Page 22 of Shifted

"Oh, these are nothing; I got a pair of footsie ones that are even more sexy. They have monkeys on them." I walked into the kitchen, grabbing two new glasses.

"I didn't know what kind of wine you liked, so I went with Pinot Noir. If I'd known you loved rosé, I would've come through." He looked over at the half-empty bottle in the corner of the kitchen.

"Oh no, that's strictly reserved for wine night and gossip sessions. Hence Lucas and the rosé." He sat on the stool across from me.

"So where's Joely?" He was surprised not to see my daughter around. I motioned to the stairs, and he nodded.

"Well, it is ten thirty at night, and if you're here for sex. Unfortunately, I am not able to unwind at the moment.” He chuckled at me, shaking his head. He looked slightly tired, with his blonde hair disheveled. I wondered what his workday was like.

"I'm not the sex on the first date kind of guy, don't worry. Well, I'm not the first-date kind of guy either," he admitted. I leaned against the island counter, confused as I stared at him.

"You've never been on a date?"

"I'm not the dating kind of guy. It's always been my career first. But I like you, you're a spitfire, Taylor." I poured him a glass and handed it over.

"I'm sorry. How old are you?" I questioned. He looked quite young, but being a doctor, I couldn’t help but wonder.

"I'm thirty." I couldn't help but laugh again. Instead, he looked slightly annoyed at my laughter, and this time, playfully defensively, he spoke again: "It's not funny. I am insecure about my age. I'm no longer considered young to most people." I frowned at him.

"Oh, boo hoo, you could be forty." He raised a brow in speculation, and I scoffed, "I'm twenty-five!”

"I know that, but I thought maybe you had a miracle worker for a plastic surgeon. They would make a fortune in California, let me tell you that." I shove his arm slightly, causing him to laugh in defense.

"You’re a dick; you know that, right?" he nods in acknowledgment; at least he knew his scum bag tendencies. I didn’t know whether his banter was playful or a hypothetical red flag.

"Hence why I don't do dates. I tend to piss them off five minutes in. But you haven't kicked me out just yet?" I sighed; he wasn’t close to getting the boot. But I wasn’t one to have my limits pushed, "So, twenty-five? How old were you when you had Joely? I mean, you went through law school and everything." I took another swig of my wine, staring into those curious, dreamy blue eyes.

"Yeah, I was pregnant my first year at Boston University and then a mother for the rest. But I graduated early, and now I'm at a firm." He smiled at me, impressed.

"So if I get into any legal trouble, I know who to call?" he asks and I chuckle.

"Do you plan on murdering anyone soon?" He shook his head. Well, that was good to keep note of. "Then I guess not." I stood traveling to the living room as he followed. “Would you like to watch a movie?" I offered.

"Only if it's not some cheesy rom-com?"

"Oh, what else would it be!" He followed me to the couch, sinking into the sectional, and opened his arms for me to sit in, so I accepted his offer.

"You smell like surgery." I tease, "Don't worry, I think it's hot." I hear him let out a sigh of relief as I laugh, "Have you ever watched ten things I hate about you?"

"Nope."

“Well, tonight you will.” I reached for the clicker in excitement. This man had no idea what he was in for.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hope Taylor

I've honestly come to the conclusion that most men suck. Well, not all. There is still 53% that doesn't and 47% that does. Because sitting here on this rooftop, watching a man I knew cheat on his wife yet again, made me sick.

Isaac sent me his profile; he specifically wanted me to know how bad of a guy he is, and being a cheater was the least of it. But now I'm watching him through a window as he fucks the shit out of some whore. He probably owned her, unfortunately. But that's who he was, one of the leaders of the biggest sex trade operation in the country.

His wife and child are a floor away. She is lying with her daughter in the room above, reading her child a story as her husband is below doing coke off of a woman's chest.

Hugo Deligard was his name. I never hated a man more. Well, that may not be the truth. Unfortunately, there have been worse, like Vincent Cadesco. But he's just never been caught. Fortunately for me, his trip to Boston was his mistake and my chance. I was the lucky bastard who found him—well, I was not lucky to see him in his natural state.

I watched as he threw the woman off of him when he was finished, and he walked into another room. He threw on a robe and opened the door. There was a group of men in suits that met with him as he gestured for them to sit. They looked like they were negotiating something Hugo wasn't too fond of. But then a case was opened, piles of money inside. Just like that, his face changed as if whatever they asked before didn't matter.

"How'd you find him before me?" I cringe at his voice and turn to him.

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