Page 140 of Madness & Mercy
The note reads:
Had business to take care of. If you need me, you can reach me on the phone. My contact’s already been added. By the way, I didn’t forget my promise to pay you, even if you are the world’s shittiest P.I.
I snort under my breath, flipping the paper over.
Your monthly limit’s ten thousand. If you need anything, ask the staff. Don’t order anything stupid, and don’t make me regret this.
— N.V.
My hands are actually shaking.Ten thousand a month?That’s one hundred twenty grand a year. Nico, you beautiful, arrogant, probably-psychotic bastard.
I power the phone on immediately, the screen flickering to life. I call up my depressingly small list of contacts whosenumbers I have memorized: my parents, a couple old friends from the force, and my brother, Cassian. I haven’t spoken to him in years. Sometimes I wonder how he’s doing. Sometimes I think about reaching out. Then I remember the look on his face the last time we spoke—the disgust, the anger—and I know he’d never pick up. Still, the thought lingers like a splinter under my skin. Maybe one day I’ll call, just to see if he answers. Maybe one day he’ll come looking for me.
Shaking the thought, I back out of the contacts list and shoot a quick text to Nico.
JULIAN:Thanks for the phone… and the credit card.
NICO:Try not to max it out on hookers and blow.
JULIAN:Wow. I was thinking a new briefcase, but now you’ve given me ideas.
NICO:You already have a briefcase.
JULIAN:It’s ugly.
NICO:So are you, but I keep you around.
I stare at the screen, heat crawling up my neck. He’s not even here and he’s already under my skin.
JULIAN:You always this charming over text?
NICO:No. Usually I’m worse.
There’s a pause. Three dots flash, vanish, then return.
NICO:Wear something tight when I get back. And nothing underneath.
My pulse spikes. I tell myself not to respond, not to give him the satisfaction. Instead, my thumbs betray me.
JULIAN:Guess I’ll have to buy something then.
NICO:Good. I’ll enjoy watching you spend my money.
I click the phone off and dig through Nico’s closet for something to wear, his words still echoing in my head: wearsomething tight, nothing underneath.
My skin prickles like he’s standing right behind me saying it.
I settle on a black V-neck and brown slacks. They’re designer, but at least they’re not flashy. And, against every shred of common sense and decency, I follow his order and skip the underwear.
Maybe it’s the way he just handed me a small fortune like it was nothing. Maybe it’s because, deep down, I’m a masochist who likes testing how far I can push him. Or maybe I’m just losing my mind.
Either way, I tell myself it wouldn’t hurt to buy clothes that actually suit me.
Without thinking, I grab the phone and open Amazon. It’s already logged into his account. I smirk. I start small: jeans, plain T-shirts, a couple sweaters, a leather belt, a worn-in denim jacket. Then I wander into “comfortable designer” territory. High-end shoes, a new watch, a leather briefcase Idefinitelydon’t need. My cart’s already over five hundred bucks before I even blink. Then I remember…ten grand a month.
Fuck it. I hit the thousand mark and check out with same-day shipping. Is this what rich people do? Just throw money around until they’re bored?
A few minutes later, my phone buzzes.
