Shattered Dynasty by Ava Harrison
18
Trent
A less observantman might have missed it.
Might have been too busy staring at her. The fiery woman as she barked back at me. The way her chest rose and fell with each restrained breath.
But I am not that man.
I miss nothing. I see everything.
And I certainly heard what she said.
She dropped a piece of the puzzle, and if she isn’t careful, I will collect all the pieces and use them to ruin her.
I latch onto the clue like a detective, ready to unravel it, no matter how long it takes. And it will take a bit of time. The statement wasn’t clear. It didn’t point me in any particular direction.
So, her mouth got her into trouble once before.
Interesting.
In the meantime, I’m enjoying toying with her more than I’d like to admit.
Payton Hart is easily angered. Her cheeks flush red when she’s upset. It quickly spreads down her chest.
Yes. I noticed that. Not something I’m proud of. To be fair, it’s like I said . . . I do notice everything.
Gail greets me at the top of the stairs with her tablet in hand. I plucked her from a top-tier service specializing in house management for military officials.
On the plus side, she cleared rigorous background checks with flying colors, knows how to keep a secret, and gets shit done without judgment. On the flip side, she possesses the humor of a five-star general preparing for battle.
“Mr. Aldridge.”
“Do you have a report for me?”
She hands the tablet to me, watching as I scroll through the bullet-point write-up she prepared for me. “Ms. Hart spends most of her time in her room.”
“And when you assign her the house duties?”
“She does them without complaint.”
There’s no emotion to Gail’s tone. If there’s any consolation to having a militant robot as a house manager, it’s the fact that she is at no risk of befriending Payton. I think Gail would rather endure waterboarding than befriend anyone, let alone Payton Hart.
I hand the tablet back to Gail. “Does she eat?”
“I have Chef make her healthy meals and leave them in glass containers in the fridge, as you instructed.”
“She has no idea they were made specifically for her?”
For the record, I’m not feeding her good shit out of the kindness of my heart. There is no kindness inside me. I’m an asshole. There’s no prettying that up. But I’m not a dumb asshole. If this ends up going to court, preventing her from eating would be a nail in my coffin.
Her meals are well-documented, along with the fact that I ordered my chef to make fancy-ass meals specifically for her. Not my problem that he leaves them in containers, and she assumes they’re leftovers.
I’ve never accused her of being smart.
“None whatsoever,” Gail confirms. “She’s under the impression the meals are leftovers, though I suspect she tries not to get caught eating them. She’ll take a spoonful from each container so no one notices. The cameras inside the fridge and in the kitchen catch her each time.”
“Perfect.”
I dismiss Gail and head up the stairs, returning to my room. I can’t wait until Payton is done cleaning so I can tell her our plans tomorrow. That’s when I will find out the details I need to strip her of her inheritance.
Between commuting. School. Extra assignments. Cleaning.
And the next part . . .
Volunteering.
This girl will be hanging on by a thread.
The thread of that little towel she dropped.
I head straight to the bathroom and turn the shower on.
When I strip off my clothes, I see that I’m fucking hard.
Funny how that little vixen makes me hard. I’d be lying if I said she isn’t hot.
She is.
But that’s not what gets my dick like this.
Nope.
It’s her fire.
It does it for me.
And those tits aren’t bad either.
And now I’m back to thinking of those perfect tits.
I step under the scalding water. I’ll need cold water to settle this, but my muscles are tense from the workout and the day in general.
Since it’s not going to calm on its own, I fist my cock and start to work myself.
In my head, I try to imagine anyone but her.
And I fail miserably.
Instead, I picture her in my gym, cleaning my sweat from the ropes of the ring.
She’s bent over. Her ass is on full display.
All it would take is one flip of my hand to expose her under the skirt she’s wearing, pull over her thong, and sink into her willing warmth.
My hand moves faster.
I think of the way I would thrust inside her tight pussy.
In and out.
Reach forward and grab those perfectly round breasts.
Squeeze until she’s coming all over my cock.
That’s all it takes before I feel myself erupt in my hand.
After I’m fully drained, I reach for the soap and wash away all the memories of what I just did.
