Page 32 of Queen Of Dark Money

“Whattime is it?”Iasked, realizing with the sun streaming through the window like it was, it had to be daylight.WhichmeantI’dslept half the day away whenIcould have been plotting an escape.

Hespun the fancy watch on his wrist around, peering at the face of it with squinted eyes.Clearly, someone hadn’t quite gotten over his hangover yet. “It’sgoing on eight in the morning.Justabout time for me to start business.”Hesighed, giving up on the cufflink to reach for a phone in his back pocket. “Maybe, ifI’mlucky, those incompetent fools will come back and pick you up today soIcan conduct the business they pay me to handle.”

Sohe worked for the asshats that kidnapped me?

I’dassumed he was a boss of some sort, but maybe he was just a frontman or a fall guy.

Notthat a frontman could afford a place likethis.

“So, are you like some rich bitch with too much time on your hands or something?Orare you like a mafia boss?”

Hisstare was uncanny in how empty and confused it looked as he just stood there, blinking. “Comeagain?”

“Whatdo you do?”Isaid slowly, pretending he was stupid. “Youknow, the job you have that pays for all this?”Iwaved my hands around vaguely, gesticulating at the penthouse we stood in. “Ican’t imagine it’s cheap.”

Hisconfused blankness faded, replaced with a slow grin that crept from the corner of his lips and spread like paint on a canvas.Whenhis grin reached both sides of his face, he chuckled, turned on a heel, and left me even more eager to get answers than before.

Therewas no wayIwas gonna let him leave me hanging.

“Hey, come on, what’s it gonna hurt to tell me?”Ishouted, leaping into action asIfollowed him into the hallway, scrambling at the door and bolting down the hall after him.He’dalready reached the bottom of the stairs beforeImade it to the top, which was wild.

Damnhis long legs.

“Waitup!”Iscreeched, trying desperately not to trip and fall asIshot down the stairs at breakneck speed. “Whatthe fuck, man, can you slow down for five seconds?”

“Timeis money, and for some of us, money is our business,MissSinclair,” he droned, shuffling around his kitchen slowly, hand on a tall mug of what looked like steaming coffee.

Coffeewas life.Ididn’t function right without it in the mornings.Tosee him holding some was like a shot to the heart.Surelyhe’d made enough for the both of us?

“Oh, nice, coffee, where’s mine?”

Hestopped mid-stride, turned his head, and just blinked at me, one brow cocked up in question. “Yours?”

Inodded at him, smiling huge.Atleast one part of this situation would be normal. “Yeah.Mycup, you know, of coffee.Idrink it with a little cream, butIcan take it black–”

“Dogsdrink from the faucet,MissSinclair,” he uttered, before turning away from me, bringing his cup to his lips with a sigh. “Woofwoof, motherfucker.”

Myown words back to bite me in the ass, how ironic.

“Wow,”Idragged out, stunned that his politeness seemed to evaporate in the morning sun. “Soconsiderate.”

“I’msorry,Isee your lips moving, but allIhear is a barking whine.”Hiscup moved back up to his lips, and he pointedly slurped that shit to piss me off. “PerhapsI’llcall some local kennels and see if one can board you soIcan finish my work in peace.”

Iknow he did not just–

Atthat point,Idecided to make things as unpleasant as possible for him, no matter the cost.Iwas going to make this man rue the day he ever laid eyes on me.

“Okay, buddy, whatever you say.”Imarched over to the sink and pointedly stared at his back asIleaned over, stretching to reach the damn spigot.Unfortunately, it was a million miles away, these damn rich people and their colossal ass counters and deep sinks, andIcouldn’t reach it with just my head.Ihad to cup my hands under the water and sip it like a savage.Myeyes narrowed as they met his in the reflection in the window, the smug sonofabitch refusing to look away as he sipped his steaming coffee.

He’dpay for this.

Aftera few minutes of standing in front of that fucking glass wall he called a window, he turned and pulled a banana out of the fridge, handed it to me without a word, and grabbed my wrist, leading me around behind him.Ihad no choice but to follow or be pulled along like a fucking dog, and there was no wayIwas giving him any more ammunition to use against me.

Itappeared his office was the destination again, soIresigned myself to parking it on the cold leather couch again, peeling thebanana asIstared at his back with the intensity of a raging sun.IfIstared any harder, the poor man might combust, and ifIdidn’t have him, there would be no escaping this damn sterile, empty, hollow apartment that lacked so much as a drop of personality.

Imissed my mother’s house back home, with all the weird little knick-knacks, the hand-knitted blankets thrown haphazardly over the back of the couch, even the worn rugsI’dlay on as a child, reading my books and fantasizing about a different life, a different world, one where we all got our happy endings and nobody ever hurt you again.

Whata joke those fantasies turned out to be.

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