Page 13 of Stitched Up in You
Maybe I figure out what happened to his precious company, because there’s no way in hell I caused twelve million in damages. I wasn’t even in the system long enough to cause real havoc.
But if it turns out I did—I am so screwed because it will take every bit of money I have, plus the sale of the brownstone, to come up with that kind of cash. I reach up to toy with my Hello Kitty necklace through my sweater, needing to fiddle with something, but also wondering if it will be useful.
Bought on a whim, the tiny key logger can be used to break into practically anything, if I can access it anyway, which means getting into an office somewhere in the building.
Frank Stein knows I hacked him,hacked himish. Which probably means I won’t be allowed much of anywhere, at least I wouldn’t give me the keys to the castle either, were I him. Not that I need the keys.
A frown pulls at my lips. It’s almost offensive that I wasn’t even patted down.
Then again—a shiver rolls through me at how in another lifetime this whole scenario could be super hot. Frank playing good cop bad cop with my pussy would be sizzling.
I mean, yeah, they took my purse, which has a couple of other fun gadgets—but nothing to write home about. Most of my equipment is back home in my apartment, unfortunately.
I push the cold diamond-studded Hello Kitty pendant between my lips, sliding the chain back and forth as I try to think back on what I could have done wrong. I distinctly remembertracing back and hiding my tracks. I didn’t extract anything, no one should have even known I was there.
A sharp bark of laughter rings out, and I glance toward the door, where Bruno and Nero are now punching each other and laughing like hyenas, and sigh. Typical. Now that I don’t have to wonder if I’m going to be killed, the whole situation is looking up.
I unfold my legs from my chair and cross them at the ankle, wiggling to get comfy after sitting still for so long and try to listen to their words, but find they’re too far away to ear hustle properly.
The opportunity will come up if I’m stuck here long enough. The way men always underestimate women is sometimes sickening. Then again, I’m not so sure which buttons of Frank’s I’m ready to push just yet. If his first choice is threatening family and pets, it makes it crystal clear that Frank Stein knows exactly what the buttons do.
Because I will doanythingfor my cat.
I found Edgar outside my apartment one day when an ex-neighbor of mine, a mean old lady, kicked him with her booted shoe and sent him flying in the air and slamming into the nearby brick gateway. He was only a fluffball of a kitten meowing at the apartment complex doors begging for scraps, the poor thing. I took him to the vet, and once he was bandaged from a broken leg and got the all clear, he became my Edgar Allan Paw, my best friend.
I then told that old bitch if she ever kicked an animal in my presence again, I would give her a beating she would never forget—old lady or not.
After that, I tossed every piece of mail delivered to her that sat outside too long into the street, and I’d cackle as taxis drove over it while daring her to say anything. She moved out after a couple of months, unable to handle my pettiness, and now a nicecouple have her apartment along with several animals. Good riddance.
If Frank Stein thinks to hurt Edgar, I don’t know what I’d do to him, scary billionaire or not. I would fuck him every which way to Sunday, disappear, and make him beg for me to come back just to see him on those big knees of his.
I think most women would be turned off at how emotionless his stare is, at how merciless his gaze, but those gray eyes do something to my pussy. They’re so cold and menacing, completely at odds with how the media portrays him, and I wasn’t expecting my reaction to him at all.
His presence is indescribable, and a ripple of need goes through me at how his gaze bore into mine as if he could see my soul.
Dammit.
I want to hate fuck Frank Stein.
My head raises at the sounds of boot heels marching into the room, and I look up to see the man from earlier, Mikael, I think Frank said his name was, walking toward me with a manila envelope in his hand.
He nods his head in a friendly manner as my brows crinkle across my forehead. I wonder what he wants.
“Miss Crenshaw, now that you’ve had a bite to eat, I wondered if you would come with me, please?” Mikael asks, his voice cultured and low, but I can’t place the accent.
The black suit and tie he wears make him look like an FBI agent in a B-rated movie, and he holds his hand out, gesturing for me to get up and follow him.
“Where are we going?” I ask, a bit confused when the meathead twins don’t make a move to try and make me cooperate.
“To my offices, my team is waiting there to meet you,” he says, as if I’m here on a pleasure trip.
“Umm, okay.” I get to my feet and clasp my hands together, understanding there’s probably an easy way and a hard way to all of this, and I get the strong feeling Mikael is the easy way.
“Very good,” he says and starts for the doorway.
My nose wrinkles when we pass by Bruno and Nero. Bruno offers me a wink as Nero scowls and obviously pretends I don’t exist.
We make our way through another bland beige hallway, and after a short elevator ride later, we come to a set of glass double doors. Computers line the walls inside as people work in cubicles, the soft sounds of chatter entirely blocked from the outside, as if soundproofed.
