His wife, Heather, who I’d been sleeping with for the past week, launched herself from the bed and plucked her rumpled clothes from the floor.
“Oh my God, Jon.”
She was panicking.
They always panicked at that point. Next would be the lies, followed by the groveling, followed by the anger, and ending with the acceptance.
There were five steps.
She was on number one.
“It’s not what it looks like, I swear,” she said, pulling her top over her tousled hair.
Step number two: lies.
Cheaters lied.
That wasn’t shocking, in the least, but I had heard some crazy lies over the years. From nothing happened—when it was obvious we were fucking—to I thought I was dreaming. And let’s be honest, I am kind of dreamy in the sack.
But this woman, she worked fast. Her step two moved in much quicker than the other women. Probably because she had a lot to lose.
Three hundred grand and two kids, to be exact.
I probably should have charged him more than the usual fifty grand since kids were involved.
Her lies were useless, though. I always made sure the scene was set perfectly so there were no doubts.
The door was unlocked, her clothes obviously strewn across the floor, and me fucking the life out of her—making her scream at the top of her lungs—or her lips wrapped around my cock. It didn’t matter as long as we were caught in the act.
I was a perfectionist, and because of that, she wasn’t getting out of this. Jonathan paid me good money to fuck his wife so he could get a divorce. He’d even paid extra for photos of our affair, all without my face discernible, of course. The man had money to lose and no prenup in sight. Her affair would save him a ton. Her guilt would keep her from pushing for more.
I climbed from the bed and grabbed my jeans from the floor. My work was almost done.
“Please, Jon, let me explain. Just let me talk to you. I love you so much, baby.”
Step three: groveling.
This step was the most embarrassing of the five. Women were famous for grabbing their man’s shirt to hold them in the room while they said any and everything they could—begging and pleading for a chance to explain. When, in reality, they couldn’t say shit when they were caught with me ten inches deep in one of their holes.
I’d seen women crawl on their knees behind their husbands. Cry like small children. It was truly disgusting, but they did anything for the money. And that was what they really wanted. That was what they were really begging for.
Security.
A nice lifestyle.
Not the man they supposedly loved.
“Did you hear me?” she asked. “I said, I love you, Jon!”
My shirt muffled his response when I pulled it over my head, but if he was a smart man, he was telling her to get her shit and get out.
Heather was a sweet girl who seemed to love her husband. Honestly, she was one of the harder ones to break. It took me an extra two weeks to get her in bed, but once I did, she took care of the rest. She was eager to please me and happy to try new things. Having sex with her wasn’t bad at all. It wasn’t great, but she wasn’t the worst I’d ever had.
“No! Listen to me, dammit. Let me talk!” she screamed.
Step four: anger.
This step was irrelevant but necessary, I guess.
What did they have to be angry about?
They were the one technically fucking around. Sure, their boyfriend, fiancé, or husband paid for that service, but they weren’t aware of that.
“Don’t walk away from me!” she cried.
My socks warmed my feet before I pulled on my boots and began to tie them. It wouldn’t be long before it would be time for me to go. I was waiting for the moment Jonathan said the magic words.
And then, he did.
“I want a divorce. I can’t be with you anymore, Heather. You broke my heart.”
Standing, I stretched my back and cracked my neck.
My job was done.
She stood there, mascara rushing over her flushed cheeks as she began to bawl. I thought for sure she would fight him—try to salvage a marriage he had no intention of being in anymore—but instead, she nodded her head and wiped at her wet cheeks.
“I’ll be out by this weekend.”
Checkmate.
Step five: acceptance.
And just like that, I was fifty thousand dollars richer.
Damn, I loved my job.
ONE
RIFT
I’d been sitting at the table outside the café for thirty minutes waiting. My client was late, which was common for the first-time meeting with a new client. Sometimes, the client wouldn’t show at all.
It was fear.
They all feared the same thing.
What if a meeting with me was all a setup?
What if my system didn’t work, and they ended up in a worse predicament than they were already in?
So even though I hated waiting, I understood the process and acknowledged that patience was a crucial part of my job. A new client meant more money in my bank account, so instead of getting angry about it, I sipped my coffee and took in the sights around me.
Atlanta in the spring was a sight for sore eyes. I hadn’t been in the city where I was born in a long while. Instead, I bounced from city to city, working for some of the richest men in America and living without any sort of roots grounding me.
Penthouse living had become my way of life, leaving me virtually homeless and living the high life at the same time. That was what happened when your world got destroyed, though. You forgot about things like home and love when the only person you had in life killed you with their dishonesty.
Women.
Pain was all they were good for, yet women surrounded me all day, every day. I attracted them. It was as if my cock was made of pure chocolate, and I had diamonds dripping from my pockets when I walked. I learned at a very young age that the opposite sex desired me. It was my gift, and it was my curse.
