“Yeah?” An email pings, catching my attention. An inquiry from a local grocery chain who historically didn’t invest enough to be clients of mine or Jalen’s—but at this point, we’d take widows looking to spend their dead husband’s pensions on penny stocks.
“Well, I still can’t remember.” She giggles and I can hear Graham in the background. They’re fucking gross, and I’d be willing to bet having more sex than me at the moment. The thought makes me throw up in my mouth a little bit. “It has something to do with your grandfather’s will.”
My eyes drop to the massive list of things I need to do before the Vann show tomorrow and I groan. “Mom, Grandfather died with hundreds of millions in property and assets. His will is extensive, I don’t really have time to sift through it for bread crumbs.”
“No, Max.” The levity in her tone is gone, replaced by a lucidity I haven’t heard in ages.
“I’ll put it on my list first thing come Monday,” I relent.
“This is important. Have someone else look into it for you if you don’t have time. Better yet, call Bernie.” Bernie was my grandfather’s lawyer and executor of his will. If there’s anyone who can point me in the right direction, it’s him. The only problem is, Bernie is old as dirt, retired to Florida, and I’m not convinced he’d be able to get me the information any faster than if I were to dig for it myself.
“Okay.” I scratch my left eyebrow as I write a note on a sticky pad to get in touch with Bernie sometime next week.
“Do it now, Max,” she admonishes, and I look around my office for the hidden camera.
“How did you know?”
“I’m your mother. I may have a deteriorating brain, but I still know you. It will take you two minutes, call him, now.”
I sigh and because it’s my mom, I say, “The sooner we hang up, the sooner I can call him.”
“Graham!” she squeals, and I gag.
“I’m hanging up.”
“Bye, dear.”
“Bye, Max!” Graham yells in the background.
I shudder. Hanging up the phone, I pull up Bernie’s contact information. He answers on the fourth ring. “Hello.” His voice is gruff from years of chain smoking.
“Hi, Bernie. It’s Max, Preston’s grandson. Sorry to bother you on a Saturday, but I have a few questions regarding my grandfather’s will.”
“Maxwell.” He coughs. “Good to hear from you. I saw the Tasha King interview. How’s that girl of yours?”
As if on cue there’s a knock at the door, and Ellie peeks her head inside. Her cheeks lift and she smiles brightly at me. “Perfect,” I say waving her in. I’ve been holed up in my home office for nearly twenty-four hours, leaving Ellie and Rosie to fend for themselves.
“Look, I’m glad you called. I think it’s shameful what your father has done. Preston is probably rolling in his grave, but oddly enough I think…” He descends into a coughing fit, just as Ellie slips inside my office. She’s wearing a pair of sheer black leggings that show the outline of her thong and a crop top that barely covers her nipples, nipples that are peaked into tiny little bullet points. Despite the hacking in my ear, my dick turns to steel.
“I just wanted to tell you I’m heading out for a bit. I ran out of beads and I need them to finish my dress for tomorrow,” she whispers. It’s then I notice she has a pair of running shoes on.
“Wearing that?” I mouth, gesturing to her lack of actual clothes. I hit mute on the receiver and seethe.
“Of course not. It’s like thirty degrees out.” She whips a scarf from behind her back then wraps it around her neck. “Now I’m ready.”
Bernie composes himself on the other end. “Where was I?”
Hitting unmute, I say through gritted teeth, “I need to call you back.”
“No need, son. I’ll send you over the information. Get it to your lawyers asap—” he starts but is cut off by more hacking.
“Thanks,” I say and hang up the phone. I take a few calming breaths, staring at the wood grain on the desk. “You aren’t wearing a bra. I can see your tits.”
“What are you, the nipple police?” Ellie scoffs, smoothing down the scrap of fabric she calls a shirt. Her hair is down and wild like a lion’s mane. Her lips are shaded plum, and her too big eyes are rimmed with black kohl. Sex and sexuality ooze from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She’s out of her fucking mind if she thinks I’m letting her go anywhere but down on her knees right now.
“Okay, well. I’ll let you get back to it.” Ellie waves, then bounces out of my office.
