.” My name is a warning. Callum isn’t amused. But Liam is. He poorly disguises his laugh as a cough, hiding his grin behind his hand when Callum’s glare cuts over to him. I smile prettily and keep bold eye contact as I move around the men to the living room.

“I’ll leave you to it.” I raise my can of Mountain Dew to them, picking up my bottle of glitter nail polish off the coffee table and shaking it in the other hand. Plopping down onto the couch to resume the episode of Real Housewives I was watching earlier, I begin to prep my toes for the polish. It’s a rerun since I’ve already watched every season, but the petty drama never gets old.

There’s something about watching super rich people’s ridiculous problems that feeds my soul. Like, can you believe Lisa didn’t invite Vicky to the fundraiser gala after Vicky invited her to the birthday party on the super yacht? It’s unhinged, I love it.

Chapter Three: Callum

“You look like you just stumbled out of bed,” I remark, eyeing Liam’s wrinkled shirt and unshaven face. Straight black hair falls over his forehead in disarray, a five o’clock shadow covering his usually clean-shaven face. His lack of presentation clearly not affecting his confidence, he smirks at me.

“Oh, I did just roll out of bed. It just wasn’t mine.” His dark eyebrows jump cockily. “It was a long night, I didn’t get much sleep.” Liam Caldwell spreads his arms along the back of the sofa, long legs stretched out in front of him. He looks like the cat lounging in satisfaction after eating the canary. His toothy grin begs me to ask for more details like a high school gossip. But I don’t have time to hear about his sexcapades at the moment.

“I hope you washed your hands. I don’t want your STDs getting on my couch.”

“What’s got your panties in a twist? Does it have something to do with Blondie out there?” Liam asks, nodding his head toward the door that separates my office from where Lexie sits in the living room. She can’t hear us, soundproofing each of the rooms in my apartment was one of my top priorities when I moved in. I take my privacy seriously.

“Tony decided to test my patience and made a switch.” The bastard thought he was so clever, sending Lexie in here like I wouldn’t notice. She’d rounded the kitchen corner like a curvy, blonde complication.

I should’ve known when I walked in to find the steak sizzling on the stove that Tony wasn’t the one living in my apartment, he can’t cook for shit. He doesn’t even try, instead leaving mountains of takeout containers to pile up by the trash. Drives me fucking insane, my place always smelled like day-old Kung Pao chicken when I got back into town. But Lexie’s steak was cooked perfectly.

“He thinks that—what—dangling a juicy blonde in front of you will keep you from caring?” Liam tsks in disappointment. “I never figured he was that big of a fucking idiot to run out on a contract. Especially with you.”

“He didn’t. Technically.” My grip tightens on the desk as frustration builds inside me. Tony is a coward for it, but he’s not stupid. He knew what he was doing when he set Lexie up in his place. “There’s an exigent circumstance clause in his contract that allows him to void the deal if he finds a suitable replacement who agrees to take over his position.”

“Blondie agreed to work for you?” Liam asks.

“Lexie,” I correct. “Lexie signed the agreement to take over Tony’s placement as the house-sitter.” I created the house-sitting position as a front, a ploy for tax and payment purposes. But it still counts as a position under my employment. “By legal definitions, he didn’t break the contract.”

Lexie is definitely a suitable replacement for watching my penthouse while I’m away. The house plants that now line the windows in sun-dappled greenery, the scented candles that make the whole place smell like a spa are always burning. She’s turned this place into a home in a little over two weeks—something I haven’t done in two years. It aligns with the contractual agreement exactly. And like the slimy snake he is, Tony slithered right through the tiny loophole.

“You don’t go by legal definitions,” Liam points out with a sarcastic laugh. He’s right, I don’t. I look at the details of every situation, identifying each one by weight of importance and consequence. If I feel cheated, no law will stop me. I’m meticulous.

“No, I don’t. But Tony got away clean, even by my definitions.” Tony’s ability to wriggle himself loose from my legal bonds was unexpected. I’ll never admit it, but I find it slightly impressive. As twisted as it is, I almost respect Tony for his ability to screw me over in his act of self-interest. It’s the only thing keeping him safe from my temper.

“So what does that mean for us? We’re out a medic on payroll.” Liam has a point, fueling my agitation. This isn’t part of the plan, which is unacceptable. I never allow loose ends. I need to find a skilled medical professional that I can shackle with a contract and gag with an NDA.

“Lexie is a nurse. That’s where Tony found her, at New York Presbyterian.” I’ve already considered my options, and she has potential. There’s just no telling how she would work out. The type of medical care that comes with my line of work isn’t pretty and usually comes with a certain level of violence. The pretty pink nurse on the couch in my living room isn’t what I’d call an ideal candidate.

“You really think Blondie is someone who wants to work for you?” Liam asks skeptically. “Or better yet, could you even work with her? She’s in there watching reality tv, drinking a Mountain Dew, painting her toenails sparkly pink.”

“It’s not ideal, but it’s an option. She’s a nurse who worked in the ER of the best hospital in the city. But there’s no way of knowing if our pretty pink nurse has the level of skill I need,” I muse. Testing her seems more risky than worth it, there’s no telling what would happen when she’s put under that type of pressure.

The memory of our introduction comes to mind. She’d been a deer in headlights when she rounded that corner and found me standing in my kitchen. She hadn’t freaked out, screamed, or cried. Her instincts were to threaten me with the authorities, even when she had no way of contacting anyone. Her bravado was almost amusing when she ordered me to leave when I clearly had the upper hand in the situation. She’d handled herself calmly, blinking up at me while she processed everything before responding. Then she demanded to see my ID.

---