Chapter 2

Brynley

“Are really kicking me out right now ?” I force myself up to a sitting position off the pile of clothes I had been using as a pillow. “It’s not even ten a.m.”

“ It’s noon ,” my roommate – er ex-roommate evidently – Patty Watts, snips from the doorway she’s occupying.

“Not for those of us who work the slut shift.”

“You mean the grave shift?”

“I mean the ‘no I don’t wanna touch your balls in the dark any more than I do in the light’ shift.”

“ Bryn. ”

“Why do I suddenly have to go?” I mutter, grabbing a hair tie off the nightstand since the one I slept in magically ran away during the two hours of sleep I’ve had. And it’s only been two because laundry – no matter how hard I bribe it – still won’t do itself. “Why is it Sunday night I had ‘til Friday to pay you back, and now Tuesday morning I’m being kicked out?”

Her porcelain skin grows an obnoxiously familiar shade of shame.

“ Ah. ” Winding my long, thick, dark brown locks into high messy bun occurs in tandem with my mocking, “Let me guess. The big, bad, wannabe biker – who reeks of desperation for a Dread MC patch – gave you some cry me a river bullshit sob story this morning about how if it were just the two of you more often he’d probably move in already and if I were out of the picture it’d make it that much easier and if it weren’t for me you’d be having way more sex than you are now because he doesn’t want me to hear what a one minute pump chump he is.” The tiny squeak of objection has me pursing my lips briefly to one side. “Okay, he probably didn’t confess to the latter, but a girl has ears. And more importantly, she knows the line of bullshit assholes like him, tell the girlfriends like you – that they’re openly fucking around on – after being denied the chance to fuck their roommate.” My light, mocha brown hands land dramatically in my lap. “Feel free to correct any part of the daytime soap drama I got wrong.”

She guilty presses her chapped lips together.

Typical.

So. Fucking. Typical.

Shit like this always happens when you’ve got a killer rack like mine, an undeniable love of lowcut tank tops, and an amazing fucking ability to say no to sexual advances.

Or in other cases an amazing fucking ability to create sexual advances men can’t say no to.

That one comes in handy depending on where I’m working.

Not that I fuck for dollars.

But giving them the idea that I might fuck for dollars, which causes them to cough up more cash and me to receive more tips is absolutely something I do.

I mean that’s just good business.

“Look…” Patty gives her dark, stringy strands a nervous comb. “I won’t make you pay for the rent you missed, okay?” She winces when her fingers catch a knot. “Just…use it for a deposit on your next place.”

“The next place I don’t have lined up because you didn’t give me a chance to get it lined up?”

More guilt grows in her pale blue gaze. “I guess then for a hotel?”

“Do you mean motel ?” Sliding out of bed is proceeded by grabbing the nearest pair of jeans. “Because hotels cost money, which we both know I don’t have much of after shelling out for our shitty internet connection,” one leg is shoved inside, “student loans,” the other follows suit, “gas,” yanking them up is harshly completed, “and groceries that ‘Pakman’ can’t stop guzzling like he’s actually stuck in the videogame he’s shittily named after.”

“Tommy doesn’t eat that much.”

“When you’re home, maybe.” I button my pants and grab the nearest bra to slide on next. “When you’re not? Him and his Sons of Anarchy never-bes gobble everything in sight like a fucking Korean live-action version of Hungry, Hungry, Hippos. ”

“That’s not-”

“ And ,” maneuvering the article into place while talking is effortlessly executed, “instead of standing in my doorway defending the idiot formerly known as Pakman that has been trailing door to door for blow jobs, how about you get me the box of trash bags – that I paid for – so that I can start packing my shit?”

“He would never do that!”

“He literally does that.”

“You don’t know shit, Bryn!”

“No…” I correct with a snide smirk, tits now properly holster. “ You don’t know shit, Patty. ” The callousness in my tone increases. “ That’s why he likes you. He can fuck chicks at patch parties, get blow jobs from your neighbors – yeah Calista constantly tells everyone who will listen how small his dick is – and bang your roommates – stop wondering why they don’t last very long – without you fucking believing it. You want me out of this trashy apartment version of 90210 ?” Planting my palms on my low-rise jean covered hips is attached to another sardonic sneer. “ Fine. Bring me my box of trash bags for my clothes, and I’ll get my ass out of here in T-minus twenty minutes or less.”

Bafflement bulldozes itself onto her face. “What about the rest of your shit?!”

“Keep it. Sell it. Give it to that jackass boyfriend of yours and let him fucking jerk off on it.” It’s impossible not to toss her an additional spiteful smile. “Bet you didn't know he did that kinda shit, either, huh, princess?”

Patty – like the doormat she is – stomps away to get me exactly what I requested.

Because that’s literally the type of weak-minded person she is.

She’s practically a life-size Dollar Store doll with great credit.

Did I feel bad about accepting her half-hearted offer to rent her spare room after my last place booted me for being four months overdue on the rent?

At first.

But she was lonely – only lonely people buy that many single potpies and cans of seltzer water at one time – and I don’t have many objections to living with people who are practically strangers.

