Chapter 10: Winston home

This is crazy.

I’m not going to that man’s home. Nope. Not happening. Never.

Shrimp chirps from on top of his bird cage as though he agrees with me. I walk over to my parakeet and stroke my finger down over the top of his head. I’d gotten this bird when I got my first period. Dad was so horrified and confused by my raging emotions, he tried to make me happy by letting me get a pet. It helped, and I immediately fell in love with a bird of all things.

“He’s a sicko,” I tell Shrimp. “If I go over there, I’ll end up hacked into tiny pieces and stuffed in a freezer.”

Shrimp chirps and flaps his wings. “Right?” I say.

“Total psycho.”

“Boo.”

I shriek, scaring Shrimp who flies over to my bookshelf. Whirling around, I shove Sully out of my way. Of the Terror Triplets, Sullivan Mannford is the most tolerable. A manwhore but less mean. “Get out of my room, freak.”

He smiles as he rakes his gaze up my front, his eyes lingering at my chest. “Mom and Baron left for The Hamptons. We’ve got the place to ourselves. You actually going to party with us or are you still too good?”

I’ve seen their parties. Sex. Drugs. Alcohol.

Not my scene. Especially when the Terror Triplets get that glint in their eyes when they’ve knocked back too many shots. The last thing I need is to let my guard down around the three of them while inebriated. I’d wind up pregnant and full of STDs most likely.

“I have plans,” I lie.

His dark brown eyes narrow as he scrutinizes me. “With the psycho who’s going to put you in his freezer?”

I hate when they snoop on me.

The three of them are the creepiest fuckers.

“That’s the one.” I give him a sweet smile. “My new boyfriend.”

He tenses, sudden anger rippling through him. “You don’t have a boyfriend.” “I do too,” I snap back. “What’s it matter to you?”

“You’re ours. I thought we made it perfectly clear to Tate.”

I gape at him. “What? Tate and I broke up because we’re going separate ways.”

At this, Sully laughs. “You don’t really think someone like Tate would let someone like you go, do you? He’s a three, and you’re a ten.”

Gross.

No one wants to be told they’re hot by their stepbrother. “You’re annoying me. Please leave.”

“We’ll run this one off too,” Sully vows, his voice growing low and cruel, sounding much like Scout. “And each one after that.”

“Why?” I demand, crossing my arms over my chest. “Why can’t I have a boyfriend?”

“They’ll try and save you.” He shrugs. “And we want you right where you’re at. Helpless. Dependent. Flailing.”

I blink at him, disgusted at his words. “You can’t control my life.” “That’s what you think, Ash.”

Rather than continue to fight with him, I turn on music and ignore him until he finally leaves. At this point, I’m looking forward to dinner with Winston. Because if I have dinner with him, I’ll make more money. The more money I make, the sooner I can get out from under the Mannford influence.

Winston wants to shame and embarrass me but pay me for it? So be it.

I’m a tough girl. I can handle whatever he throws my way.

***

“Mr. Constantine is expecting you,” the doorman says, offering me his arm. “This way to his private elevator.”

Oh, Jesus.

Winston is so over the top. A private elevator? Come on.

With a clipped nod, I follow the sharply dressed man into an elevator that has to be accessed by a key card. Once inside the shiny metal box, I glance at my reflection. I vowed to myself I wouldn’t dress up for this man. I’m not a pretty doll he can dress up and force to do tricks. I chose comfort over class. Fitted, worn denim jeans with more holes than material that I’ve rolled up my calves. Cute tan slide-on sandals with a leather bow on top. A white tank knotted just above the hem of my jeans. I left my hair down and in messy brown waves. I’m wearing my big silver hoops and several weaved brown bracelets. I also didn’t put on any makeup, because I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.

This is a job. Nothing more.

We arrive at the penthouse floor. The doors open, and the doorman ushers me into a pristine hallway. It’s bright and white and sleek, much like Halcyon Building. He guides me over to a giant mahogany door and then uses his keycard to unlock it. The man steps inside and holds the door open for me.

“Have a seat in the living room. He’ll be with you soon,” the man says before closing the door behind him on his way out.

Silence greets me.

It’s almost deafening. Intrusive. Maddening.

I clear my throat, the sound echoing in the entryway. Nothing. Curiosity has me walking toward the open living room. The design in here is much different than his office or this apartment building. It’s ridiculously expensive—everything from ornate, artsy light fixtures to the unusual dark wood floors that curve in strange patterns but somehow slot together perfectly. Where his office is bright, his home is dark.

Fit for a villain.

I can’t help but smirk as I take in the beautiful living room space. The entire back wall is floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s impressive because the ceiling in this area is at least thirty feet high. The walls and ceiling are painted a deep navy blue, reminding me of his eyes.

Stop. Yuck.

I’m not going to compare walls to his eyes. That’s sick, infatuation type of behavior. I’m absolutely not infatuated by this motherfucker. Rather than think about his eyes, I stare up at the massive light fixture that looks like a network of lit-up nerves with tiny bulbs at each end. A web of light and metal. It’s beautiful.

“My favorite part of this room,” a deep voice rumbles from above me somewhere.

I follow the sound to find him standing at the top of his stairs. He’s dressed down in a pair of gray slacks and white button-up shirt. The sleeves have been rolled to his elbows revealing muscular forearms, and his top two buttons are undone. His hair is perfect as ever, and he wears a shiny pair of black shoes. Without a care in the world, he descends the stairs at a slow, infuriating pace. As though he enjoys making an entrance and forcing me to notice.

To piss him off, I look away and walk over to the windows. The view is breathtaking, but I won’t tell him that.

“Are you hungry, Miss Elliott?”

I tense up and turn to face him. “I’m here for dinner, aren’t I?”

His dark blue eyes sparkle at my bitchy tone. It’s as if he delights in my attitude. I’m annoyed that rather than pushing him away, it only excites him further. Fucking freak.