I’m on my feet and practically running after her. I catch up in the hall. “Change, right the fuck now.”
She stops and spins around, flashing me in the process. “Max, I know I sometimes call you Daddy in bed, but you aren’t my actual father. I can go wherever I like, in whatever I like.” She turns, but I’m quicker, bending down I haul her over my shoulder. Her tights are so sheer I can see the outline of her panties through the fabric. That tiny pink scrap caresses the curve of her hip and sends me into a blind rage. I slap her round ass, hard. She fights to wiggle free, but I lock my arms around her, gripping her like a vise.
“MAX! Put me down!” she yells.
“Fine!” I yell right back, kicking through the bedroom door, and dropping her unceremoniously on the king-size pillowtop.
Her small frame bounces up and down, causing her shirt to fly up exposing her breasts. Ellie has great tits. Normally, they are a welcome sight, plush, soft, with sweet little brown nipples that make my mouth water and my dick weep. Not today though. Today, I lose my shit. “You will change.” My voice is deadly. My knees hit the edge of the bed, and it dips under my weight. Blue eyes to gray, the tension so thick we nearly choke on it. “Or you can finish your fucking dress the best way you know how.”
“You’re being an asshole.” Her chest heaves up and down as she inches backward. A useless attempt. There is nowhere to run.
“I’m not, but I can be,” I growl. My hand cuffs her ankle and I yank her back toward me. I drop down, placing a hand on either side of her head.
“Fuck you.”
My gaze lowers to her barely concealed nipples, furled and standing at attention. “I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you, baby?” I drop my head and bite the tiny bud through the fabric. Her back arches as I dip lower using my nose to lift her shirt. I lick circles around her nipple, before sucking it into my mouth. Coconut and sex invade my nostrils, and I switch to the other side, showing the same care and devotion.
“Yes, please,” she mewls underneath me. Her fingernails dig into my shoulders as she urges me lower until I’m nestled between her legs.
The corner of my mouth tips up. “You’ve been a bad girl,” I say, dropping a kiss on her covered mound. “Bad girls don’t get rewarded.” Before she has a chance to respond, I grab her waist and flip her over. She lifts up on her hands and knees, another futile attempt to escape. Hooking a finger into the thin fabric of her leggings, I rip a hole, exposing light brown skin and a bright pink thong.
“You did not just do that!” she hisses, glaring at me from over her shoulder.
I bend down and bite her ass so hard my teeth leave tiny crescent-shaped indentations in her flesh. “I did.” I slap the place I bit, sealing in the pain of my mark. “You want to dress like a bad girl, I’m going to treat you like one,” I say, my body covering her back, my mouth to her ear. “You want to look like a slut, I’m going to fuck you like one.”
She pushes back against me, and my dick aches to be inside her. The urge to brand her is overwhelming. I pull back, pushing her thong aside and run my fingers along her slit. “So wet. So ready. You want Daddy to fuck you here?”
“Yes, Daddy, please,” she moans. Her fingers claw at the sheets. Her hair a wild mane around her narrow shoulders.
I pull my dick out of the elastic waistband of my sweats and run it up and down her seam. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes.” She tries to p
ush back onto my shaft, but I move. Instead, I gather her hair in a makeshift ponytail and pull her head back, forcing her back to arch. I take my other hand and palm her breast.
“Say sorry to Daddy for disobeying.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I swear it won’t happen again.”
“You’re damn right it won’t happen again,” I growl, pinching her as I slide into her hot, pink center. Wetness encases my dick and it’s like heaven and hell at the same time. Heaven because Ellie’s pussy is like Sunday morning—holy, blessed. Hell, because too much of a good thing will kill you. I’d gladly die inside Ellie’s cunt.
Her body bucks, but I hold steady, thrusting into her with so much force her ass jiggles with each thrust. I can feel her orgasm crest, she’s boneless. But I hold her up and pump faster, fucking her until there is nothing left of me but spilled seed.
We collapse in a heap on the sheets, our bodies slick with sweat and cum. Ellie snuggles up to my chest, draping the blanket around us. “I thought you were going to the fabric store?” I pant.
