Page 14 of Grumpy Billionaire Bad Boy

Archer pulls out his phone and clicks a few buttons before setting it down in front of me and zooming in. "See this." He points. "That's where we are." He zooms out. "Right here, there are a few shops, but they're high-end." He moves the map to a few blocks away. "Over here might be better."

I swat his hand out of the way and pick his phone up, exploring the map and what options are available. Without wanting Archer to blow a gasket, I quickly return his phone and offer a soft smile. "Thanks." I hop off the chair and pat the crumbs off my top. "Hey, by the way, where are my clothes?"

"I washed them." He motions toward his bedroom. "They're folded up on the dresser in there."

I narrow my gaze while trying to keep it sort of neutral and figure out his motives. Why would he wash my clothes? Why would he fold them? And why would he put them in his bedroom?

"Why?"

"Would you prefer them to be in a pile on the floor?"

"No, Archer, you know what I mean. Why are they in your bedroom?"

He comes closer, towering over me. "Because if you're going to be staying here, you're going to stay in the bedroom."

I should be intimidated by the way he's looking at me, standing so close I can feel the warmth of his body radiating from him. His tattoo-covered skin and his decadently intense stare should make me question what the hell I'm even doinghere, but Archer has no idea where I came from, who raised me, and the depths of hell that man put me through.

My father may have been the first man to hurt me, and because of that, there isn't anything worse anyone else could do to me.

Chapter 6

Archer

With only a few keystrokes, I locate Joe Vito, sleeping soundly in his bed in California, the camera on his computer giving me access to watch his breaths slow and steady through the screen.

I dig into his recent whereabouts, credit card transactions, and cell phone records. It isn't difficult to track a man like him when he's so fucking showy with everything he does. Twelve thousand at a strip club on Tuesday, another three thousand at dinner on Saturday, a payment to the yacht club he's been a member of since birth, passed down from his disgraceful father.

Joe Vito is fucking boring, but he's been around long enough to have respect from therightpeople, and because of the connections his father gave him, and the strings he pulls, he's untouchable.

He's like a cockroach that everyonewantsto get rid of but ends up staying alive anyway.

Joe's private jet has been parked for over a month, the last known trip, a week-long thing to the Cayman Islands, no doubt to assess the bank accounts he has there and make sure his affairs were in order. Pretty typical of a man like Joe.

I scan his driver's license information, his date of birth, March 22nd, making him forty-three years old. Not an organ donor, go figure, not like anyone would want any piece of him when he's gone.

A few pushes of buttons later, three hundred thousand dollars have been transferred out, masked as a payment for his jet, but sentanonymouslyto a woman's domestic shelter in California. He'll never even know it's missing, let alone get to take credit for where the money went.

My cheek twitches, a smile forming and quickly fading the second London walks into the living room, her gait wobbly from that cast on her leg. "Hey, I'mgoingto run down to a few shops. I'll be backin acouple of hours."

I dim the screen and stand from my desk. "Give me a minute to shower and I'll go with you."

She waves her hand, dismissing me. "No, it's fine, really, I can go by myself."

"You're new to town, and you don't exactly get around easily, so let me take you." I leave out the part where I'm not even sure if she has anymoneyto begin with. She wasn't exactly dripping in disposable income last night on my doorstep.

"I said I was fine," she snaps back, her tone rigid and defensive. "I don't need your help."

"Excuse me for trying to be aniceguy."

"You said it yourself, Archer, you're not a nice guy, remember?"Sheputs her hand on her hip, and it really makes me wonder if she realizes how pathetic she looks right now.

The salespeople aren't going to give her the time of day in this town, and it's not like she can manage to get to the moreaffordable stores on her own.

"Fine then, go." I motion to the door. "Be my fucking guest."

London blinks harshly like she's not understanding what I just said. Her mouth parts slightly. "I—I will." She marches tothe door, not daring to glance back to see if I've changed my mind. She makes sure to slam it for dramatic effect, my chest tightening at how fucking frustrating that woman is.

I run my hand through my hair and head straight for the bathroom, taking the shower I said I needed and hoping it will allow me to cool off. I'm not used to dealing with people who aren't my immediate family anymore, now that I've isolated myself from everyone else.

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