Tap.
I almost throw the phone at the wall but stop myself.
I keep watching the footage—me getting up from the floor as she sits on my couch with her feet up, crossed arrogantly on top of my favorite coffee table.
My. Motherfucking. Coffee table!
She has no idea that it cost fifty Gs or that it’s an antique, made out of volcanic rock that was recovered centuries ago.
And then her words.“Welcome back, Mr. Chancellor.”
Oh, I wish she was right here. I would bend her over that very coffee table and make her scream apologies for everything that’s holy.
I praise myself for always being in control. Except for lately. Drinking, coke, Dad with his demands, never-ending work… I was slipping for a month, I know. But who gives a shit about me? Everyone cares about this island. Gen-Alpha board members only care about money and power. Dad—about his dirty political games.
This pretty spy on my island has her own agenda. Everyone is in it for themselves.
The memory of her grinding into my hand at that escort party makes me even madder.
Women drool over me. They come at my mere touch. And this one… her…
I try to pace my breathing, only now noticing that my dick is hard like concrete.
I walk to the bar and make myself a drink. But no. Even a sip ofArarat, the best Armenian cognac, doesn’t cut it this time.
What I want is to sink my cock into that wild thing and see her O-face instead of that arrogant smile. Make my cum spill down her beautiful tits. Fuck her until she can’t walk straight.
I pick up the phone and dial Kat.
Now that she has the phone, I’ll make sure she hears from me any time, day or night. She’ll be at my side whenever I snap my fingers.
“Yes?”
The familiar voice on the other line makes me shiver in anger and… anticipation. I can almost hear a smile in her voice.
“We need to talk,” I try to say calmly, though in my mind I’m spitting out every syllable. The gloves are off. I have no patience for the slow game of seduction. “At my villa.”
I cut the call and wait.
Kitty, kitty, kitty.
13
KAT
Oh,look! Mr. Chancellor wolf-whistles and the girl comes running.
Yeah. No. Nuh-huh.
Not happening.
The last several days were quiet. Dad agreed to help Archer, or me, to be exact, with his info connections.
Fine.
Archer is sinking his claws into my family—myfault—also fine. It might work out.
What’s not working out well is my ability to keep my thoughts straight.