“Nah.” She looks up at me, a mischievous grin plastered on her face. “I finished my dress this morning.”
I gape at her. “Then what the hell was that?”
“I wanted to have sex.” She yawns.
“You could have just sent me an eggplant and peach emoji.”
“Yeah, I know, but my way was more fun.” Her eyelids flutter closed and I hold her until her breath evens and she falls asleep. Slipping out of the bed as quietly as possible, I pad back to my office and settle into my chair. As much as I’d love to stay in bed with my girl, I still need to deal with Karen.
There’s another email waiting for me, this one from Bernie. I scan the attached file; a slow grin stretches across my face. Leaning back into my chair, I stare up to the heavens. “Grandfather, you were a smart bastard.”
I feel like I snorted an eight ball of cocaine. My leg bounces erratically as the driver flicks on his turn signal. It’s barely seven in the morning. The city is just starting to spring to life. Commuters pour out of subway stations armed with coffee cups and headphones. To them, it’s just another day, but for me, it’s the day of reckoning.
The car pulls to a stop in front of the Anderson Building and I slide out. Warmth radiates through my body despite the winter air. It’s the kind of warm that comes with retribution. It’s heady, addictive, with a hint of sweetness.
I forwarded Bernie’s email to my lawyers as soon as he’d sent it, and while the professional thing to do would be to let them handle it, professionalism flew out the window around the same time Karen fucked my dad and stole my company.
“George.” I nod as I stroll past security.
The old man’s eyes perk up. There’s a hint of relief behind his usually stoic mask that’s quickly doused by dread. “Mr. Anderson. I…I…really hate to do this to you, sir, but I can’t let you up. Ms. Washington gave us strict orders not to let you or Mr. Thomas anywhere near Anderson Capital.”
“What a bitch.” I blink in disbelief. Karen has a set of balls, bigger than most men, I’ll give her that.
“You can say that again,” George murmurs, before he remembers himself. “But still, I can’t let you up.”
“I get it, you’re just doing your job.” Lifting the file from my briefcase I slide the documentation across the security desk. The revolving door slides behind me, and people begin to shuffle in. He scans the page; a slow smile ticks up the corners of his mouth.
“It looks like you can go wherever the hell you want.”
“It would appear that way.” He hands the paper back, and I return it to its home inside my bag.
I spin on my heels, but George’s gruff voice stops me. “Do you really love her?” In the short time Ellie’s been here, she’d wormed her way into the hearts of the staff. From George in security, to Doris in the cafeteria, and everyone in between. It’s why, even after I showed him who’s really in charge around here, he’s willing to risk his job to question me about my personal life.
Pride swells in my chest knowing that someone as good and as kind and caring as Ellie, chose me. She thinks I’m the moon, but she’s my universe. For that reason alone, I humor George giving him a clipped nod. “I do.”
“Good. Don’t hurt her.”
“Never,” I vow.
His intense gaze inspects me a beat longer before he tips his head to the elevator. “Give ’em hell, Mr. Anderson.”
A devilish smirk finds my lips. “I intend to.”
I ride the elevator up to thirty. My heart pounds in my ears as my shoes slap against the marble floors. The reception desk is empty, as are the executive offices. I notice Winston’s name on the office door that used to belong to his father and Karen’s name on the one that belonged to mine. I settle in behind her desk. In the short time she’s been in charge, she completely transformed the space. Gone is the giant oak desk and sitting in its place is a sleek glass flat top. Roses sit on either corner, sandwiching her laptop. The dark leather couch has been replaced by a white fabric chaise. It’s feminine, a stark contrast to the good ole boy space my father occupied for the past ten years.
It’s an hour before she arrives. I can hear her heels thundering down the hall. I lean back in her chair, kicking my feet on top of her desk. The door swings open and she jumps, and her eyes widen in surprise. “What the hell are you doing here?” she shrieks. “I’m calling security.”
Winston comes in behind her, narrowing his eyes at me. “What are you doing here, Max?”
“Oh look, the gang’s all here.” I flash Karen a saccharine smile, similar to the one she’d given me a week prior. Winston gets my middle finger.
Karen stomps across the room, her talons reach for the phone sitting on her desk.
