Series: Werewolves of Wall Street Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
I unlock my phone and hand it to her, watching without expression as she texts herself:
WWIII.
My initials–or World War III–depending on your interpretation. I’m surprised she knows my full name.
Pleased.
She thrusts my phone back at me. “That’s my number. Text me if things change.”
No chance. I don’t give a fuck if a real World War III breaks out tomorrow.
Aubrey Jane Cook will be in my apartment tomorrow night.
Preferably naked and strung up from my ceiling.
Chapter Four
Aubrey
I exit the subway at 57th Street with “Strut” by Sheena E playing in my ear buds. The tunes give me the boost I need to find my second wind. I had a long day of classes. I am just a few weeks away from finishing my bachelor’s degree in Women’s Studies. My original plan was to study law and become a social justice lawyer, fighting for the cause, like Jan, but that’s mostly because I’ve dismissed art as a viable career. It probably still is, unless I want to be a sell-out to corporations like Sentience, but I honestly don’t want to go on to graduate studies anymore. I’m burned out on school.
I hum along to the music. I blame my parents for my eighties music addiction, but who knows? Maybe I died young as the leader of an 80’s girl band in my last lifetime. All I know is it makes me happy, and this particular song embodies the energy I’m bringing to throw at William White the Third.
He is a real piece of work–the kind of guy contributing to everything that is wrong with this world. Which is why I enjoy sticking this whole bachelor planning thing to him. I love that Brick is punishing him. I mean, it’s also weird–aren’t they best friends? But Brick is his boss, so I guess there’s a hierarchy there.
As I walk, a text comes through from the group chat Jan set up between me, Jamie, Caroline, and her about Sentience.
Jamie–did you find anything useful on the drive?
It shows up as read, but Jamie doesn’t answer.
Maybe she’s busy, but a niggling of foreboding runs through me. I’m probably just paranoid, but what if someone got to her? Or got her phone?
She was pretty paranoid about them exacting retribution beyond the firing.
Corporations like Sentience might be dastardly enough to hire someone to “fix” her entire situation.
No. I’m being nuts.
I walk the few blocks to Madi’s building on Billionaire Row. I’ve been here only twice before, which is weird, considering I used to see Madi daily before she moved out. We grew up living in the same building in Jersey and then moved in together in Brooklyn last fall. While we never went to the same schools, I was used to seeing her evenings and weekends. Now I’m lucky if I see her once every three weeks.
The front doors are locked, but through the smoky glass, I see a doorman or security guard guy–a huge man with muscles that stretch his suit jacket behind the desk. He strides swiftly to open the door.
“I’m here to see Madison Evans,” I say. I texted her earlier to make sure this thing was really happening because there was no way I was coming all the way over to Central Park if it wasn’t a sure thing. She said she would be here.
“Are you Ms. Cook?”
I startle. “Yes?” Madi must be running late and called to tell him. Damn. I am five minutes early.
“Mr. White is expecting you.” His voice is gruff and deep. Less suave butler and more mafia bodyguard.
Mr. White. Not Madi. And jeez–so formal.
“William White the Third.” I mimic his formality with a lash of sarcasm on my tongue. “Yes.”
“Right this way.” He escorts me to an elevator and uses his keycard to punch the button for the fortieth floor. “Number forty-four.” He steps out of the elevator, and the door closes.
I take the elevator up to Billy’s apartment. I don’t know–in buildings on Billionaire Row, do you even call it an apartment? Are they all penthouses? Do they each have their own floor? I know Brick and Madi do.
I don’t love that I’m not going to Madi’s place first. Being in her apartment building without her makes me feel adrift.
A little…abandoned.
But that’s ridiculous. I’m a strong, independent woman. I can go to a billionaire’s apartment without her.
It’s not like I’m afraid of William White.
Except my heart races at the prospect of being near him again. Being under his harsh, judging blue-gray gaze. The one framed by thick, angry brows and an air of total disdain. I remember the way we bumped into each other in the doorway at La Résistance. Because he was holding the door open for me.
I don’t want that kind of man. The kind that holds doors and throws money around like he grows it on trees and owns twenty orchards. I’m not interested in Billy White.