Page 18 of Crown Jewels
Everything he said checked out. I had more pink than any other color, I detested pineapple on pizza and necklaces made me feel like I was choking. How did he know me better than I knew myself?
Vahn grabbed his shirt off the couch and shook his head, “And you wonder why you can’t come.”
I might just strangle him with that shirt.
VAHN
3 HOURS AGO,
It was a nice normal day. I stopped at my favorite coffee shop, went to my morning classes, had lunch, then set about to start my afternoon. A typical Monday until 30 minutes into my screenwriting class.
My phone wouldn’t stop buzzing with calls from the manager of the building where my penthouse was. When I turned my phone off—whatever he had to say could be dealt with later—he called the school.
So here I was, stepping into a building I didn’t want to, to deal with some bullshit I didn’t want to. Nothing new there. Every day of my life I was doing shit I didn’t want to.
Pull Mitch away from some gambling catastrophe, jerk off instead of fucking the girl I really wanted to, or listen to some professor talk about crap I had no interest in. The only reason I majored in cinematic arts was to piss my dad off. When was I going to get what I wanted?
I almost got it yesterday. Emma’s lips were right there, so close that I could taste her nervousness. I went feral on Stacy and Mindy. Fucked them all night long, and they didn’t come close to touching the need clawing at my soul. After an eight hour fuck fest, I was still hungry.
The doorman nodded at me as I walked into the lobby. “Good afternoon Mr. Kessler.”
I felt like asking him what was so fucking good about it, right after I punched that smile off his face. But why waste the energy taking my irritation out on him when the cause of said irritation was waiting for me in the penthouse. The sooner this was dealt with, the sooner I could get back to my life.
Taking a deep breath, I calmed my anger and pushed the button to call the elevator.
A couple of people eyed me as they walked by, but it was the woman standing in the elevator that made my mouth tip up in amusement. The doors opened, and her lip began to curl in disgust, that deepened the more she rolled her judgy eyes over me.
“Who let you in here?”
I got it. Most of the people around here were dressed in designer labels and tailored suits, while I was wearing jeans and a Metallica t-shirt.
“The doorman.” I stepped inside and gave her the same judgmental look she was giving me. “Who let you in here?”
She looked so insulted that one would think I just slapped her mother. Though given her obvious fake boobs and way too long nails, she probably wouldn’t mind if someone slapped her mother.
There was a certain look people who found their way into money had. Fear. Like at any second they would lose everything.
It was similar to the look a child gave their parents when they couldn’t find their favorite teddy bear. And this bitch had that look all over her face. She also had the same fake aura of confidence that a lot of gold diggers had.
“Excuse me, but I live here.”
No, her husband or boyfriend lived here. She was just staying with them.
“So do I.” Technically. Although I hadn’t been here in years. A friend of mine was living here instead. And by friend, I meant the guy who answered my ad, and passed all the background checks.
She scoffed and rolled her eyes, “I highly doubt that. You couldn’t afford to live in the basement here.”
I didn’t say a word. I just leaned over and punched in the code for the penthouse.
Her eyes went wide.
That’s right bitch.
I smiled at her. “What floor?”
“Um…” she cleared her throat. “Third please.”
It was amazing how fast she found her manners. The third floor meant she was either fucking a married judge who was at least thirty years older than her, or that the gay couple had decided to expand their sexual horizons. I was going to assume it wasn’t the latter. So much for all judges being honorable.
