Page 120 of Billion-Dollar Attitudes

"Wait. I need my receipts from today." I told her, then remembering all I had with me were credit cards, I shrugged, "I need to pay you... somehow."

Marcie rolled her eyes. "No worries. I'll just take it out of your first royalty’s check. Oh, by the way, how's the novel going?"

I grinned. "I deleted the first draft because I decided to start over."

"You, what!" Marcie gasped. "You can't be serious."

"I am," I said with a nod. "It wasn't working for me. But don't worry, I have a new plan, and I'm confident it will be much better."

"Can you clue me in?" She gripped my hand and pulled me down on the couch beside her.

"I changed the main character, Marc. At first, he was the killer. Now, he's the hero.”

She quirked an eyebrow, "Oh, I thought you had a model character you were using?"

"I do." I squeezed her hand. "On the plane, I rewrote all the chapters and added a few more."

"So, you are telling me you're further along than I thought."

I nodded.

"Okay, if you say so." Marcie still looked skeptical, but she didn't push the issue.

"I'm sure you'll love it when I show it to you tomorrow." I hugged her neck.

"I'm sure I will." She patted my back and then got to her feet. "Get some sleep, girl. You've got a lot of work ahead of you."

I nodded in silent agreement as I slowly climbed the stairs. My eyes were again drawn to my phone before I entered my room and threw it on the bed.

Chapter Sixteen

Guy

A Few Weeks Later

As I watched the sunrise from my lanai with a cup of coffee in hand, I reflected on how anyone would love this palatial home I now lived in. Yet I didn't find myself feeling giddy being here. It was so big that even the property manager had lost count of how many rooms it had. "All I know is that it's at least 15,000 square feet with a 5,000 square foot guest house," he had said. Not only was the size remarkable, but the security features were as well. According to rumor, an Arab prince once owned this mansion under an assumed name and used it as a safe haven from his own family members.

I was no Arab prince, but the guys had convinced me to rethink my living arrangements. After Meagan was abducted, unfortunately, our private investigators found evidence of surveillance devices in both my old apartment and Meagan's. Because of these unsettling discoveries, I had no choice but to move to a more secluded location I'd dubbed Casa Palacious after the real one in Saville. Since the psycho was fixated on me, moving somewhere more defensible made sense. It was clear I was the new target and so was my sister and, very possibly, Ariel.

Ariel, ha! Be still, my restless heart!

I gulped down my last mouthful of coffee, and stared into the emptiness of the mug. One side of my brain was burned out, tired of hashing and rehashing reasons Ariel had chosen to leave for London. That side told me she was running back to patch things up with her ex after gaining the experience between the sheets I had been so eager to provide. Was I so lost in my egotistical needs I hadn't realized that was what she would do? And why did I care? I got laid, so what!

BUT… there was the other side of my mind that mocked me, pointing out my one big mistake. There was only one answer, I reasoned. Ariel had to get the fuck out of Dodge because I brought the killer to her doorstep… and now she hated me. I couldn't apologize or beg for forgiveness without a secure phone, and I hadn't bothered to ask for her email. So, all I could do was stew in my own musings. A skill I was honing to perfection.

I pressed my hands against my thighs and stood, setting my empty cup on the railing surrounding the massive porch— I just wanted my life back in order, and that wasn't happening fast enough for me. However, I was grateful for its advanced security features and that my highly skilled security team stayed out of sight most of the time. They also acted as a liaison between Meagan, her rehab center, and me. So far, all the many hours of therapy hadn’t restored my sister’s memory of the kidnapping.

I pursed my lips. Meagan had made it through two surgeries, a broken arm, and several fractured ribs. She was a tough kid… tougher than me. Recently, she had been discharged from the hospital and was recuperating at La Jolla Rehab Center. They specialized in head injuries. I missed her. I really did. She had lost her job, of course. Meagan had done well working as a salesperson at the Mercedes dealership. But she had insisted on being paid by commission, never dreaming she might need sick leave. It really didn't matter. I had no problem footing the bill. That was the least I could do, wasn't it…

By now, the sun was a sliver of orange as it dawned over the distant hills. I stretched and popped my neck, jumping at the sound it made. The quiet around here was deafening...

The nearby intercom chimed... they were all over the place, eerily chiming at the most unsuspecting times. This time, it was the guard at the front gate. "You have a delivery, Mr. Jackson." I glanced at my watch. It wasn't even 6:30 AM. Who made deliveries at this time of day?

"Who is it?

"The individual's ID says he's Sam Cotton," the guard reported, "he says he's from your office in town."

"Oh, yes, yes. Please sign for the package, and I'll come to get it." I wanted to sprint down the mile-long driveway just to tell Sam, hello, shake his hand.... anything. I missed seeing our employees. Many of them had become close friends, or at least close acquaintances. Living here all alone was becoming a real bitch, but I had no choice but to suck it up until the case was wrapped up. If experience was an indicator, my time here could be weeks, months, or even years. I'll never last!

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