Page 341 of Tormented Billionaire Romance Series

“It was hot last night,” Grace says. “Yesterday was the first time I set foot in this place, and there hasn’t been a second yet.”

Amelie glances at me before responding, saying, “What?”

“That’s why I was naked,” she says, walking right up to Amelie until the two are less than a foot apart. “Even if I were sleeping in Zach’s room with his penis inside of me, though, that wouldn’t make it anyone’s business.”

Grace’s pulling her phone out of her pocket, and she’s tapping on the screen. A few seconds later, none of us has said anything, but Grace holds up the screen to Amelie.

“Wow,” Grace says. “This picture isn’t that bad.”

“Grace, we need to find out who’s behind this so we can hit back,” I start. “This thing’s going to backfire on someone, and I want to make sure it’s the right—”

Grace spits in Amelie’s face.

I’m too stunned to move. Amelie’s too stunned to wipe her face.

Grace just walks back and sits on the couch. She says, “Now, I believe Zach was asking you a question, and I interrupted. Now that I’m up to speed on everything else, why don’t you tell us both all about it?”

CHAPTER17

VARIABLES

GRACE

I’ve never had an enemy before. There are plenty of people I’ve met that I didn’t like. There are even more people, I bet, who’ve met me and didn’t like me, but when I came out into that living room and heard what had happened, something inside just cracked.

Never have I felt anything like the cold hatred I felt for that woman as she looked to me for sympathy while she described exactly how she violated me. I didn’t want the money she got from the picture and Zach sure as hell doesn’t need it, but it seems the cops don’t allow a person to profit from their crime.

So, these two ladies on my chest are responsible for the state of New York being two million bucks richer, or at least they will be once they convict. I don’t mind that part, I guess. I never cared about the money.

Now, I’m just waiting for Zach to get home.

The night I got here, I was tired and achy. After Amelie left to go do whatever it is people in custody do, I didn’t feel much like leaving my guest room for a few days. Now it’s been a week, though, and I’m starting to get curious.

The beach house was gorgeous with its enormous and open main room, and Iwouldlike to tour those hallways and see if there’s any justification for having so many rooms in a vacation home. It’s the penthouse, though, where Zach’s wealth is a bit more apparent.

I pull out my phone and search the internet to see if there’s anything about Zach’s homes. When it comes back with multiple articles, each claiming and inside look at the home oftheNikolai Scipio, any doubt I had left that I was now in a different world evaporates.

Zach’s told me about his different places, but he never went into that much detail. He was always more interested in telling me what’saroundthe various locales he rests his head than the mansions, penthouses—apparently there’s another one in Seattle—beach homes, and vacation homes themselves.

I’d better start getting used to this if it’s going to become a larger part of my life.

Scrolling through the many articles, I find one about “The New York Penthouse,” and I open the page.

It seems the floor isn’t just a floor; it’s also pressure sensitive and heated. I hadn’t noticed it until I’m reading about it on the internet, but there is an unnaturally natural feel to the temperature of the floor. The article says the pressure sensitivity is a security feature, though I’m less interested in that.

The shower I’ve been using since I got here comes with a few features I had no idea even existed. My personal favorite is how if you touch one area of one wall, just a bit above my shoulder height, an LED menu comes up on the shower glass.

From the menu, you can control anything from the shower pressure or temperature to a stereo with hidden speakers but incredible sound, and even catch a live stream of the inside of Stingray’s board room, though that’s password protected.

That one’s not in the article.

I’m running through the eight different kinds of marble contained in each tile around the hidden pool area—that might have been more a secret if Zach hadn’t shown it to everyone with a video camera and a website—when I hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hall.

“Grace?” Zach calls, and I slither my way through the hidden door and through the walk-in pantry I first mistook as a prototype minimart. Closing the pantry door behind me, I walk through the palatial kitchen, go down the hall, take a right and come out, finally, in the living room where Zach is hanging up his suit coat.

“Hey, you,” I say. “How was work?”

“Oh, you know,” he says, loosening his tie, “just another day closer to my inevitable banishment and the justifiably angry mob that’s probably going to blame me for some reason when Stingray fires all of them. How was your day?”

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