Page 3 of The Puck Player

“Everything is for sale, you just have to know the right price,” I reply, moving towards his desk and pulling a thousand dollars from my wallet, holding the bills between my fingers.

The man finally leans back in his chair, assessing me more closely than before, and I know the moment he sees it, the power I hold. The one that runs just below the surface of my skin that I learned to wield when I was still a child, and have continued to use against people ever since. Having money doesn’t make me better than others, but knowing how to wield the power it affords me does. Not everyone can be rich, but they can be smart, I just so happen to be both.

When he doesn’t say anything in response, I pull out another thousand dollars and drop all the bills onto his desk, noting the red-marked overdue letters that litter the top. He grabs at them like a rat snatching up the crumbs of someone's leftovers, and I grimace at the ugly display, my patience slowly fraying.

“The tape,” I snap, and he quickly scrambles to his monitor in the corner, clicking a few buttons before ejecting a small disc and giving it to me, no questions asked. “Pleasure doing business with you,” I add, already tucking the disc into my pocket andwalking firmly out the door, not missing the underhanded curse he tosses at my back that makes me smirk.

A few girls try to catch my eye on the way out of the bar, but I barely spare them a glance. No one could hold a candle to the little troublemaker I just dropped two grand on, so why even bother. Once I’m back outside I hail down a cab and pull out my phone as I move to climb inside, giving the driver the address to my parent’s penthouse, as my own personal hacker and assistant answers my call.

“What trouble did you get yourself into now, rich boy?” She drawls down the line, not bothering to say hello, and I can’t help but smirk.

“None that you wouldn’t be able to get me out of my dear Duchess,” I reply, and I can almost hear her rolling her eyes at me.

Duchess, for lack of a better word, is a bitch, but she’s also a fucking genius, and for some reason though she might deny it, she happens to like me and all my fucking debauchery. I call her for anything and everything, and pay her handsomely for it. There isn’t a place she can’t get into, or a stone she can’t uncover, and I probably could have got her to just hack the footage rather than pay for it, but that would only take extra time I am not willing to give.

“First, I need you to buy a shitty little bar downtown called,” I trail off as I look at the name of the bar before the driver pulls away. “Frankie’s.” She makes a scoffed noise at the name, but I hear her tapping away on her keyboard as she instantly starts to deal with my first request. I’m not sentimental or anything, but the need to buy the bar where I first saw the mystery girl is overwhelming, and well, what else would I do with my endless supply of money?

“It will be done by the morning, what else?” She asks, still tapping, and I look down at the disc in my pocket, as a freshwave of arousal courses through me at the thought of the girl I bought it for.

“I’m going to send you some footage when I get home, I need you to track someone from it, a girl,” I tell her, and this time her scoff is even longer.

“Of course you do,” she mumbles, no doubt once again rolling her eyes at me. “Name,” she demands in exasperation, more than used to my antics and bullshit, though I have never gone this far.

“Probably something perfect for me to moan,” I toss back without thinking, and she groans, as the cab driver's eyes meet mine in the mirror.

“No name, Okay, where do they live?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“Have they been to the bar before?”

“I don’t know.”

Her sigh is resigned, and I can almost see her leaning back in her chair like the man from inside the bar. “What the fuck do you know, Alexander?”

“That my cock will look amazing between her perfect tits,” I toss back, and I just know she is infuriated by me, just like every other day.

“You know you’re a rich, misogynistic pig, right?” She asks, as outraged by me as she usually is, and my grin only widens.

“Of course I know, now do we have a deal?” Another scoff at my question, because not once has she ever refused anything I asked of her, and she knows it.

“Just do me a favor and send me the footage before you jerk off to it, you fucking creep.”

“I can’t make any promises,” I tease, and she disconnects the call in response, ignoring my laughter, as I focus back on the road.

When I make it back to the penthouse the party has thankfully dissipated, so I grab myself a bottle of water and make my way toward the stairs to head to my room, when I am cut off in my tracks.

“Alexander, is that you, son?” My dad calls from his office, and I pause on the threshold with a sigh, before turning on my heels and heading to his office.

My father, Parker Reign, is CEO of one of America’s top technology firms, PRT, a company he founded when he was just a little older than I am, which catapulted him into the land of billionaires within just two years. At the same time he was traveling around Europe, wooing clients and winning investments, which is how he met my mother. Sinclair Reign, then known as Sinclair Striker, was a famous British supermodel back in her day, and it was pretty much love at first sight for the both of them. They’ve been happily married for twenty-five years, and as their only son, I know they love me more than anything, but you can’t run an empire and always be an emotionally available parent.

When I reach my dad’s office I find exactly what I expect, my father sitting behind his desk, with his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose, as he stares down at his computer screen. It doesn’t matter where we are in the world, or what house we are staying in, it’s always the same sight, and I can’t help but smile at the familiarity of it.

“You ducked out early,” he muses, and I can feel his knowing stare watching me.

“You know I hate those bullshit dinner parties,” I grumble, as I lean against the doorframe.

“Don’t let your mother hear you say that,” he laughs, wiping a hand down his face before he continues, “Besides you know those dinners are good for business.”

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