My eyes skimmed over an ancient brick fountain across the street, water sloshing from it and sending the sounds of rain my way. I kept my attention on the things around me as I pretended I didn’t feel their eyes all over me.
The waitresses stared, their grins sending me the usual come fuck me signals. They were intrigued by me and wanted to know more. Wanted to feel me and have me. One even had the balls to approach and ask if I needed anything other than what was on the menu.
Her name was Ashley.
Casually checking the menu, I made sure Ashley’s Ass wasn’t one of the options.
It, of course, wasn’t.
Women.
They were terrible creatures, willing to hand themselves over for a pretty face. It was disgusting really. It felt immoral, but women and their weakness toward me was the way I made my money. The fact was, my face and body were my paycheck, and I worked hard in the hotel gym every day to make sure it was worthy of millions.
Another ten minutes passed, and I tugged at my collar, feeling eyes on me.
Touching me.
Caressing my face like sticky fingers with needles attached.
The women around me continued to stare, secretly fantasizing about me and the things I could do to their lonely bodies. The thing was, I was capable of quite a bit. If only they knew the dirty things I could do them.
Women screamed my name in bed. Begged and called incessantly after just one taste. Getting a woman to cheat was easy if they liked what you had to offer.
A good smile.
Impeccable style.
And dimples that made panties drop on sight.
But if you could make their legs shake and their backs arch with a powerful orgasm, they would follow you to the depths of hell.
Luckily for me, I could make them do a hell of a lot more than shake and arch. I knew the codes of every woman’s pleasure box, and I used those codes in the most deceptive ways.
&nbs
p; Looking down at my watch again, I saw another five minutes had passed. I wasn’t one to walk away from a paycheck, but this was getting ridiculous. Not to mention, the eyes that danced across my skin had me feeling sick. I could practically smell their arousal as they passed. Sitting there so others could stalk me like a piece of meat wasn’t something I wanted to do any longer than I needed to.
After Ashley the waitress pressed her tits in my face to refill my coffee, I decided enough was enough. I stood and pulled my jacket from the back of the seat before sliding my arms in. The chair scraped the concrete sidewalk when I pushed it under the table. Tossing a twenty on the table, I picked up my cell and turned to walk away.
“Are you Rift?” A masculine voice stopped me.
And there he was.
My next client.
Mitchell Summerton.
He was the typical suit and tie. His hair was gelled and slicked away from his long face. His smile large and white. He looked like a politician, as if he were seconds away from asking me to vote for him and aggressively shake my hand. Slimy like a congressman but young enough to still melt women with his stiff smile.
After looking him up once I’d received his email, I instantly disliked him, and that didn’t change now that I’d met him in person. Not liking him wasn’t going to stop me from taking his money and fucking his significant other, though.
I wasn’t here to make friends.
I was here to make money.
“That would be me.”
His handshake was weak and limp, his clammy and hot fingers adding to my dislike. My grandpa used to say a man with a weak handshake was untrustworthy. His words of wisdom rang true in every handshake from one of my clients.
“Sorry I’m late. I had a meeting that refused to end. Please”—he held his hand out toward the table I’d just abandoned—“have a seat. Let’s talk business.”
He loosened the button of his blue coat and sat.
I followed.
“Coffee. Black,” he said to the waitress as she passed.
She nodded and turned my way. She smiled as if we held a dirty secret.
We didn’t.
“Nothing for me, thanks.”
Our eyes followed the dainty waitress named Ashley as she flittered away for his order. His gaze moved over her small frame, landing on her ass, and he grinned
Fucking pervert.
They were all perverts. All wanting to get away from commitment so they could dip their dicks in anything wet. And I went along. I had my own personal demons that pushed me to break hearts. It was what got me through the day.
“What can I do for you, Mitchell?” I queried, forcing him to look away from the young waitress and turn my way.
“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Let’s get right to it, shall we? Here’s the thing, Mr. Rift, I’m in a relationship—one that’s run its course, I fear—and I want out.”
I straightened. “I’m your man. Tell me more.”
“We’re engaged, and I feel locked into a commitment I no longer want.” His reason was vague, but it didn’t matter why. It wasn’t my job to sympathize or relate.
“And what’s the timeframe for this engagement?”
“Four months until the big day.”
“You’re cutting it close, don’t you think?”
“It’s not that simple.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I work for her father. It’s how we met. I’m afraid if I walk away without a damn good reason, it could jeopardize all I’ve worked for. I’ve climbed too damn high in his company to let it slip through my fingers over a failed relationship.”
Money. It was always about money in some way or another. But, of course, money was what made the world go round.
I nodded in agreement. “Gotcha.”
“I need you to be that damn good reason.”
In other words, he needed to catch his fiancée riding my cock.
Sipping my dick.
Whatever I decided … as long as she was cheating.
It was the surefire way to break an engagement, and it was my job to make sure the lady in the arrangement couldn’t resist me.