Beats the fuck out of having to live in my car again.

Indoors has running water and air conditioning and doesn’t have me pretending that I’m getting to work early to be a great employee when I really just need somewhere to shit or shower or brush my teeth that isn’t a Loca Mocha Casabloca restroom.

Her prompt return includes not only the requested item but minimal eye contact.

Which is fine.

I don’t need to stare into her sad, the world really sucks, babydoll shaped eyes during my best attempt to hastily pack the few items I consider a must.

And they are few because most stuff?

Is just stuff.

The wise woman who gave me my bright blue eyes and irrefutable sense of independence taught me that.

Along with the fact that I should never trust a person who believes that there can be too much cheese in mac and cheese.

Post shoving as many clothes as I possibly can into a trash bag, I tuck my keys – making sure to leave the one to the apartment somewhere on the bed – blue eyeliner, and cell all into various jean pockets. I immediately head for the front door in irked silence, ignoring the choked cries coming from somewhere in the kitchen.

She’s not getting an ounce of sympathy from me.

Much like her boyfriend didn’t get an ounce of pussy.

I yank the apartment door open and unexpectedly find an attractive, dirty blond-haired male cloaked in a navy-blue designer suit preparing to knock. While his slimmer, soccer player style build and pretty boy features aren’t typically the ones I go for, I wouldn’t kick him out of bed if he somehow managed to find himself there.

Unless he’s married.

Married men are a hard pass for me.

That’s the type of mistake a girl should really only make once.

Nonchalantly tossing the bag over one shoulder, I grunt, “You lost, choir boy?”

“I’m not…” his head bobbles around in confusion. “This isn’t…” the action continues causing me to impatiently cock my head to one side. “Why would you…” He abruptly severs whatever was left of his question to ask another. “Is it the tie?”

“It definitely says see you at rehearsals on Saturday.”

Pushing past his obvious displeasure is done to present me with professional, polite smile I’m sure he’s practiced most of his life. “I’m Mr. Reese.”

“You the slumlord that owns this shitty complex? Because I’ve got some complaints.”

“Uh…no. I’m simply looking to get in touch with Miss Brynley Winters.”

“Why? She owe you money?”

“No.”

“She owe your boss money?”

“No.”

“You think she slept with your husband?”

“I’m not gay.”

“That tie would imply otherwise.”

“Wh-”

“It’s your lucky day, Mr. Reese.” With a flick of a finger, my black sunglasses fall to cover my eyes from the overwhelmingly bright sun. “You didn’t have to look very hard.”

The flustered man gives me a long once over that leads to his eyebrows scrunching in confusion. “You don’t quite look like your photo.”

“Probably because I have on more clothes.”

“You do, but that’s not-”

“What can I do for you, Chicken Little? The sky isn’t actually falling, so I’d kind of like to move on with what’s left of my day.”

“I’m here about your mother, Lauren.”

There’s no stopping worry from reaching my expression. “What’s wrong with my mom?”

“Do we you mind if we discuss this in private?”

“Do you have somewhere in private we can discuss this?” I step forward to shut the door behind me forcing him to step backwards. “Because I’m now – yet again – homeless and privacy isn’t exactly a luxury I can afford.”

“How about we discuss everything inside the vehicle?” He politely gestures the direction of a parked, black SUV where two large men are patiently waiting beside it.

“I’m gettin’ way too many Into Darkness red flags to say yes to that.”

Surprise swiftly cakes his face at the same time he ponders, “Was that a Star Trek reference?”

“You just became four times hotter for recognizing that.”

An almost bashful beam is flashed prior to him announcing, “I promise you this isn’t a Q moment. I’m not here to create chaos in your life for mere amusement.” He lets his hands find their way to his pants pockets. “Lauren means too much to me – to all of us – to ever even consider harming you in any way.”

Despite it being the sincerity in his tone that convinces me to trust him, I pretend it’s not for my own sake. “I’m only trusting your word because you’re a clearly a fellow Trekkie.”

Mr. Reese lets a mirth-filled grin grace his face. “That’s honestly the first time a female’s ever said that to me.”

“Then you haven’t been chasing the right females.”

Small chuckles hit my ears prior to him professing, “And that’s honestly not the first time a female has said that to me.”

We both engage in light laughs and head towards the nearby vehicle.

Upon our arrival, the short-haired, sand skin toned male, gives the handle to the backseat a quick tug, exposing the empty leather filled interior. “Is everything a go, Reese?”

“We actually need a minute alone to confer.”

His stoic demeanor remains in his expression as much as his tone. “You know how important punctuality is to him.”

“We’ve been friends since we were eight, Hurst.” Another round of amusement threatens to show itself. “I’m more than aware that he’s still struggling to cope with his lack of time control powers.”

“I’d rather breathe under water,” I offhandedly announce and flash a toothy grin at the individual now observing me. “And you should lighten up, Lurch. Whatever’s going on probably isn’t life or death.”

“ Hurst. ”

“Is what you would be driving if it were the latter.”

One eye noticeably twitches in irritation.

“You don’t know how your smile muscles work anymore, do you?”