Better to fuck my hand than her. Either way, I’m going to need to call an old hookup because having this woman in my house is too tempting, despite the hatred I feel for her.
I spend the rest of the shower trying to think of everything and anything but her.
The news launched.
It went viral, too.
Rat droppings and E. coli in a tomato sauce are not good for business.
We made a killing when the stock plummeted.
Enough money that everyone can retire. Although I doubt anyone will. My friends, my colleagues, my clients, and who am I kidding, myself, love money too much.
Cyrus wasn’t wrong. There’s a good chance that Paul will realize it was us and come after our group. He’s dangerous enough to make the threat real. It’s a calculated risk, one that paid off, but still a risk.
All the stocks that I handle are set up, so the chance of him figuring it out is minor. All the accounts I used are shell companies, which are then rerouted through so many different IP addresses, so many different countries, and so many different banks that it would take a real fucking genius to figure it out.
And there’s only one Jaxson Price.
Good thing the jackass works on our side.
But I’m still cautious. I have a meeting with Brandon later to discuss ramping up my security. Maybe even putting an extra guard on Payton.
I run the shampoo through my hair and wash it out. When I’m done, I shut off the water and grab a towel. Hopefully, she’s done by now, and I can tell her the rest of my plan.
Once dressed, I head out of my room and down the hall.
Time to see what she’s up to.
Her room is empty. I take that as an invitation to look around. It’s my place, after all.
When we moved her stuff in, I already took the opportunity to peek, but now that her bag is here, I figure maybe I missed something.
I listen to hear if anyone is coming. It’s silent in the hall, so I open the bag, pulling out her notebook.
Maybe there are some bank records or correspondences. Maybe there’s something on her phone? I instructed the phone company to send me transcripts of her texts and records of her calls. But now that she knows I’m tracking her, I have a feeling if there is anything amiss, she is not going to put it in writing.
I consider having Jax install an app on her phone remotely. One that mirrors her phone calls and sends them to me, but even I think that might be a little invasive.
Probably highly illegal.
Definitely not favorable if push comes to shove, and we head to court.
Since I pay for her phone, it’s not illegal to get transcripts, but duplicating and listening in crosses a line.
It’s a slippery slope.
Nothing on her phone indicates she’s texted anyone but her friend. I find it interesting and peculiar to see that she doesn’t, in fact, call her sister, save for an incoming call from Erin that lasted less than two minutes.
That relationship is something I’m going to need to investigate.
Maybe, like me, she finds it interesting that my father left the money to his girlfriend’s sister and not to his actual girlfriend. Then again, you’d think his wife and children would be the recipients but look how the fuck that turned out.
I wonder if Erin is reading between the lines and trying to figure out if Payton and my father were having an affair.
I realize that’s what I’m looking for. Proof of her treachery.
But I find nothing in any of the stuff that she brought here. Her bag and her phone also don’t tell me anything or indicate anything. I can’t say I’m disappointed. It’s a dangerous thought. One I have no business entertaining.
Being disappointed in Payton means I expected something from her.
Im-fucking-possible.
A month ago, I had Jax pull up all the information from the prison Dad was locked in, and Payton never called nor visited him, which begs the question . . . why leave her the money? What’s the reason?
It makes no sense.
The only thing I can think of is that he didn’t plan on ever allowing her to have that money. That something else was in motion, but unfortunately for him, he died too soon for his plan to come to fruition.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Payton hollers as she walks into the room.
I look up from where I am by the vanity, holding her notebook in my hand.
Clearly, I’ve been caught snooping. I have two choices: I can try to deny it, or I can admit it. Seeing as I’m an asshole, I go with the latter.
“Going through your stuff.”
No reason to lie now.
“You can’t do that.”
“It’s part of the stipulations,” I say, opening the notebook again even though I’ve already finished skimming it.
It’s not part of the stipulations. I just added that bit. But it works. I’m nothing if not flexible when it benefits me.
“You never, at any point, said that,” she points out, crossing the room until she lands right in front of me.
“But it was implied.”
“No, it wasn’t.”
