Page 230 of Plaything

I smirked at my thoughts and nodded, along with everyone else in the house.

Holding Dominic’s hand, he led my boneless, gravity-defying body outside, where we thanked Jamie and said goodbyes to our friends—already making plans for next time.

Niko, sober enough to drive, took his car with Aiden to keep him company. Dominic and I sat in the backseat of the truck as Wyatt drove.

I curled into him, closing my eyes, ready to find Cat and cuddle him once we got home. With the weather warming up, he’d been adventuring outside more often.

“I’m curious,” Dominic began gently. “You’re a big fan of kissing but didn’t seem into it with Reese. Why?” He pried.

The most straightforward answer was that she wasn’t them. I wasn’t stupidly infatuated with Reesia or anyone else besides them.

Lifting my head from his shoulder, I gently held the collar of his shirt, bringing his head down to me. I kissed him once, loving the feel of his mouth on mine. I loved the slight taste of whisky on his lips and the gruffness of his 5 o’clock shadow against my skin. I pulled away once his kiss had washed away the memory of Reesia’s lips.

“Because none of you would ever wear vanilla-flavored lip gloss,” I answered softly.

His tired, hooded eyes brightened as he smiled down at me as I nestled my head back in his neck and closed my eyes.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Odette

“You’ve got this, Babydoll,” Aiden comforted while running his hand up and down my back. “We’ll be with you the entire time.”

Charles had been dead for two weeks, and I’d finally mustered up the courage to cut ties with his business partners—my business partners. I started talking to a therapist at Aiden’s (and surprisingly Dominic’s) request. I’d only had three appointments thus far, but she was easy to talk to, even about the uncomfortable situations. It was hard for me to open up, so we’d truthfully only scraped the surface of my plethora of issues.

Still, she greatly supported my decision to pull the trigger and finally schedule this meeting. She even recommended I bring a support person, so I brought Dominic, who’d never let anything bad happen to me. Niko, who’d been a massive help in understanding the financial side of the businesses. He was my unofficial numbers guy. Aiden, who would tear any of those disgusting men to shreds with his eyes alone if they tried to retaliate or argue. And, of course, Wyatt, who was calm and collected when I couldn’t be.

The elevator was eerily quiet as we rode up it. This was one of the buildings I owned—a crazy thought. It was used as a corporate office for one of my investment firms. It was only an hour from our house, which was incredibly convenient considering the businesses and their respective buildings were spread across the United States and a select few overseas.

With this being my first visit to one of my companies, I knew there’d likely be others who wanted my attention after the meeting. So, I looked the part. I wore black slacks, a black tucked-in body suit, pointed black heels, and a tan coat. If there was one thing I knew how to do right off the bat with this job—it was how to dress.

After Tony released the statements and truths about Charles, not a single person attended his funeral. Actually, a few journalists attended, only to capture the emptiness of the church where the ‘celebration of life’ was held. When it went live, I’d skimmed the story cleverly titled ‘The Real Charles Whitlock.’ After feeling a sense of déjà vu and nausea, I stopped reading. I was mentioned a lot, specifically how mentally abusive he’d been throughout my childhood. More recently, there was even a blurry photo of me lying on the floor of his office after he beat me.

My face was visible, surrounded by my messy hair. The cuts and bruises on my legs and face were fresh and bloody. It was an awful photo, and seeing it hurt my chest.

Tony had quickly snapped the photo for evidence before Vincent got to me and showed it to the cops that night. He was wise to include it in the article; it was the proof many people needed after thinking Charles was a saint for his whole career. It was awful but necessary.

Next to the photo of me was a statement from both Tony and the butler, Lawrence. They’d both said almost the same thing. Upon leaving me unconscious in his office, Charles had made a statement that was too disgustingly unrepeatable to include in the article.

...I didn’t want to know, and I was glad I was knocked out whenever he said what he did.

The article didn’t even mention the worst of what Charles had put me through, nor would any article. The only people who knew were my guys, the business partners, my therapist, and Charles, who took it to his grave. I didn’t want anyone to feel pity for me, let alone know what he allowed those men to do to me. That was my business, and I was finally dealing with it.

The best part of the article, besides society knowing the truth about my father, was that no one had offered me their condolences for him. I wasn’t sad he was dead, and everyone knew it.

The elevator opened, and I took a calming breath before stepping out with my guys trailing behind me.

The space was massive, with glass walls on either side and offices behind them where employees were taking calls, going through paperwork, or typing away at a computer. Dead ahead was a reception desk with a young woman with dark skin and curly brown hair behind it. Leaning against her desk, flirting up a storm, was none other than Vincent—who’d been invited by me.

The woman seemed amused by his antics, giggling and playing along while rolling her eyes. She was beautiful... he didn’t stand a chance.

The elevator’s ding turned her attention to us, and she shooed Vincent away from her desk. Her warm smile disappeared quickly as she looked like a deer in headlights. “Hi, welcome to—Miss Whitlock,” she stumbled over her words as we approached her desk. She stood from her chair, touching her skirt as she straightened out the nonexistent wrinkles. “My apologies, we didn’t know you were coming today. Just a moment while I get Mister Smith; I’m sure he wants to know that you’re here,” she rambled before reaching for the phone.

From the plaque on the wall downstairs in the lobby, I knew Smith was the CEO responsible for this business line.

I smiled and gently shook my head, hoping to calm her nerves. “That’s okay; I’m actually here to meet with a few business partners. Rita Thumborn’s assistant scheduled it on my behalf,” I explained.

She put the phone down and lifted her brows. “She didn’t mention it was for you,” she breathed out. From how tidy her desk was and the detailed notes on her calendar, she wasn’t a fan of being caught off guard like this. My name was probably intimidating, but I sure wasn’t. Honestly, I was more nervous than her.

---