“Don’t bother,” I tsk. “I won’t be long. I just came to deliver this.” Bending, I reach for the folder and toss it to her.
She eyes it warily. “I don’t have time for games, Max. I have a company to run…Your company.” Her words were meant to wound, but thanks to my mother’s faulty memory and my grandfather’s will, they are useless. Nothing she says can hurt me. Not as much as I’m about to hurt her.
“Let me give you the CliffsNotes,” I spit, disdain drips from each syllable. “You have thirty days to vacate the premises or I’ll have the sheriff come in and toss your shit out on the street.”
She cackles and takes a sip of her coffee. “You can’t do that. I’m majority stockholder. You have no power here.”
“Yeah, Max,” Winston cosigns. “Stop embarrassing yourself.”
My gaze drops to his blue and green checkered shirt and black suspenders. “I’m not the embarrassing one here. Nevertheless, you are correct. I have no real power at Anderson Capital. The Anderson Building, however.” I wave a finger around the room. “Is mine.”
Karen’s mouth gapes open like a slutty fish.
“No, it isn’t,” Winston grunts. He steps deeper into the office and I fight the urge to break his nose. Karen is nothing, a stranger who slept her way to the top, but Winston—despite a lifetime rivalry—is family.
I lift the eviction notice and wave it in his face. “Oh, but it is.”
“It belongs to your dad,” he sneers.
“It belongs to Anderson Holdings, the LLC my grandfather set up to manage his rental properties. That’s nothing groundbreaking, smart business really, but you’ll never guess who the sole owner of Anderson Holdings is now that my father has sold off his stake in Anderson Capital?” They stare, slack-jawed, and I take immense pleasure in their discomfort. “I’ll give you a hint.” I wink.
“So, what?” Winston snatches the paper from me and he skims the words. “You can’t just evict us.”
“This is the best part.” I stand, gesturing for Karen to take her seat. She only has thirty days left with this view. She should enjoy it. I saunter to the other side of the desk as she sits. Shock is etched across her Botoxed face. “My father was a lazy bastard.
Jalen and I brought in all the new clients, and Graham handled the day-to-day operations. All he ever did was bark orders and fuck anything with ambition and a pulse.”
“Where are you going with this, Max?” Winston grits.
“He never renewed the lease!” I laugh, manically. “To be fair, he owned the building, so it probably seemed like unnecessary paperwork, but—and this is where my grandfather’s genius comes into play—by my dad selling his shares to you”—I point to the woman who makes Queen Mary look like a saint—“he inadvertently relinquished his stake in Anderson Holdings to me. The Anderson who holds the largest stake in Anderson Capital retains control over Anderson Holdings. A failsafe, which his lawyer explained he implemented to prevent infight for future generations. He probably didn’t realize his son was an idiot who’d lose the crown jewel of his legacy to the brain and the basket case.” I grin, ridiculously pleased with my Breakfast Club reference wishing Ellie were around to hear it. “I may not have enough shares to buy you out, but I’ve got just enough to evict you.”
“This is unbelievable,” Karen huffs.
“Believe it, but don’t worry. There’s a vacancy on ten. The view isn’t as nice, but providing you fill out the proper paperwork, I’d be willing to rent it to you for a fair price, if you stay the fuck away from Vann Attar. He’s mine.”
“You’re a bastard,” she seethes.
“And you’re a bitch. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a gala to attend.”
I’d only ever been to the Metropolitan Museum of Art once since moving to New York. Back when Erin and I were bright-eyed, naïve girls who thought Friends and Sex and the City were accurate portrayals of life in the city. We thought we’d be having lunch in swanky little coffee shops, wearing designer clothes, and swapping stories of our latest conquests.
We were in for a very rude awakening.
The service entrance to the historic building is decidedly less glamorous than the red carpet everyone else will be strolling down. A murky puddle pools just to the left of the loading dock, and I eye it with a level of disdain I used to reserve for dogs and asshole Wall Street types. Rhonda, Erin’s friend and the reason we are able to sneak in here tonight, passes me a crate full of glassware and I nearly drop it.
Pretty Little Mess Page 21