“Very well. I guess we have nothing more to discuss. I’ll have your belongings dropped off . . . where?” I smile at her. “Your sister’s place?”
Her eyes are huge.
“No.”
Interesting again.
Clearly bad blood between the two. First the will reading, now this.
“Then where? Your friend’s place is the size of my closet. I saw the inside.” I didn’t. “It doesn’t have enough storage . . .” I arch a brow, amping up the faux concern, laying it on her thick. “Would you like me to donate it? Sell it? Maybe it will get you enough for your first month’s rent. Not enough for tuition, though. Such a damn shame.”
“Fine, do whatever you want.” She throws her hands in the air, face turning pink from her anger. “Go through whatever you want. I have nothing to hide. And if you think you will find something . . . Oh, well. You’ll be S-O-L.”
“S-O-L.”
“Shit outta luck.”
“I know what it means. I’m just shocked those abbreviations are being used by you.”
“Why?”
“Because you are above the age of fourteen, Payton.”
“Is there an age limit for a good abbreviation?”
The anger simmers beneath her words, but I have to respect her. She’s trying really hard not to let it out. The desire to taunt her, to unleash the fury she’s holding back, is tempting.
“Yes.”
“And what, pray tell, is that age?”
“Any age above high school. Actually, make it junior high. Regardless. This whole conversation is ridiculous. Yes. You agree to periodic searches. Now, let’s move on to what I have to tell you. As part of my evaluation to see if I deem you fit to inherit my father’s fortune, I need you to prove you are a good person.”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
I raise my brow. “Do you have something you would like to add?”
“Nope. There is something I’d like to deduct—myself. From this situation.”
“Very well. Let’s move on.” I rapid-fire, tossing the notebook behind me, “Volunteer work. Tomorrow. After dinner. We’ll be going together to start this new adventure.”
“Where are we going?”
I lean against her bedpost. “Again, you’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Vague much?” she spits out.
“It’s more fun that way. I enjoy watching you squirm.”
She steps past me and walks farther into the room. “Basically, you want to keep everything as vague as possible to drive me crazy. I’m so happy I can serve as your source of amusement. It’s an honor, sir.”
“Sounds about right.”
“I really hate you.” She continues to walk toward the bathroom.
“Princess, I don’t care what you think of me.”
She halts and looks over her shoulder at me. “That name isn’t very fitting.”
“And what shall I call you then?”
“Cinderella.”
“Yeah. I think not. No mice. No stepmother. And the most important part? There is no prince in this story.”
“There certainly isn’t.”
Now that her body is facing me again, she boldly meets my stare. “Is there anything I need to know?”
“Be dressed and ready by five.”
“You said after dinner.”
“Yes, but just be ready. I’m not sure where we will be eating.”
“You want me to have dinner with you?” She sounds repulsed by the idea.
“When you put it like that, no.”
“Great. I’m not sure how I would swallow in front of you.”
I quirk up my brow. Does she hear what she says? “Just be ready by five. Better?” I chide.
“Much.”
She slips her shirt over her shoulders, letting it drop on the bathroom tiles. She’s doing this on purpose. It’s obvious. She wants to rile me.
I won’t let her.
But fuck, her tits are bare to me, nipples on alert, pointing right at me. I haven’t eaten all day, and I’m damn near ravenous for her. My dick is on its path to hard, and I just relieved it half an hour ago.
Fuck, this woman is dangerous.
“Anything I should wear?” she asks, fingers drifting down to her skirt.
“Clothes.”
“Welp, since you specified . . .”
I shrug. “You asked.”
“Fine. Clothes. Nice clothes?”
The skirt comes off, pooling around her feet. She’s wearing a thong, just like I imagined. Just like I jerked myself off to. I could be in front of her in three strides, pushing the slip of fabric aside and sinking into her.
I’m so fucking hard at the thought, and I know it’s obvious. But she doesn’t look. Her eyes are level on mine as she waits for my answer.
I give it to her.
“As opposed to rags?”
She lets out an exasperated sigh, tits bouncing at the movement. It’s a lethal game we’re playing. “You know what? Forget I asked.”
