Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“I wanted to see where you live,” he says.
“Then you ask me. You don’t just walk into the place like you own it.”
“Funny thing,” he says. “As of about ten minutes ago, I do own it.”
That must be a hardcore billionaire flex, the ability to just go ahead and buy someone’s home out from under them. But I’m not impressed, if I’m supposed to be impressed. God only knows what effect he is intending on having.
“There’s still renter’s rights. You can’t be in here without giving me notice. Doesn’t matter how much money you have, you’re still a creep.”
Marcus stands and listens to my little tirade without flinching. Maybe I was supposed to be impressed by his statement, but I’m not. I’m… horrified? I think I am almost certainly afraid. This man can do anything, anytime. He doesn’t consider the law, because he is above it.
“What do you want?” I ask the question bluntly.
“I wanted to see you. Now, I am seeing you,” he says.
This is a game. A sick, twisted game, and I am not wearing enough clothing to play properly.
The worst part of this is that even though I’m waking up hating him, and cursing at him, and wanting him to get the hell out of my apartment, there’s still a part of me that can’t help noticing that he is so handsome, so magnetic. It would be easy to swoon for him, but I don’t want to be that predictable. And I am far too ashamed of myself to be sexy. He has me off-balance, and I can’t stand it.
“Get out of my place.”
To my surprise, he actually leaves. He gives me a little smirking smile, turns, and takes the three steps he needs to leave the apartment.
I am going to change those damn locks. Not that it will matter. He’ll probably just buy the lock factory. He’s a real piece of work, and he thinks that money means he can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants.
Marcus
It’s been a long time since I was thrown out of anywhere. It’s quite an interesting experience.
She has every right to be angry, of course. She thinks I invaded her home. I shocked and surprised her. I probably even frightened her. It’s unfortunate that was necessary, but I want her to know whose territory she is in.
Most people who live in the world I own are unaware of it. They go about their lives knowing somewhere in the back of their minds that there’s someone who owns it all, but they never really know who. Of course there are the public billionaires everybody knows about, but the real wealth and power, that never shows its face.
Except I just showed mine to Charlie. In all likelihood, she still doesn’t understand. She thinks I’m an eccentric rich man with a personality disorder.
I know that, because I can see what she is typing on her laptop in real time. I stand outside her door as she starts furiously recording the incident in her little article which will of course never see the light of day. Even if she were to make a video and post it on one of the social media sites, I’d have it down in an instant. She doesn’t understand how captive she is just yet—but she will.
I wait long enough for her to finish another little literary tirade and presumably get herself dressed. I want to speak to her, but I don’t want to mishandle the situation.
She opens the door, and stares at me. “What the hell are you still doing here?”
My palm itches at her rudeness. I have half a mind to take her back into that poky little apartment, sit down on that messy bed that looks as though it has never been formally made at all, and remind her of her manners. Instead, I restrain myself, and she continues to throw barbed words at me.
“Are you just going to follow me around, weirdo?”
“Don’t be rude, Charlie.”
“Then don’t be a psycho.”
“I came to see if you were alright,” I say. “I was worried about you after you left my office in such a state. You were highly emotional. My car, which you took, ended up in this neighborhood. I looked up the address and realized that your building is not in any way up to code. The previous owner had not maintained fire systems, heating systems, and more. So I decided to buy it, knowing I could make you more comfortable.”
“That still doesn’t explain how you ended up in my room.”
“I knocked on your door, and it opened.”
“No, it didn’t, you liar,” she says, not mincing her words even slightly. “I know I locked the door. I always lock the door. It wasn’t just bolted either, it was chained, which means you did some really sketchy shit.”
“It took me less than thirty seconds to open it. That’s effectively the same thing as it being open to begin with. I liked meeting you, Charlie. I’d like the chance to see you again.”