All mistakes are mine, folks!
"Gianna!" I speed onto the deck, not even bothering to take my shoes off as I call for my assistant.
No, I really don't care that it's Saturday night, that it's three in the fucking morning.
"Gianna, where the fuck are you?" I pound my fist onto the door of her cabin downstairs in the back until it opens and her disheveled platinum bob grazes the doorpost and blue eyes shoot daggers at me.
"My God, Mr. Cullen…" she whines. "Do you know what time it is?"
"If you don't, there's a watch you got for Christmas somewhere in your luggage," I state.
"What's the matter, a—are you okay?" She opens the door fully now, revealing plum, silk pyjamas that drag along the carpeted floors.
"Take the car back to the rental agency."
"Are we leaving already?" She asks me, frowning.
If she was straight, this would have been so much easier. She wouldn't ask as many questions. Instead, she'd do anything to please me thinking it would earn her a place in my bed. Because most girls are silly like that.
"First thing, yeah. Go tell Gus," I say to her.
"Mr. Cullen, it's the middle of the ni—"
"My money, Gianna," I remind her. "My fucking rules. Get packing."
I walk out of the guest bedroom's hallway and down to the lower level where my own room is, throwing the door open forcefully, meeting carefully made-up white silk sheets.
After I toe off my loafers I launch myself on the bed, not even bothering to take off my clothes.
I wonder what Daddy Dearest has done now to be cursed with an investigation like this but I don't care enough to let it steal away my night's rest.