“Forgotten.”
I turn my back on her, officially done with this conversation.
“That’s it?”
“Yes,” I say over my shoulder.
“You are infuriating.”
I am.
She isn’t wrong. But everything has a reason, and this one is to drive her insane.
It seems the plan is working.
Unfortunately, so is hers.
She is driving me to the brink of action. Consuming my body with lust. I’m barely holding back each time we’re in the same room.
I need a distraction.
I’m not sure what distraction I can have, seeing as half of my friends are married, but I still decide to go out regardless.
A drink and maybe another woman will take the edge off.
Drink?Yes.
Date? No.
Now I’m in a pissed-off mood and up way too early.
It’s three o’clock in the morning, and I can’t sleep. Normally, I’m up in an hour, but there is no point in sitting here if I’m just going to stare at the damn wall.
I step out of my bed, throw on a pair of sweats, and head to the kitchen.
Not much for middle-of-the-night snacks, but I figure I can eat breakfast now and go for my run a bit earlier than normal.
I’m not even halfway down the hall before I realize someone is in the kitchen.
Sure, I have a large staff and security, but it’s not like them to be here in the middle of the night. Peter, who works the night shift watching the security cameras, would not come in here while on duty to snack.
Now I’m intrigued. I could make my presence known, but something tells me I know exactly who it is, and it will be a lot more fun if she doesn’t know I’m coming.
Or I’m reading way too much into this, and I’m just so sick and twisted, I want to fuck with her. Even if it’s not her I’m about to fuck with.
But it is her.
As soon as I creep into the room, I can see the silhouette of her body. What in the fuck is she wearing? She’s bent over, looking into the fridge, and her ass is practically hanging out.
And what a fine ass it is.
She’s got on these hot pink shorts that don’t come close to covering the bottom of her ass cheeks. I can clearly make out the small of her back, seeing as her barely-there white tank top is cropped.
I should probably walk out of here. The idea of her turning around and giving me full visual access to her nipples through the thin white top drives me crazy. I have no doubt the sight will stay in my mind all day, and I really need to work out, not hop in the shower to beat off to thoughts of her.
Again.
Something is wrong with me. This girl has me all types of wrong. What does it say about me that, when she’s around, I act like an idiot who can’t control his dick?
The distraction I sought? Didn’t work. I needed something harder than liquor, which is not in the cards. Or I can just fuck her, use her as a distraction, and move on with my life.
This thought only makes me angrier. The possibility of double-dipping with my fucking father is disgusting. I shouldn’t harden at the sight of her. If she had an affair with my dad, I am going to reanimate him from the dead and murder him, then I’m going to murder her, too.
I am about to turn around, avoid a double homicide, and walk out the door when she moves, and a scream ricochets through the room.
“Do you mind?” I yawn, pretending she doesn’t bother me. “I don’t want the whole house to wake up.”
“Why are you here?”
“It is, in fact, my house and my kitchen, last I checked. What are you doing here is the better question.”
“I was hungry.”
“Okay . . .”
“I didn’t eat dinner.”
“Why not?”
She doesn’t answer. A part of me wondered if she’s one of those closet eaters. I noticed she never eats when I am around.
“You do know. So just spit it out.”
“I was afraid eating your food would inspire you to add another stipulation.”
“So instead, you scurry into my kitchen at night, like a nocturnal rodent, and raid my fridge?” I don’t mention the fact that she’s already been caught, on multiple occasions, by my staff and the many hidden cameras, which she hasn’t seemed to notice. “Maybe Cinderella wasn’t too far off point for a nickname. But it’s not quite hitting the mark. Hmm . . . Maybe we should nickname you after the mouse.”
“Ass—”
“Asshole. I know. I know. You have now said this a million times.” I approach her, stepping beside her and ignoring it when her hip brushes against my thigh. Fuck me. “I suggest you crack open a thesaurus. Your language skills leave much to be desired. And while you’re at it, learn to act civilly. For someone who wants the money so bad, you really don’t know how to behave.”
“I don’t want the money that bad,” she lies.
It’s written all over her features.
She does.
She needs it.