Thorne Princess(14)

“Abstinent!” she shouted to the sky, outraged. I could kind of understand where she was coming from. Being sexually active had nothing to do with good behavior. But I didn’t make the rules—I simply enforced them. “Will you be abstinent?”

Wouldn’t put money on it.

I could go without for weeks, sometimes months. Finding the right partner for my flavor of kink was not easy—fortunately my self-control was second only to my stamina. But the Brat and I weren’t playing the same game.

“What I do with my personal time is my business,” I clipped out.

“Yeah, thought so.” She laughed mirthlessly. “And sober? I don’t even drink that much.”

“Then giving it up shouldn’t pose an issue.”

She glanced around, looking for creative ways to get out of the situation. Clearly, the Thornes had allowed her to grow as wild and free as a weed until she was not in the habit of answering to anyone.

“I’ll make your life a living hell,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Kiddo.” I flashed her an impatient smile. “I was forged in hell. I’ll feel right at home. You, however, are in for a challenging few months.”

“This is not over,” she warned, wiggling a finger in my face, an explosion of colors and attitude. “In fact, I’m going to walk out of here right now and sell this story about how you walked in on a naked, sleeping woman to—”

Not interested in hearing the rest of this sentence, or anything else to come out of that smart mouth, I stood up, picked her up, and locked her upstairs, in her room.

It was the first time I’d physically—unprofessionally touched a client.

But it was time Brat got some discipline.

Better late than never.





I was going to kill a man. Violently.

I didn’t know how yet. After all, this guy—what was his name, anyway? Bastard never introduced himself—was at least six foot three, if not taller. And buff. Not in the way Wes Morgan was buff, with enough visible veins to look like a roadmap. Nameless Asshole had a toned body without looking like he lived at the gym. He appeared almost indecently masculine. Like those ultra-athletes who survived in the woods for years at a time.

Complete with jade-hued eyes, soot-colored hair, sculpted cheekbones…okay, since when do you notice men? Specifically, men who barge into your life, while you’re naked?

Anyway, without getting into minutiae, the jerk deserved to die.

Luckily, I still had my laptop in my room. He could take my phone, but he could never take my fight.

My first move was to try to call my parents through a questionable app I downloaded, and in the process, probably installed fifteen viruses on my computer.

I got my mother’s voicemail—twice—while Dad was on another call.

The coward. My father was great about sending me money and gifts, and horrible at being available for me physically or emotionally. He called me frequently, but conversation was always so boring, so stilted, I’d wish he hadn’t even tried.

My mother was a different story. She openly resented me. According to her, I wasn’t making an effort. She criticized me often, but through the harsh words, I could always pick up the undertone of a wounded woman. It brought me sick pleasure. Knowing she hated our relationship as much as I did.

Leaving a voicemail was out of the question. They didn’t listen to those. So I resorted to calling their respective secretaries and leaving messages with them, like a cold caller trying to offer a solar panel installation deal.

It made my blood bubble to think Nameless Asshole, who was currently occupying my dining room, had access to my dad and could call him at any time, while I had to go through his administrative team.

“Hi, Daphne, it’s Hallie. Can you please do me a favor and ask Mom to call me back? It’s important. Yes. Very important. No. It’s not about Chanel raising their prices and my needing to stock up on bags. I actually find it super triggering to suggest that I buy new products. It is so not eco-friendly. Plus, there are steals at secondhand stores. Steals, I tell you.”

“Heyyy, Tyrese How are you? How’s your wife? Oh, really? Two years ago? I’m so sorry. Anywho, is Dad around? Any chance I could leave a message for him? Yeah. Tell him it’s urgent. Super urgent. What? No, I didn’t accidentally make the ATM machine swallow my credit card! That you would even suggest that…no wonder Beverly left you.”

Once I was done thoroughly humiliating myself with my parents’ staff, I paced my room. I considered calling Hera, then quickly thought better of it. First of all, she was probably not going to answer. She worked twenty-six hour shifts at the hospital. Also, I was her least favorite person in the world. And in the unlikely event that she did answer, she’d spend the duration of the call telling me how irresponsible I was, and how I deserved an abusive, cold bodyguard to straighten me up. Hera had an uncanny gift for making me feel like shit. So even though I knew she could get Mom and Dad on the phone in a second, I didn’t want to call her.

Freezing in my spot, an actual good idea assaulted my brain.

Keller.

Keller would know what to do in this situation. He’d driven countless nannies away when he was a kid. After his mother passed away from an overdose when he was nine, his dad took sole custody of him. Every time his father would put someone in charge of him, Keller found a way to either get the nanny fired or to run away screaming. He was a master at making people quit.