His Dirty Demands (Dirty Billionaires 1)

Fuck, I wonder if Dante would be willing to share those painkillers. No, it’s not pain... only that’s another lie in a long list of them I’ve been telling myself and Alicia. My eyes go to the couch I haven’t sat on since that day almost two weeks ago when I held Alicia as she cried. The memory of her offering herself to me for a night, without promises or pleas for tomorrow tortured me on a daily basis. She can never know how badly I wanted to say yes. Except the moment the words were out I knew down to my bone marrow one night would never be enough. For now, I dreamed of what she tasted like what it would be like to be buried inside but to know then never know it again... I’m no masochist.

Three hours later, as I tip back the empty bottle of what had been a full bottle of scotch, I can admit I’m not fine. I’m pretty fucking far from fine, too bad I’m not even drunk. Pushing away from my desk I try to stand, it takes a long time—maybe a little drunk. It takes a few swipes to get the elevator going to the top floor private apartment Dante and I had agreed would only be used in cases of emergency, and not to be workaholics as I had begun to use the place for a few years. The apartment has only been used during bad weather and to have dinner with Enzo

more comfortably than my office. A cleaner comes in once a week to refresh the three bedrooms, changing the sheets and towels and running the dishes through the dishwasher to get the dust off them.

Once the elevator opens directly into the foyer, I begin undressing as I walk through the place toward the bedroom I picked for myself and into the ensuite bathroom. The shower is an eight-by-nine wet room with half a dozen showerheads and buttons. I punch a few of the buttons, and fuck that’s cold. Finally, I get it to the preset of my preferred nearly hot enough to burn but not quite there.

Time blurs as I stand, letting the water wash over me. I run my hands over my face, and I notice my hands are all wrinkled. With a sigh, I turn off the water. Stepping out of the shower, I grab a towel to dry off. I wrap the towel around my waist as I make my way into the walk-in closet. Opening a drawer, I grab a pair of boxer briefs but don’t bother dressing. I’m not going anywhere tonight.

I grab the remote, turning on the television more to fill the silence than out of any desire to watch television. While I like movies, thrillers, and classics, I don’t like most television shows and only watch the news, BBC news over American. The low buzz of the television begins to blur. I close my eyes, the world goes dark around me.

Waking up, shit is creaking and cracking as I move. Sometime during the night I had stretched out on the couch, but my neck hurts. I check my watch—it’s a little after six in the morning. Damn, I’m starving and my head is pounding.

In the kitchen I grab a bottle of water and chug. Done, I grab another bottle and head into the half bath off the foyer and open the linen closet. There’s a bottle of headache medicine. Popping three, I swallow them down along with half the bottle of water. I’m starving so I make my way back to the kitchen. I open the freezer, there are some mini quiches, close enough. I turn on the toaster oven then toss almost the entire box on the small cooking sheet.

The heat kicks on, only I’m still feeling the cold from outside. I go into the bedroom then the closet. There isn’t much to choose from, three suits and mainly dress shirts. I grab an undershirt and find a pair of well-worn jeans. I can’t remember the last time I wore them. They are loose but stay on. I hear my cell phone ringing. My pants are between the living room and the hallway. I pull out my phone, it’s Dante.

“Yeah?”

“Where are you? Security said you didn’t come home last night.”

“I’m in the apartment at work. I didn’t make it out of the building.”

“Hmm, fine.” Then the fucker hangs up on me. He’d been worried; now that he knew I was fine he was back to being pissed at me.

While I wait for the buzzer to go off on the toaster oven I duck into the office. It’s still here, my old laptop. I had upgraded last year, mainly because the mouse on this one stopped working. Here I used a separate mouse with Bluetooth connection. Taking the laptop with the stupid mouse into the dining room, I turn it on. I need something to focus on, besides Alicia.

The quiches are done. I push them onto a plate, grab my water and eat as my laptop comes up. My emails are too easy, I’m done with them at the same time I’m done with the quiche. I open the email from Alicia again; after reading it for the twentieth time, I make myself close it. The hollow feeling won’t go away. Shaking my head, I close my eyes. She’s doing the right thing, for the both of us. Maybe when I don’t see her every day she’ll stop haunting my every thought. Maybe I’ll stop dreaming of her every night. At least I could hope. Two weeks, in two weeks I’ll find out.

I force myself out of the email box. As I click through the things I’ve been working on this week nothing appeals—there’s nothing to really hold my attention.

Mentally I go through my monthly to-do list. The minute I think of it, I sigh. Doing the monthly checks and balances on the buy account is exactly what I need. It’s a pain in the ass, it requires attention to detail for every small line item, then the follow-up to the accounts money comes in and out of. And it’s exactly what I need right now.

I’m almost done when I find it. An odd out of twenty-five thousand dollars to an account of an individual, when most of our transactions out are to companies. Renee Collins, a checking account at a local credit union of all things, here in Chicago. I write down all of the information then go through the approvals for purchases. None of them are to a Renee Collins, none of them have an escrow which would be the only answer for such a small balance going out of only twenty-five thousand. Escrow would hold the down payment on a property until due diligence was completed, but an escrow account is usually held by the bank, not an individual. Nothing about the transaction looks right. I write down the information on it for Martin to do some digging on this. A week later, this past Tuesday, twenty-five thousand comes back in from the same account.

I stare at the transaction. Something about it bothers me, is getting under my skin and making it itch. I pick up my phone, I find the number and hit send.

Diego Valdez answers on the second ring. He’s the absolute best at finding out everything you want to know about anything. He has ways that aren’t exactly legal and he uses them with impunity. I haven’t had to use him often but every time I do, I’m never disappointed. He’s not cheap and I’d pay twice what he asks. “Hello Cesare, how can I help you today?”

“I need information as of yesterday.” I give him a rundown of the transaction including the checking account number.

“This shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll get back to you within the hour.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

Knowing I won’t be able to focus until Diego calls back, I turn on the television, move the couch back a bit and start doing push-ups. I’m working on a nice solid sweat when my phone rings. I finish the push-up as I grab the phone. “What do you have?”

“Renee Collins was Alicia Jeffries’ grandmother. They were both listed on the account. The money moved from the account to a trading account in Alicia’s name. Then it moved right back from the trading account, then back into your account. It was Alicia who took the money, then returned it.”

I’m shaking my head. Out of everything I thought it could be, I never imagined it would be what he’s saying. “Absolutely no mistake?”

“None, I’ve already scanned and emailed you the details. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Thanks for getting back to me so quickly.” I think I might have said something else. I’m not really sure as I end the call. Alicia stole twenty-five thousand dollars from me. Then she returned it, a tiny voice whispers. No, she gets no points for returning it, not a single one. What matters is that she took it in the first place. She stole from me. The bitch wasn’t content with fucking with my head—no, she fucked with my business. Alicia Jeffries is going to pay for what she’s done. My cock jumps at the thought of all the ways I’m going to make her pay.

13

Alicia