“But it’s a present.”
“Now, Preston! Don’t test me.”
“Yes, Mama.”
At the sound of the familiar sweet voice, I take in his crushed face and big, sad eyes behind his thick Coke bottle glasses. His lip quivers as his small hand balls up a piece of paper boasting dozens of meticulously taped butterflies, just as I’d done with my own letter only moments ago. Murderous thoughts fill my head as I shift my stare to the cold-hearted woman standing next to him sporting a well-honed bitch face.
I mentioned that I hated children. Well, most children. All except for Preston. I had one focus in taking this job, and it wasn’t warm fuzzies from sticky-fingered hugs. Business was business. I’d wanted to stay detached, but I dare anyone not to love Preston. The kid reaches in and grabs your heart when you aren’t looking, rubbing it all over his squishy little face.
“I think it’s beautiful, Pres,” I call out, hoping to erase his devastated frown. The moment he hears my voice, the corners of his eyes crinkle and his lips lift into a wide grin.
“Butterflies,” he states, as if that says it all.
And it does. To me.
“Butterflies,” I repeat, returning his smile.
However, blinding bleached teeth encased in fuck-me red lipstick ruins the moment. “Laken.”
Mrs. Robinson…as I live and breathe.
“Lady Hammerle. I’m surprised to see you home.”
And sober.
Glancing at her diamond-encrusted Rolex, she taps the crystal face and purses her inflated lips. “You’re late.”
“Only a couple of minutes.”
“A couple of anything in my world can mean thousands of dollars.” Her judging gaze sears into me as I fight to control my temper. “Time is money, and money defines your time.”
Too bad your time is spent underneath anyone other than your husband.
Unfaithful from her acrylic toenails to her platinum dyed roots, Mrs. Winston Hammerle is the walking, talking embodiment of a Stepford Wife. According to Lollie, her favorite recreational activity is pole vaulting from one available cock to the next in between her husband’s European business trips. Refusing to grow old gracefully, she appears to believe the fountain of youth comes directly from the tip of a twenty-year-old dick. Lollie lost count of all the boy toys she’d caught pulling out of the estate in the early mornings, sporting fresh scratches all over their necks.
“It seems you have issues managing both, darling.”
Lollie shoots an arm out as I step forward, a warning in her eyes. With my mouth opening and closing like a fish, I push against her, inherently knowing my bank account and future need me to shut my mouth while my pride wants to force-feed her butterfly carcasses until she chokes.
I’ve lost my mind. It’s the only logical explanation I can come up with for still being on her payroll. No, there’s more to it than that. Mrs. Hammerle has connections at Tate & Cane Enterprises. She’d invested a couple million into the business and in return has the ears of executives. I need those ears, so I take her bullshit.
“You just have issues,” I mumble under my breath.
Okay, I take it starting…now.
Lollie just shakes her head as I shoot her an apologetic grin. “Grab your things, Preston,” I call out. Reminding myself of the brass ring dangling at the end of this merry-go-round, I stuff down the natural instinct to tell her to shove this job straight up her ass.
Ushering him out the door, I mumble a half-hearted goodbye to Lollie and get us both the hell out of there. The entire trip to Central Park, I repeat the mantra I’d come to survive by when dealing with that woman. If I want something bad enough, I can deal with just about anything to get it. Determination and success walk hand in hand with self-control.
I want an internship with Tate & Cane Enterprises.
Lady Hammerle is my ticket through the door whether I like it or not.
The ends justify the means, and anything that happens in between is just a necessary casualty of war. All’s fair in business and getting ahead.
Does that sound harsh? Probably, but don’t blame me. I don’t make the rules.
But I’ll damn sure play by them.
