Page 24 of Mr. Hotshot CEO
Julian
Usually I let myselfsleep in on Saturday mornings. Rather than five o’clock, I get up at six. But since I’m on vacation, I don’t set an alarm.
I wake up at 6:02.
And I can’t fall back to sleep.
Sighing, I head to the gym in my penthouse and do my usual workout. Then I have a shower, make myself some eggs and bacon, and sit at the table with my breakfast and a double espresso. I reach for my phone out of habit, but then I remember that my idiot brother confiscated my phone and refused to give it back because I didn’t attend last night’s orgy. So instead, I pick upComo agua para chocolateand read another chapter.
When I look at my watch, it’s eight thirty. My God, Courtney is certainly sleeping in. I can’t remember the last time I slept until eight. I pace back and forth. I want to get on with my day, but I can’t do that until she’s up.
There’s a knock at my door
“It’s Vince,” says a muffled voice.
Great. Just what I need.
Reluctantly, I let my brother inside. He’s wearing the same clothes as last night, and he looks a little worse for wear. He sprawls out on my couch.
“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I ask, my tone of voice making it clear that I am not experiencing any pleasure whatsoever.
“Just thought I’d pop by and see what you were doing before I went home and slept.”
“You haven’t gone to bed yet?”
He shoots me a lazy grin. “Define ‘going to bed.’”
So he came here straight from the orgy. How lovely.
“Are you drunk?” I ask. “On drugs?” What sort of drugs do people do at sex parties?
“Nothing serious you should know about.”
“It’s probably best I know as little about your life as possible.”
“Probably true. What did you get up to last night?”
Oh, shit. Courtney is in the guestroom and could emerge at any minute and meet my wayward brother.
“Um,” I say. “I went to a coffee shop, then came home and went to bed.”
He looks at me in horror, his wide eyes a little red. I hope that’s because it’s eight thirty in the morning and he hasn’t gone to bed yet, not because of aforementioned drugs that are “nothing serious.”
“You,” Vince says, “are no fun at all. You seem a bit twitchy, too.”
“I’m just fine,” I grind out. “I was enjoying a relaxing morning until you ruined my peace and quiet.”
“That’s what I do best.”
“I’m well aware of that. Now, for the hassle of having to put up with you on this beautiful Saturday morning, could you please return my phone?”
I hold out my hand, and my brother regards it for a moment. Just when I think he’s going to give my phone back, I hear an unwelcome voice. It’s quite a pretty voice, but it’s decidedly unwelcome at this moment.
“Julian, do you have a hairbrush? Or a comb?”
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
