Dirty Ugly Toy (23 page)

The slurping of someone drinking coffee drags my gaze from my computer and I smirk to see her staring intently at my laptop as she drinks the “workaholic’s heroin.”

“Having fun there?” My eyebrow raises in amusement.

Her eyes find mine and she grins. God, she fucks with my head. Today, instead of wearing normal business attire for “work” as she makes me let her call it, she’s wearing yoga pants and a pink Nike T-shirt. She’s also donning thick pink socks and no shoes. After our shower this morning, she’d let her hair dry wild around her. Every time I glance over at her, I get sucked up into the beautiful vacuum that is her. It’s nearly impossible to look away from her or focus on one single thing.

“You’re so serious when you work.” She waves her hand, gesturing at my outfit. “Don’t you own anything besides black suits and white shirts?”

I roll my eyes. “Well, you’re a big slacker. Your smartass is supposed to be helping me find why my company’s profits have gone down and continue to despite the increase in clientele. I should fire you already.”

She sticks her tongue out at me which in turn stirs my dick. “You aren’t even paying me for this—you’re paying me to suck your dick. And I’m hungry. When do we take a break?”

Laughing while I adjust my hardened cock, I ignore her and attempt to figure out the data in the accounting program. I’ve been shooting Jamal and Glenna questions left and right over the past couple of months. Every clue seems to be explained away by one of them. It’s pissing me off.

“Household Staff Wages. What’s in that account?” Her voice is once again serious and I flick my gaze over to her.

“It’s where Dubois, Cartier, and Christine’s income comes from. There’s nothing there. We need to be looking for any unusual account names that stand out. Anything that might be paid to an overseas account. Shit like that. My money’s been going somewhere and I’m going to find out where.”

She frowns. “May I see the bank statement for this account?”

“No. If you’re just trying to be nosy to piss off Dubois, then it isn’t going to work. Move on, Bunny.”

Her eyes widen and she seems hurt. My chest does that stupid shit where it aches again. Fucking hell.

“Dammit, I’m sorry.”
Fine, I’ll indulge my little toy.
“Come sit in my lap, baby.” I flash her a wolfish grin and she huffs.

“I’m not stupid, Br—sir. Go on, cop a feel while I peruse the account. I’ll figure out what’s going on.”

I chuckle and log onto the accounts online. She sits on the edge of my knees and starts clicking through each line, opening up each transaction. Her ass is warm and I want to fuck her over my desk. This morning, I fucked her against the wall of my shower and it wasn’t enough to satisfy me. I need her again.

Slipping my hands around to her front, I pinch her hardened nipples through her T-shirt. She may have won on her outfit choice, but I threw the “master” card down and demanded no undergarments. My toy put up absolutely no fight and granted me my wish.

“You should pay Christine more,” she complains aloud.

I grunt. My housemaid makes more than any maid on the West coast. “Stop being nosy.”

She wiggles her ass and continues her clicking. I slide a finger between her legs and massage her sweet pussy. Her moans are sexy as fuck and soon she’s shouting.

“That’s it! That’s it!”

I expect her to shudder or display some other indication of her orgasm but she’s pointing to the computer screen instead. Stopping my movements, I lean around her and stare at it.

“Two grand. Bid deal. The staff is able to use this account to purchase shit for the house.”

She’s already arguing. “Right, I see lots of those and they’re pretty consistent. What’s also consistent is the daily two thousand dollar withdrawals. Every day, Brax. What do they buy for two thousand dollars a day for the past several months? Who has access to this account?”

My mind spins with her words. Cart, Christine, and Dubois all have debit cards from this account that is set up like a business account and they draw from it but this money has been taken out in person. And she’s right, it happens often. Daily in fact. There was even one this morning.

“I know Cartier and Christine would never do this. But Dubois? He’s questionable.” She muses aloud.

But she’s wrong. He’s not a signer on the account, just carries a card like the other two. I’m a signer. And so was Trevor.

“Shit!” I told Jamal to get him off of everything but clearly we forgot one. I didn’t even think about this account.

She points to the screen. “See, the deposits come from checks written from all over your variety of accounts and businesses up until recently. Now it’s just withdrawals. Whoever did this was trying to hide it by doing small amounts. What are you going to do?”

I run my fingers through my hair and growl. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Dubois?”

“Jesus, no, Bunny. Trevor. The fucker thought he was so damn smart.”

She turns in my arms and throws an angry glare my way. “I thought he was dead. You told me you killed him.”

Scowling, I shake my head. “I lied.”

A choked sound comes from her and she scrambles out of my lap, heading for the door. I should go after her and apologize. But right now I need to do some damage control.

“Send Dubois in here,” I call after her. “And go put on something presentable.” I don’t want to hurt her anymore but the damage is done. She’s pissed. May as well get her to put on something sexy while I’m barking out orders.

She’s already wearing something sexy. Anything she wears is sexy.

I ignore that thought and watch her fine ass jiggle all the way out the door.

All I get is a
Fuck you, Braxton
along the way before my office door slams shut behind her.

Later, Bunny. I’ll make it up to you with my mouth.

“T
he secret is you soak the chicken strips overnight in buttermilk first before you batter the pieces. If you pick up the stuff, I’ll make it one night,” I tell Christine.

She smiles and the corners of her eyes crinkle. The woman has to be close to sixty and she reminds me exactly of my mother. My poor mother was a casualty in my life. I miss her.

