Page 16 of Sex, Lies, & Techy Guys (Love on the Sunshine Coast)

And now I need to make breakfast before I have to get ready for the meeting with my lawyer. Will it be awkward seeing them this morning? I glance at the clock. It’s not even time for me to be awake so I spend extra time in the shower then get ready.

When I emerge from my room, I glance down the hallway and see light coming from their office. The door’s closed though. Why? Do they not trust me? Are they writing about the special services offered here? I smile to myself.

Reality flashes back. They’re here for a job and that’s their priority. Which leaves me stuck in my head all alone. Am I overthinking the possibility that they lied to me? If it wasn’t their first time, they should have said so. My cheerleader rolls her eyes as I trudge to the kitchen to start breakfast.

I have French toast scheduled for this morning since it’s easy. I’d expected my thoughts to be heavy this morning before my big meeting with my lawyer. I’ll find out how damning the evidence is.

But the surprise distraction from this godlike pair of men successfully whisked me away to a place where my concerns vanished. A blissful night of pleasure before my world comes crashing down.

My cheerleader tosses her pom poms in the air and walks away as I retreat to dismal thoughts. How do I prove I didn’t do something I didn’t do? How do I prove that I didn’t go online, hack some arrogant billionaire’s account, and funnel the money through my personal account? My lawyer said that proof I wasn’t on my home computer isn’t enough because I could have been on any computer. I could have a secret cell phone. The fucking internet is a wonderful place to hide.

I look down the hall at the closed door. Do they regret what we did? Not likely.

They can have their privacy. I’ll take that night of passion and file it away in my spank bank. I’m having phantom sensations of their cocks inside of me, my knees and hands pressed into the mattress as they worked me. I was totally dominated and I loved it. I didn’t have to do anything. I gave myself and they took care of me in the best of ways. I don’t want that to be ruined, nor will I let their secrecy steal my pleasure.

When the French toast is ready, I knock on their door.

Kyle says something I can’t decipher but I don’t think it’s to me.

I’m short on time so I don’t wait. “Breakfast is ready.”

“Thanks. We’re on a conference call. We’ll be out in a few minutes.”

A call is a completely valid excuse for being out of bed and working behind a closed door but the distance hits me like a slight.

“I have to leave. Put your dishes in the sink and I’ll take care of them when I get back. There’s also a note about lunch, which is in the refrigerator.”

I’ve walked away when the door clicks open and Lance asks, “How long will you be gone?”

My steps stutter at his gravelly tone, but I keep my forward momentum.

The insane level of possessiveness in his simple question makes me want too much. Too many emotions clamor for the surface. If my lawyer informs me that the evidence is compelling, this can’t turn into a relationship anyways. I just want normal.

It’s a no-win situation. If he says something kind, I’ll burst into tears. If he keeps it professional and distant, I’ll burst into tears. No point getting emotional when he has to finish his call.

I’d rather save that for my lawyer’s office where he’ll spell out whether I’m likely to be able to make a life out of cooking and housing other people or if I’ll spend the next few years living in a cell with all of my meals provided.

“I don’t know.” I’m in the kitchen by the time I work up an answer to his simple question of how long I’ll be gone. Five to ten with good behavior. It’s not even funny.

“Lance, they’ve got a question for you.”

Our eyes meet briefly before he retreats. My cheerleader does a flip, as does my stomach. I love the way Lance always looks like he’s ready to claim me. If only our time wasn’t limited.

CHAPTER 7

penny

Waiting for my friend Mila to answer my call, my heart sinks when it goes to voicemail. I toss my phone in the passenger seat. Knowing that I’ll see her in a few minutes doesn’t do much for my mental health.

I squeeze the steering wheel wishing it could be Tony Albrecht’s rich little neck for pressing charges against me, or better yet, my mysteriously vanished ex who by all counts seems to have framed me.

It’s superficially incriminating. My lawyer’s succinct response about how the evidence is adding up haunts me.

John Richards the Fourth’s optimism that he can punch holes in a few key pieces of evidence isn’t enough to console me. There are obviously people in this world who understand laws and loopholes and the Internet far more than I do because I thought it was clever to write off throw pillows as a start-up business expense. But alas, other people know how to put millions of dollars in a bank account with my name and get it back out before I even know it’s there.

Bottom line…we’re up against a billionaire, who even after being robbed of millions of dollars, has enough money to hire a top lawyer, and if needed, I’m sure he has connections to sway a judge.

I’d naïvely gambled on going with a pro bono lawyer. I invested my savings into fixing up the house so I could go into business for myself. The measly amount wouldn’t have paid for more than a handful of a lawyer’s hours anyway, still leaving me in a David and Goliath situation.

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