Page 5 of A Man of Wealth

“I’m a little preoccupied at the moment, but Alexis’s test results came back.”

Aiden and I look at each other. We both know what he’s going to say before the words echo in the vastness of the gym.

“From what I can tell based on the information the doctor sent Alexis, it matches Tina’s. A few small tweaks, but it’s nearly the same. And I’d bet it matches the girls recently found in the park.”

“Fuck,” Aiden and I reply simultaneously.

“Yeah, fuck. Aiden’s there?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” he replies as he walks closer to me.

“I’m gonna encrypt this and send it to you. Did you talk to Ella?”

“I did. She agreed to help. I’ll forward whatever you send.”

“Good. I think we’re going to need her expertise.” There’s a pause. “Listen, I need to go, but I’ll come by later. We should talk.”

I decide it’s time to go into the city. I need to do some work at my office and my favorite bar is calling my name.

* * *

After several hours of work,I roll up to my old stomping grounds. It’s a dive bar, but I love it. I walk up to the counter and order my favorite beer. It’s not my normal drink, but at this bar it is.

“And here I thought beer was beneath you,” a sultry voice says to my right.

I turn to find Vivienne Westerly sitting there with her usual glass of white wine. Why I know this woman’s favorite drink is beyond me. And how in the hell did she find me, again. I curse the fates for having brought one of the people I loathe the most to me at a moment when I could use a friendly face.

“Fuck off,” I growl as I grab my beer and down half of it.

“Slow down, you’ll end up getting kicked out.”

I glare at her as I down the rest of my beer and place it on the counter, motioning to the bartender for another without even looking in his direction.

“Does being an asshole come naturally to you through your genetics or was it a learned behavior?” she asks as she runs her finger around the rim of her glass.

“I don’t know. You tell me?” I retort as I pick up the fresh glass of beer that’s been set in front of me.

“Can we call a five-minute truce, Sterling?” she asks as she raises the glass to her red lips. Why does this demon have to look like sin personified?

“And why would I do that, pray tell?”

She sets her glass down and leans toward me. I can smell her perfume, a mix of roses and lavender.

“Because I believe we both have information that the other might find useful, and”—she pauses, clearly for effect—“I think we may also have a common…person of interest.”

I raise my eyebrows. “OK, I’m intrigued,” I admit, although I’m mentally putting on all my defensive body armor. This woman can’t be trusted.

She looks around the bar and leans closer to me, a single stray hair touches my face as she whispers in my ear, “We should talk somewhere private.”

My defenses go from closing the gates to preparing for battle. What is this woman playing at?

Part of me wants to say “fuck no” and throw down a twenty before leaving. But as she pulls back and looks into my eyes, I see something else, fear? If she’s scared, why is she coming to me? Hell, this woman should be afraid of me. I’ve made it perfectly known that I’d like nothing more than to decimate her. Yet she’s sitting here wanting a private audience with me.

I weigh my options. I could walk out on the street, but I don’t know who’s here and who’s listening to us. I could take her to my penthouse, but I feel like she’ll end up writing a story about my “fuck pad” and that’s not a side of me that I’m willing to expose any more than it already is. So, I do probably the least logical thing.

“We can talk at my house,” I announce as I drop forty dollars on the bar to cover both our tabs. I’m bringing her back to my lair because there, I’m king. I have a home-court advantage. And my home screams of all the silver-spoon-in-mouth comments she has written. So, fine, she can write more, but then it’ll be repetitive, and I know she doesn’t write repetition. It’s a calculated move on my part, she just doesn’t know it yet.

“Y-your house?” she stammers giving me a confused look.

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