“You look nice, Jessica,” she tells me when the timer goes off.

I’m perched at the bar and have been watching her cook. She flits around the kitchen as if she were born to do so. I could watch and chat with her for hours. Just like Mom and I used to do.

“Thanks, Christine. At least someone in this house thinks so,” I say with a groan. My eyes travel over something “more presentable” and I sigh. I’d donned a pair of dark skinny jeans, an off the shoulder pale pink cashmere sweater Cartier had purchased, and a pair of ballet flats. After Brax was an asshole this morning, I bothered Cart enough to where he finally broke down and spent a couple hours fixing me up.

She sets the lasagna on a hot pad and walks over to stand in front of me. Her hands go on her hips and she narrows her eyes at me. “Sometimes you’re too sassy for your own good. But, somehow that’s what makes that boy crazy for you. I’ve never seen him take to one of his girls the way he takes to you. Try not to drive him too crazy or push him too hard and I think maybe you might just last longer than his silly six month time limit that’s coming up. We like your refreshing personality here. And despite what you think, Brax knows. He knows that you are beautiful and intelligent and different. The other fellows, even fruity Cart, can’t deny how stunning you are. Play your cards right, sweetie. I’d love to keep you.”

My smile is immediate and I slide off the stool to run over to her. She envelopes me in her arms and I hug her tight. Inhaling her garlicky scent, I sigh into her hair. “I love you, Christine. You remind me of my mother.”

She pulls away and taps me on the nose. “Your mother is a lucky lady.”

Tears sting my eyes but I quickly blink them away.

“Miss, Mr. Kennedy and his dinner guest are speaking privately in his office,” Dubois’ clipped voice interrupts our exchange. “He’s asked that you’re at the table waiting for him. Christine, shall I tell him dinner is ready?”

Seemingly embarrassed, she tugs away from me and flutters around the kitchen. “Lasagna just came out of the oven. You may tell him it’s ready.”

I hold his stare for a minute. He’s ever dapper in his neat suit and his disdain for me is clearly painted on his features. I’m not sure why he hates me. Not wanting to irritate him, I nod and make my way to the dining room. As I enter the room, so does Braxton.

And some pretty black haired woman.

“This must be your newest toy. What a pleasure to meet you,” she says with a false smile before turning her adoring attention back to Brax.

“Bunny, this is Evette. She’s a Luxer. Black membership.”

I remember him mentioning we’d have guests to entertain from time to time, but so far, every time he brings someone else into the house, it ends in disaster.

“I see.” I can’t hide the disappointment in my voice. The woman seems better matched for him in her elegant black dress and oblong bobbed haircut. She is stunning and I’m . . .
not
.

However, Brax’s hungry gaze is devouring my appearance as if I’m the beautiful one here, not her. She’s shooting daggers at me with her eyes, clearly pissed at the revelation. Brax is sexy as hell so it’s no surprise that most women fall all over themselves around him. I’m still upset with him for lying to me but since I feel threatened by the woman beside him, I’m itching to stake my claim. Even if that means not acting like a brat about his lying and my blow up earlier.

“Did you take care of everything?” I purr as I make my way over to him. He’s tense as I reach him but the moment my hand slides up his chest, he groans. I press a soft kiss on his lips and then start away from him.

His grip finds my wrist and he holds me firmly. “Bunny.”

I smile and bat my eyelashes innocently at him. He releases me but his glare never wanes, searching for ulterior motives. My motive is the woman beside him—to display to her that he belongs to me. Flicking my eyes over to her, I smirk. Her nostrils flare but she takes her seat as if my presence doesn’t annoy the shit out of her. The woman wants Brax and that’s just too damn bad. He’s mine.

He sits down and she leans into him, whispering something into his ear I’m not privy to. His dark blue eyes turn their angry shade of grey and I want to climb over the table to yank her claws from his bicep. She told him something to infuriate him and now I hate her even more.

“Excuse me,” I say to anyone who’ll listen and stalk off toward the wine closet. I know Christine hasn’t chosen anything so I’ll grab a bottle—anything to get away from Evette’s disdainful glare. I’m just reaching for an expensive bottle of 2010 Louis Jadot Pouilly Fuissé from the shelf when I sense his presence. Heat, desire, anger—all rolled into one. It’s his signature aura when he isn’t playing the role of someone sweet and likable.

“So you just call another chick any time we have a fight? She whispers some garbage in your ear and you’re back to hating me? Is that it? You just needed a ‘how to be an asshole’ pep talk?” Bitter tears form in my eyes but I don’t let them fall.

His hands slip around me and he caresses my stomach. “Bunny, shut up.”

“No,” I counter. “I won’t shut up. Everything was fine until you lied to me. And then you invite some woman to flaunt her beauty in front of me just to be mean. Why? Why can’t we just be happy?”

He growls and twists me in his arms. I meet his angry stare and lift my chin. Everything about him screams at me to run but despite his bizarre fetishes, he’s not evil.
I know evil.

“I can’t be happy. Playing with my toys is the closest thing I’ll ever come to any kind of happiness. It’s just not a part of who I am.” His words are simple but I hear a hint of vulnerability behind them. An undeniable sadness. A wound I want to heal for him.

“
I
can make you happy, Brax.”

His lips are on mine in an instant and he shoves me into the rack, bottles clang loudly as he kisses me. I whimper when his strong hand slides up under my soft shirt and finds my breast. He squeezes it and I moan.