Mr. Bossy Devil (Alphalicious Billionaires Boss 2)

“And much harder to get a hold of because of it. You live in a gated community, and I seriously doubt anyone could just call to set up an appointment with you. Not that I was keeping tabs on you. I just couldn’t help it, as I said. The whole city knows who Ruthless Raiden is.”

“Since we’ve been over this, we should just skip it and the angry, resentful, bitter emotions that conversation might evoke. I’d like to talk about happier times.”

“You never even tried to contact me,” Zoe says evenly, but by the hard set of her jaw, I can tell she’s pissed. “You had all the resources in the world.”

“That didn’t come until later. And it’s pretty hard for a fifteen-year-old kid to hire a private investigator to find someone who doesn’t want to be found. Plus, there was always the fact that I didn’t have a cell or computer of my own yet, and my mom didn’t want to have anything to do with your dad, which we both know was probably for the best. And I didn’t have a car. We couldn’t afford that. So, you’ll forgive me if I had zero resources at my disposal up until after college.”

“Yeah? What was stopping you then?”

“The fact that you never contacted me either, and it had been ten years by then, and I thought maybe things were best left alone. I doubted I’d receive the warmest reception.”

“You’re such an asshole now. You know that?”

“I rest my case.”

“No one says that. This isn’t a courtroom, Your Honor. Or maybe it’s Your Highness now. Maybe it’s Mr. Vanstone.”

“Whatever you like.” With a smirk at her, I continue to sip my whisky, even though my blood pressure is rising. The best way to deal with angry people—as I’ve come to learn—is to diffuse the situation by not rising to it. Calmer heads often prevail. It might be cliché, but it’s often true.

Zoe mutters something under her breath that sounds like ‘shitfart,’ but she glances down at her empty glass and pretends like she didn’t say anything at all.

I get the hint. The world might think I’m smart when it counts, tech-wise, but I’m actually smart in other ways too. I do sometimes pick up on signals and cues and whatnot. Sometimes. This is one of those times. So, while my ex-stepsister stares daggers at me and is probably doing some silent voodoo stuff that can make my dick shrivel up and fall off, I shove off the couch, grab the bottle of whisky, then sit down hard right beside her.

Judging from her gasp and the extreme look of disgust she gives me, she didn’t expect that, but I let the whisky make up for it. I fill her glass with quite a bit more than two fingers. I have my own glass too, so I fill it, and not to be outdone, I toss at least half of it back.

If looks could kill, I’d be dismembered a hundred times over right about now. Zoe never could pass up a challenge even when she knows she won’t win. I can remember at least a dozen times—which in reality is probably closer to twenty times because those memories would spark other memories, and maybe those memories would spark some others too—where Zoe acted like a crazy person just to make a point. She used to try arm wrestling all my friends and me, and even though a twelve-year-old kid isn’t that much bigger than a ten-year-old kid, we were still bigger and stronger, and she still tried just as hard, even after losing over and over again.

We had thousands of thumb wars.

Probably even more rock, paper, scissor battles.

A few times, we even tried toe wrestling.

It’s a true testament to what a shithead I am and just how in control the beast in my pants is because right now, I’m sitting here, and I can’t even claim that the whisky has kicked in yet, and all I can think about is giving tongue wrestling a go.

“So?” I raise a brow as Zoe does indeed down the whisky in a single gulp. I lean over and refill her glass. She scowls at me. “What have you been doing for the past two decades?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she snaps. Her eyes flash, and her lips curl in distaste. Her face looks so beautiful and so fearsome that it causes a massive twinge in my chest.

“I would. That’s why you’re here.”

“I’m here because you’re on some weird power trip.” Her eyes flash again, but this time with sudden inspiration. She looks so fearsome that my dick probably more closely resembles a tree trunk than it does actual human flesh. “You seem like you’ve turned into the kind of asshole who loves to make deals, so I’ll make one with you. I tell you what I’ve been doing for eighteen years, and you let me quit. No strings attached.”