Page 26 of Ashes of Saints

Killian has a chain of Michelin Star restaurants—he’s a famous chef—so he knows the owner. I had him send a message after Maya orgasmed for a third time last night. When I woke up this morning, the booking was confirmed.

It’s interesting that she picked up on that.

I know Aurora is a native New Yorker, yet she seems to be such a dichotomy. Her mother has—had—money and yet Aurora lives in one of the cheaper areas in the city. On the other hand, she knows how impressive it is to get a table at Kai.

It is.

It’s booked three months in advance.

Color me intrigued.

Which is a nuisance. Aurora might be beautiful, but I’m usually immune to that. After all, New York is full of gorgeous women. It doesn’t mean I want to fuck them all.

I probably do.

Yet, I won’t fuck her.

Probably.

What I hadn’t planned on was the little redhead being so witty and interesting. This would all be much easier if she was as boring as paint drying, like I predicted she’d be.

After all, she’s done nothing with her life. An art degree from Columbia University is great, but she’s done nothing with it. Unless you consider working as a merchandiser in a big brand fashion retail nailing it.

I don’t.

No wonder she’s living in Hell’s Kitchen.

At a guess, fucking up little children’s lives pays well, but not enough to share with her daughter. Or maybe she had a shred of conscience and didn’t want to taint her daughter.

Or Aurora could be taking over the business and not drawing attention to herself.

Stranger things take place in this fucked-up world.

“Very fancy.” She gazes around the award-winning restaurant and picks up the menu.

She thinks I did it to impress her.

Did I?

I didn’t. I like the food plus it’s all part of the web I’m weaving to trap her so I can get what I need.

Women like wealthy and successful men. I read once it’s less about being a gold digger and more an unconscious and biological attraction. They want a healthy man with strong sperm who can provide for them and their resulting offspring.

Survival at its core.

Makes sense.

Unfortunately for the women in America, I have no intention of getting anyone pregnant and continuing our demented bloodline. My own desires, while mostly programmed from being groomed, are fucked up enough without throwing in my father’s genes.

The world does not need any more little Stone’s running around this planet.

I’m planning to have the nip and tuck downstairs to make sure it doesn’t accidentally happen. I would’ve done it sooner if it wasn’t for the nightmares I have about someone with a knife near my cock.

Ugh. Jesus.

I shiver.

“Are you cold?” Aurora asks, her gaze shooting up.

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