I wonder if she knows her live-off-the-earth surfer asshole is almost as rich as me. Almost.

Unlike me, who’s legacy is steeped in generations upon generations of old money, Dipshit and his breed come from a few generations of new money.

There’s a commitment, an intrinsic security that comes with the comfort of old money. When you’ve acquired recent fortune, you’re always waiting for the bottom to drop out, leaving you with nothing to stand on, and a fear of careening back to ground level.

I knew the feeling well, not having actual Fox blood pumping through my veins.

Is he dedicated enough to not falter? Is he as controlled as me, making sure nothing stands in the way of him and the legacy he’s been gifted?

The bar he pretends to work at, along with a few others, are owned by him specifically. His daddy’s name nowhere in sight. His businesses better be on the up and up because if they’re not, if he so much as wrote off a bottle of birthday cake flavored vodka to feed a drunk bachelorette party skank before he took her home, I’m going to find it. And then I’m going to nail him to the fucking wall and send his ass to prison with a bow wrapped around it.

He may be a Kingsley, but I’m a fucking Fox. Formerly a ravenous coyote, scraping together what I needed to survive with only my wit and my will to live.

If this has anything to do with that shithead, he’s going down.

TWENTY

ALECK

Dinner at Sebastiano’s Steak House was seamless. Preston took on his role as the life of the party, cracking jokes and making everyone laugh and feel comfortable. Winter and her friends gabbed about everything under the sun, including her date with Dickface, never sparing me a glance.

It was maddening, really.

I thought we came to some sort of agreement before I fucked her six ways to Sunday and made her come like twenty times under my tongue, my hands, and cock. I told her once I entered her, she’d be mine. And while she may not have said the specific words, she accepted my terms when she let me enter her.

Now here she is, ignoring me like I don’t exist and talking about some bullshit date I know meant nothing to her. If it did, she wouldn’t have come home with a craving for my cock and the willpower of a junkie with a hit in her hand.

“Alright,” Preston says over the bass of dance music, pulling me from my thoughts. “What’s going on? You’re miles away, and you haven’t stopped grinding your teeth since you and Winter stepped off the elevator.”

After dinner, we stopped off at the resort bar. The girls wanted to dance, and I’ll never turn down a nightcap with my best friend. Especially when it’s distracting me from my anger and overall feeling of displeasure.

“I’m good, Press,” I say, lifting my hand to the bartender to order another drink.