Con Artist (Breeding #6)(2)

With all my might I bring my knee up to try and break his hold, but he blocks me. I steal the moment to slip out of his grip and I take off at a sprint, moving as far and as fast as I can. I do the thing I know I’m not supposed to and I glance back. I can tell he must have tried to catch me because he’s a good block or two away but he’s stopped. He likely knew there was no catching me. Men that big can’t move this fast.

I circle the block because I still need to get to Bradford’s shop. By the time I come back around I see the man is gone and I once again blend back into the crowd as I pull my hoodie over my head. A glance as my watch tells me I’ll still be on time, even with the asshole manhandler.

When I’m a block away I take out the wallet I lifted from the suit and see a nice stack of cash inside. I tuck it away so I can go through it later, but I’m pleased that the encounter was worth it. I should pull the cash out now and toss the rest, but for some reason I want to have a better look at it.

A few minutes later I walk into the shop and Josh is walking out. He’s got a good ten years on me, but unlike me, Josh enjoys being noticed. He’s tall and has always been lean, but over the past few months it looks like he’s been hitting the gym. Or the steroids.

“Hey.” His hand comes down on the wall of the narrow hallway that leads to Bradford’s office and he blocks my way. He winks at me and I know he’s trying to be charming. “What’s got you all flushed, J?”

He pushes my hood back from my head. I want to smack his hand, but I try not to poke the beast if I don’t have to. Especially ones I have to see and work with. I try and stay as under the radar as I can, and if I could be invisible I would.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I ask as I dart under his arm towards Bradford’s office.

He won’t follow me because Josh only gives me his shit when no one is around to see it. I hear him call me a little shit, then he follows it up with a muttered, “cunt,” right before I go into Bradford’s office. I don’t know what his deal is. He’s either trying to get in my pants or make me feel like shit.

When I walk into Bradford’s office I close the door behind me and see he’s got his phone to his ear and an irritated look on his face. He points to an envelope sitting on the corner of his desk and I walk over to it.





Chapter 2





Bennett





Money can get you anything, anytime, anywhere. There isn’t a door that won’t open for me and I don’t hear the word no. I wake up to a world of possibilities and sleep on thousand-dollar sheets every night. When you’re raised with this at your fingertips, as ridiculous as it sounds, life can get boring. Each day blends into the next and it’s all black and white. Or I guess in my case, it’s all gold and diamonds. The view is pretty, but I sometimes wonder if I wouldn’t savor it more if I were hungry.

My family is a long line of railroad owners, and the Hughes family is one of the oldest in the country. We made our money at the turn of the century and it’s only been growing since then. My father is the sole heir to the estate and I’m the next in line to inherit. I live off a trust fund that could keep my great-great grandchildren dripping in rubies and there is still more to come later. It’s wealth that’s whispered about and keeps me surrounded in security. I didn’t ask for any of this, but what choice do I have as a Hughes?

People say a lot of things about me and my life. I’ve been called the next John Kennedy Jr. because of my clean-cut look and the way I avoid the press, but I’m no nice guy. People that have actually met me don’t usually ask to do it again. I’ve been called as asshole to my face, which means it must be true. Normally people with my kind of money never hear a negative word about them, but the fact that people don’t whisper it behind my back speaks to my personality.

I spend my days with my security guards, but I wouldn’t call us friends. My house is like a fucking museum with all the expensive shit in it, and it’s too goddamn big for one person. I don’t plan on ever sharing it with anyone, so it’s just all a waste of space.

When I was sixteen, I found my mom in bed with my dad’s best friend Tom and I think it broke any romantic notion that I’d ever find love. I’ve had my share of one-night stands, but after seeing a few of them sell their stories to gossip sites I’ve given up women all together. Maybe the constant look of irritation on my face doesn't help, but I don’t care.

Nothing in my life gives me passion and I’ve accepted that it’s the way things will be. I was born a success, so what else am I supposed to achieve? It takes a boulder rolling over me to spark any sort of emotion and that’s just what that little thief did.

I didn’t realize she stole my wallet right away because I was too busy being distracted by her big doe eyes and the way her body felt against mine. I’ve never seen someone so beautiful and so fucking fast.

“Find her,” I bark to the team of people around me as I get into the waiting car by the curb.

I inwardly curse myself for doing weights instead of cardio as I reach in my pocket and grab my phone. I’m pretty sure I could train for a marathon and still not be able to catch up with her.

A second car always follows us in case of an emergency and right now I’m having one. There’s only about a grand in the wallet, but it’s got my license and credit cards. It’s not like I can’t have them replaced, but it’s the principle of it. She stole it and I want it back.