Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
“May I ask a question?”
“No, you may not, Burt the Butler,” I answer, continuing to jab, jab, uppercut, straight right.
Burt continues as if I hadn’t even responded to his silly queries. “Due to your new alias, I’m to assume your enjoyment of murder at a distance will not suffice in this situation.”
I rub a forearm across my sweaty temple. “Get on with it.”
“I won’t remind you of your pending and very important engagement in Arlington, but I deserve . . .”
I toss a left hook. Steadying the bag with both hands, I then square my shoulders and jab harder.
“The reason why Whitson is breathing, pray tell, does it involve a young lady?” Burt taps his fingers along the buttons of the butler uniform he’s worn almost every day of my entire life. “Three days ago, I had Monica create the fictitious Dr. Finch.”
I had gotten all but three steps away from Luxury and her father when I gave the order to upload my new alias to the internet for my curious, new challenge.
“I’ll let you in on a secret. Someone looked you up, Dr. Finch.”
I exhale at his insinuation. The beautiful Luxury has checked into the alias.
“Burt, I don’t have a tiny bone in my body. You changed the royal diapers.” I wink.
“Speaking of age, Ms. Whitson’s quite uncanny. I recall when you were a slightly less brooding twenty-three. You had—”
“Yes, twenty-three. Quite young, exceedingly receptive.”
“Alright, Victor. I’m to assume over a decade later, we’re still letting skeletons lay where they’ve fallen.”
I continue to divert Burt’s attempt to discuss the past, jesting, “You’ll love her.”
“I assure you I will have the same feelings you do about the young woman once you’ve grown tired of her.”
I rarely joke, but when I do, Burt’s my chosen victim. “She might be the one . . .who entertains me longer than a fortnight.”
There’s grumbling under his breath, as usual, then Burt composes himself. “What happened to Middle Eastern women being the most beautiful, exotic women in the world? I distinctly recall you saying that less than a week ago.”
Taking the thick towel from him, I wipe my sweaty face and shrug. “When in Saudi Arabia, yes. In France, nothing can compare to a gorgeous Parisian telling me exactly what she would like to do to me. Now I’m in America, the situation calls for―”
“Luxury Whitson?” he murmurs knowingly.
“Luxury, hmmm,” I allow the name to roll around on my tongue. Whitson had called his daughter Lux and another enduring nickname. “Burt, you dirty wanka! She was supposed to give me her name the next time we crossed paths.”
“I am not a dirty wanker. Cross paths with her before I become cross and take an extended holiday.”
“Alright, we’re even. No quitting on me.”
His thin brow lifts. “How, sir?”
“You disclosed information about my next conquest.”
“The young lady is not your conquest. What of Dr. Whitson? You’ll bed his daughter, then kill him?”
I clasp the punching bag, stalling the jerky movement. “Speaking of Luxury’s father, whoever sanctioned Whitson’s death knows him intimately. You saw that thesis on why the old man should die,” I say.
I scrub my jaw. Whitson hadn’t appeared to be a thief of some other mad scientist’s invention. As Whitson rambled, Luxury stared in awe at me for humoring the old man. All of two reasons kept me from fucking the beauty where she stood:
Her father, of course.
And the person who requested Whitson’s demise appears to want his invention, which denotes that I’m associated with a lowly thief.
You’re here to expire a mark, Victor. Stop meddling. As Burt had asked, did I intend to fuck the tiny woman, then kill her father?
Or had he said murder the father, then screw the daughter?
“Burt the Butler, you can’t imagine how beautiful and tiny she is. If I could place her in my pocket, I’d pull her out whenever I fancied a fuck.”
“Shall I remind you I am not to be called ‘Burt the Butler?’ Perhaps I’ll save her from you.”
“Rowdy bunch of buggers,” I mutter, watching a couple of rugrats scram from their baseball game to allow cars to pass. It’s not that my side of the pond is much different. The rascals who grew up keeping a healthy distance from me had a similar lifestyle—chuffed to bits while tossing around a ball.
Just as I approach the entry of Urban Gardens, further narrowed by potted plants, my eyes lock onto my new prey. I stuff my hands into my trousers as she walks out in a champagne dress, which complements her adorable cinnamon-sprinkle of freckles. I’ve never been drawn to someone so innocent and in dire need of my guidance.
“Victor.” Luxury’s silky voice plays a dangerous game with my cock. “How did you find my shop?”
I hike a shoulder. “You ranted about being a florist in Brooklyn.”
“Ranted?” The choice word has the desired effect. Luxury ceases chewing a plush bottom lip I’d like to pop into my mouth.