He leans slightly forward at the same time he bites, “ I get paid not to smile, Miss Winters. ”

“ Is it lucrative? ” Knowing his chosen movement is merely a shitty tactic to try to intimidate me only causes me to push back. “ Is that why you sent the WWE your audition tape, big fella? ”

This time both eyes narrow in disapproval prompting Reese to forcefully move us along, “Give us two minutes, Hurst.”

“At least you need more than one to get the job done,” I playfully taunt during my slip inside.

“Can you hear the things coming out of your mouth?” Reese teasingly jabs in return, closing the door behind him.

“Of course, I’m loud and crass, not deaf. ” My back hits the seat in tandem with my bag plopping between my legs. “And before you waste your breath on some asinine speech about being well-mannered or ladylike or some other outdated notion where I shouldn’t swear or show my stomach or be proud of my sexual confidence, let me make something Star Trek: The Original Series clear for you.” Attaching my gaze to his is done next. “I have enough decency to be honest about who I am to strangers as much as those I call friends. I have enough integrity to live authentically despite how uncomfortable it may make others feel at times. And most importantly…the only approval I need in a world that has the balls to constantly tell you it’s okay to be whoever you are while simultaneously telling you that you’ll never be good enough until you’re like someone… is my own. ” An indifferent shrug bounces my shoulders. “And I approve of my sass, sarcasm, and slightly twisted sense of humor.”

Honestly why bother wasting time pretending to be someone you’re not? Why give a fuck what the world thinks? Fact is…the only person who has to wake up to me every day is me.

Might as well love and enjoy me.

I’m obviously not going anywhere.

Plus, again, I’m a fucking delight.

The awe on his face manages to seep into that of his voice, “ Wes needs you. ”

“Who the fuck is Wes?” My fingers thoughtlessly gravitate to fidget with my silver charm airplane necklace I rarely take off. “And what the fuck does he have to do with my mom?”

“Wes is her boss.”

“Thought his name was Wilcox.”

“Wes Wilcox.”

“Sounds uppity.”

“He is uppity,” Reese casually agrees on a crooked grin. “However, that’s only like twelve percent his own fault. His name bears a lot of weight in both clout and dollar amounts. I’m surprised Lauren never mentioned that.”

“Mom has always just said her boss was a wealthy guy. She didn’t exactly give many details, and I didn’t exactly ask.”

“Wes is the majority shareholder of Wilcox Enterprises.”

“Like the whiskey?”

“His family legacy started in whiskey but left only alcohol a long time ago. His multifaceted billion-dollar business is one of the best and largest in the entire world that also manages to steadily match or increase profits yearly.”

Disbelief instantly drops my jaw along with my grip. “ My mom scrubs toilets for a fucking billionaire?! ”

“She doesn’t scrub toilets.”

“Is that like…she doesn’t scrub toilets because she’s banging him, or she doesn’t scrub toilets because he possesses technology that has them scrub themselves?”

“She’s definitely not sleeping with Wes. That would be weird-”

“Because older women can’t hook up with younger men? Don’t be ageist.”

“Because she’s basically been mothering him for the last ten years, and while Wes certainly has issues, that whole wanting to bang a woman like his mom thing isn’t one of them.”

A perplexed hum mindlessly precedes me stating, “I remember when she left working at The Frost Luxury Hotel that’s downtown, she said she was going to be doing something similar for four times the pay for some rich guy who had a Beauty however, it should provide you with plenty of time to review the non-disclosure agreement you’re going to need to sign before you’re granted access to the property.”

My lack of effort to take the device is attached to another displeased glare. “ Excuse me? ”

“Wes requires all personnel that pass through the gates to sign the document. It’s to ensure that nothing is said, done, repeated or reported outside the estate – especially to the media – that could potentially hurt him, the company, or the employees under his control.”

“Let me guess…he’s gonna wanna frisk me too?” I suggestively wet my lips to intentionally make J.T. squirm.

“He uh…um…” A nervous adjustment to his tie is given. “Probably not. No.” His head shake precedes him pushing onward. “The agreement is pretty straight forward. We had legal create it with the most simplistic and concise language to avoid as many misinterpretations as possible. It basically says no photographs – of him or the property – no social media posts – about him or the property – no location tags – featuring him or the property – and no disclosing of any information to anyone in verbal or written communication form regarding him, the property, or anything you may witness involving either of the aforementioned.”

“You’re basically saying I can’t Snapchat a pic of his sex dungeon.”

“He doesn’t have a sex dungeon.” J.T. pauses immediately after the comment as if deep in thought. “No…” The contemplation in his gaze briefly deepens. “No…” Once he’s sold on his own answer, I’m given a headshake. “Yeah, no. He probably doesn’t have one of those.”

“Your certainty is overwhelming,” I sarcastically retort.

Lurch gives an impatient knock to the window reminding J.T. to hurry the conversation along, an action that leads to him pushing the device at me for a second time.

“What happens if I don’t sign it?” Yet again, I make no attempt to take it. “What happens if I refuse to play by the big, bad, billionaire’s list of rules?”

“ Then you can’t see your mother. ”