“I’m assuming you want me to start as soon as possible?”
His head bobbed eagerly. “Yes. It’s getting harder and harder to go along with this façade.”
And I was pretty sure the woman he was fucking on the side was probably not too happy about it either.
I’d already done my research on Mitchell. I knew he was having an affair with Marissa Lovato, a model whose face was plastered all over magazine covers. He’d done a good job of keeping it out of the tabloids, but I could find a needle in a haystack. I also knew he was dirt poor before he started working for Petrova Technologies and suddenly found himself engaged to the owner’s daughter.
His honesty about his affair was crucial if I was going to work with him. I refused to work with a person who wasn’t upfront with all the details.
Mitchell was easy. Even without research, I would have been able to peg him for the lowlife money chaser he was. However, even with my top-notch detective skills and the use of the information highway of the internet, I was unable to find much on his fiancée.
Gwyneth Petrova.
Daughter of billionaire business owner Avel Petrova, as in Avel Petrova of Petrova Technologies, one of the world’s leading providers of safety and cybersecurity.
Men with that kind of money who knew as much about cybersecurity as Avel did had the capability to do many things. Including wiping someone’s information from the net. I supposed if I had a daughter and I was worth billions, I’d make sure nothing could be found online about her either.
Aside from knowing she was a board member at Savannah Hope, there wasn’t much outside of her volunteer work. I couldn’t find anything about her until she turned eighteen, but even then, it was article after article about the fundraisers she hosted to raise money for the children’s ward. Only posed pictures and her smile was always tight, telling me she didn’t like the spotlight but she went with it if it meant raising awareness for the kids.
I didn’t let the lack of personal info deter me. The information I required went far beyond her birthdate and physical features. I needed all the important details I could get if I was going to do my job correctly. I needed to know what she was like. What she enjoyed. Stupid things like her favorite flower and color. All the ridiculous shit that brought women to their knees.
Women were suckers for a man who paid attention and listened. Knowing her favorites would reveal her soft spots, and from there, I could learn which buttons to press and which ones to avoid.
Sitting in front of me was the man who should know all the answers to every question I had about Gwyneth, but looking at him and seeing how frequently he smoothed his overly gelled hair and checked himself out in the reflection of the window into the coffee shop, I knew he wasn’t going to be much help.
He probably knew even less about his fiancée than I did. Her likes and dislikes—her cravings—her desires. He’d been fucking her for the past two years, and I would bet my entire bank account that he had never once satisfied her.
I’d learn everything about her. I’d know every spot that brought her to her knees, and once I slid inside her and showed her what a real man was capable of, I would be golden.
Until then, I needed the basics. Anything he could dig up from his inattentive brain.
“Also, while I’m being honest, there’s someone else.” He grinned.
I didn’t.
Fifty percent of the time, my clients had found what they thought was someone better. Fifty percent of the time, my client was trying to get out of their current relationship so they could enter another.
I’d come to accept that eighty-five percent of the population were cheaters. That might not have been an official percentage, but when you did what I did, you saw more than the average person. People cheated; I didn’t give a fuck either way. I didn’t have those kinds of fucks anymore to give.
Instead, I got rich.
I was now their ringleader, but I hadn’t always been this man. I was once the idiot—the one bowing to the needs of my woman—giving myself to her mind, body, and soul. But like the unfortunate significant others of my clients, I walked in and found the love of my life riding reverse cowgirl on my best friend.
Needless to say, it changed me.
And now, I get paid to break hearts. It’s an appropriate career, considering.
“So you’re having an affair?” I asked for clarification I didn’t need.
“Yes.”
We quieted as the waitress set his cup of coffee down and smiled my way. Once she left us, I continued my questioning.
“Tell me about Gwyneth and her father.”
I caught him off guard with the use of his fiancée’s name, but he stuttered over himself as he went on.
“Her name’s Gwyneth Petrova, uh, which you know, obviously. Her father, Avel Petrova, is the king of computer security and built his company, Petrova Technologies, from nothing,” he started.
All things I knew already. As I listened, I considered the massive amount I would charge him for this little farce. I was looking to more than double my last payment of fifty thousand, and with Mitchell, I knew that was a possibility.
“We’ve been together for two years. I started at Petrova Technologies a year before I met Gwyn. I worked as a software designer, and I’m damn good at my job. Avel thought so too and sort of took me under his wing. He introduced me to Gwyn, and at first, everything was great, but now … I worked hard to get where I am, and I don’t want to lose all that because of Gwyn.”
In other words, he was choosing his job and his new model girlfriend over her.
None of my fucking business.
“You have to understand,” he continued. “Things were different when I met Gwyn. My wants have changed, and hers haven’t. When I asked her to marry me, I was a different man.” He ran his fingers through his dark hair in aggravation. “She wants kids, for fuck’s sake. Kids! I’m not ready for that, man.”
Little Black Box Set Page 66