K. Webster

“You are terrifying and strange and beautiful, something not everyone knows how to love.”

Warsan Shire

I flip over to the recording from last night. Around nine in the evening, the lights turn on, and then a woman in a light blue uniform walks in, dragging a cart with her. She starts to clean, but then sets her cloth down on my desk before sitting in my chair. I watch, disgusted, as she spins around in my chair enough times it makes me dizzy. Finally, she stops and then pulls a red, square, wrapped candy from her pocket.
I’ve caught the culprit.
Now I’m going to make her pay.
She unwraps it and then tosses the wrapper into the trash can. My anger rachets up when she stands and walks over to my bookshelves. Her finger runs along the shelves, and she then holds a finger up in front of her face as though she’s inspecting it for dust. She admires my painting for a bit before returning to my chair. The woman—no, girl based on her young features—continues to eat her candies one at a time. She kicks her feet up on my desk and proceeds to scroll through her phone. This goes on for at least a half-hour. I fast forward through this part. Finally, she pockets her phone and then plays with my desk buttons making it go up and down a few times. Eventually she stands, steps on one of the wrappers she missed tossing into the bin and walks it over to where I stepped on it. It transfers to the floor at that point. She shakes her head as though she’s angry about whatever she’s thinking about, and then walks right up to the glass. Once she’s done gazing at my fucking city, she walks past the wrapper she managed to stick to my floor, grabs her rag off the desk, and then pushes her cart from the room.
Un-fucking-believable.
As soon as the lights go off on the video, I shut it down, ready to explode with fury. It takes several calming

Ping.
I open my email, eager as fuck to find what Deborah has uncovered for me.
Ash Ember Elliott.
Brand new employee at FGM Services.
Someone let this highly unqualified woman into my office. They’re all going down for this. It’s such gross negligence, I can barely see straight because of my rage.
I could go straight to the top and let the manager fire all those directly responsible for this outrage, or I could take matters into my own hands. Punish the offender directly. I quite enjoy a good verbal reaming.
Tonight, I’ll deal with Miss Elliott.
She played in my office like a child, wrecked it with her mess, and took wages for a job she didn’t do.
I’ve ended men for less, with a fucking grin on my face, too.
I will absolutely enjoy destroying her.
In fact, I’ll be counting down every second until her arrival.

“Dad always wanted a son,” I volley back. “And look, now he has three.”
He scoffs as though he’s offended to be called Baron Elliott’s son. “Sparrow gives them until the end of the year.” He grins at me, wolfish and terrifying. “Then Mom will destroy him just like her last three husbands.”
Dr. Amanda Mannford or Manda the Maneater as I like to call her in my head—serial divorcee.
Anger swells up inside me, and it takes everything in me not to go off on him. I hate Scout because he’s such a shit starter. Dad asked me to get along with Manda, which I try, but my three stepbrothers are another story entirely. They’re all three bordering on psychotic, especially Scout.
“Dad says it’s true love,” I taunt. “Maybe they’ll even have an oops baby together.”
His dark eyes flash with cruelty. “She doesn’t love him, and she barely tolerates you. Besides, we were test tube babies. Mom can’t get pregnant the old-fashioned way.”
“Whatever,” I grumble. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
He runs his knuckle up and down my spine, making me shiver from the touch. “Nah. I’m on babysitting duty today.”
I snap my attention his way, glowering at him. In another world, I’d find someone like Scout attractive. Tall, muscular, chiseled jaw. His black hair and fair skin make him look like a vampire. I always got a thrill from the dark, dangerous types. But there’s just something completely wrong with the Terror Triplets. They’re missing some key elements most humans have. In the three months I’ve lived with them, I’ve watched them make maids cry, destroy property for fun, and fuck more girls than humanly possible.
“You’re still in high school,” I spit out. “I’m off to college. I don’t need babysitting.”
“Technicality because we were held back. The three of us are older than you, Ash. But I wasn’t talking about

Holy shit.
Was he here the whole time?
Fucking creepy!
But there’s nothing creepy about his looks. He’s not a fuddy duddy either, if this is Winston Constantine. He’s fine as hell.
Older. Dressed to the nines in a three-piece navy suit that looks custom-tailored and expensive. A handsome,

smirk on his face. His dark blond hair is shorter on the sides and longer on top, styled perfectly, making it look as though he came from a photoshoot at Gucci or something. Just enough scruff to give him an edge despite his otherwise clean-cut appearance. It’s his eyes that are mesmerizing.
Dark blue. Intense. Penetrating

He looks scary.
Scary hot.
But still scary.
I clear my throat. “Sorry. I’ll just empty your trash and be out of your way.”
“No,” he rumbles, his voice dripping in a menacing tone. “I’ve been waiting for you. It’s time we chat, little girl.”

“Name,” I growl, even though I know it already.
She fidgets, messing with the hem of her uniform skirt. It’s just short enough to be distracting, drawing the eye to her golden thighs, but not short enough to be satisfying. If she bends over, I won’t get a peek at what color panties she’s wearing.

I was talking about the fact we have to make sure you don’t try to screw over our mom. That takes constant watching.”
“Fuck off,” I snap. “And get out of my room.”
“It belongs to Mom, not you,” he sneers. “Best remember that. Mom would love to remind you of that. In fact, maybe I should tell her about all these new holes in her walls.”
He stands and stretches, his T-shirt lifting to show off his muscled abs from playing lacrosse at Pembroke Preparatory School. When he catches me looking, his smile grows even more devious than before.
“Like what you see, little sister?” He cups his junk through his jeans. “I could show you a little more.”
Gross.
I shoot him the bird, ignoring his taunts. Of the triplets, he’s the one who takes his stalking seriously. The other two tolerate me, but he goes out of his way to probe and poke at me.
“Fine,” he says as he makes his way to the door. “When you want some dick, you know where to find me. Warning, though. Mom will be very, very angry if you fuck her favorite son.”
I refrain from throwing my laptop at him. Barely. “Go to hell, Scout.”
His laughter can be heard echoing, long after he leaves.
Creep.
Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.
Just like always, my bird Shrimp goes back to making noise in his bird cage the moment Scout leaves. Scout is definitely the spawn of Satan, because Shrimp is scared to death of him.

The cameras lied.
Not about her actions—or inactions, I should say—but about her looks. I’d been too busy fuming this morning to take a closer look. Now, I’m getting my fill.
She’s young.
Really young.
Like I’m not even convinced she’s old enough to drive a car, much less work at a prestigious cleaning company. Her face is makeup free, but she’s somehow still naturally pretty. Dangerously pretty. The kind of pretty that gets men like me in trouble.
Because…I want to fuck her.
She’s barely said three sentences to me, and my dick aches to play with her. If she’s underage, I’m screwed, because I know I’m going to have her bouncing on my dick regardless