Blackmail (Belle Argo Escorts #1)

Chapter 1

Chapter One

SEBASTIAN

My sperm donor believed the entire world was out to get him. His paranoia eventually led to his death. Years later, I’m convinced someone is out to get me. Am I developing the same delusions, or am I actually correct?

All I know is, there’s a storm coming. I feel it in my gut.

Residents of my luxury beachfront condo building edge out of my way as I storm through the lobby, takeout bag and coffee-stained jacket in one hand and my phone clenched in the other. Two women pushing strollers glare as I pass. One calls me an asshole under their breath.

She’s not wrong. People call me Bastard behind my back for a reason. By the time I reach my floor, I’m ready to take it out on the next person who pisses me off.

Which, right now, is looking like my business partner, Lehman, who most certainly regrets calling me on my way home. “Bas, there’s nothing more to be done right now. Just get some damn rest for a change. Anything high priority happens, I’ll let you know.”

He sounds as exhausted as I feel. Or as exhausted as I’ll feel once the adrenaline I’ve been riding wears off.

“I just need to change clothes. I’ll be back in—”

“I called to tell you not to bother coming back to the office. It’s after nine on a Thursday night. You’ve already scared the crap out of Agatha. Take a damn break before we lose employees.”

“She’s the one who spilled hot coffee down the front of my suit.” To be fair, she’d caught me by surprise. It wasn’t my intention to frighten her.

I’m not a total monster.

“It was an accident.” Lehman insists. “Everyone’s jumpy as fuck right now.”

“Heya, Mr. Pierce.”

I turn to find the source of the voice behind me and come face-to-face with Jacob from 32B.

He’s a few inches shorter at sixteen than my six feet of height, and clearly not done growing.

Right now, he’s mostly knees and elbows.

Painfully thin. His stepfather, one of the biggest private equity assholes in Belle Argo, Florida, seems too damn busy to remember he even has a kid, let alone feed him.

The kid has a knack for popping up when I’m in the hallway. Perhaps he’s lonely. Or bored.

“Lehman, I’ll call you back.”

“Please don’t,” he chirps before hanging up.

Jacob shuffles awkwardly. “Uh, sorry to interrupt your call, Mr. Pierce. I wondered if you’d want to game with me since you’re home early. I’ve got the new Call of Duty. Or maybe blackjack? You said you’d teach me next time you finished work early.”

He’s got a deck of playing cards in his hand. I hadn’t noticed until now. Shit.

“I can’t tonight. It’s easy to learn, though. Probably a million blackjack tutorials online.” It’s a nice ego boost the way that Jacob looks at me like I’m some kind of hero. Tonight, though? I’m in no mood.

The kid looks down at the floor. “Right. You’re right. I shouldn’t be bothering you when you’re so busy. I don’t know why I didn’t think to look it up online. That was stupid.”

Dammit. Sometimes, I really earn my nickname.

“Not stupid.” I gesture to my coffee-stained suit.

“It’s been a hell of a day. I need a shower.

My business partner’s been on me to take some time off, though.

” Lehman threatened to call security when I lost my temper with the staff.

“I’ll probably be around more this weekend. How about I stop by?”

The kid manages a small smile. “That’d be great. Thanks, Mr. Pierce.”

“No sweat.” The kid still looks miserable, so I tack on: “Kind of messed up when not getting home until nine is considered early, huh?”

I’d been aiming for a laugh, but Jacob only shrugs. “My stepdad’s been at work since yesterday morning.”

Jesus.

I shove the takeout in my hand at him. “Here. Leftovers. Pad Thai and spring rolls from Café Lemongrass. Help me finish them off.”

“Are you sure these are leftovers?” Jacob frowns into the bag. “Everything still has the little stickers they use to keep the containers closed.”

Who says kids don’t pay attention these days?

“Take it anyway. Like I said, long day. My assistant ordered dinner, but I didn’t have time to eat.”

He tries to hand it back again. “You might want it later, though. Or maybe Tony and his friend want some?”

Interesting. “Tony’s got a friend visiting?”

My husband’s last text said he planned to have a quiet night doing some accounting work for his event planning business.

“Yeah, I think so. We shared an elevator ride when I was coming back from the pool. I don’t know his name, but I think he’s been here before. Blond hair. Dark eyes. Kinda short, but, like…super ripped.” Jacob’s cheeks flushed pink.

I don’t know anybody who fits that description. My hands tighten into fists. “Keep the food. We’ll play cards soon. Promise.”

Dread settles over me as I let myself into our condo. No. Mine. It’s my house, and whoever’s trespassing needs to get the hell out.

When I get inside, the place is quiet—no activity in the kitchen or the den.

I toss my jacket on a chair and flip on the hall light as I pass the living room and then my office. I’m about to push open the door to our bedroom when I hear it:

Breathing. Gasping. And…thumping.

Tony, you bad, bad boy. I push the door open.

I study the scene before me. It’s a good thing I gave Jacob my takeout. I’m not hungry now, and I might need my hands free.

Tony makes sounds that tell me he’s close to finishing.

The other guy, the one Jacob saw in the hall, murmurs encouragement like “Oh, baby, that feels so good. Right there. Just like that” as he takes it from behind, only he sounds about as enthusiastic as a person making small talk with their dentist. Tony doesn’t seem to mind.

Well, this is…interesting.

My blood rushes to my dick, to my skull, not sure where to settle.

If this was porn and one of the guys on the bed wasn’t the man I married, I’d be tempted to pull out my hardening cock and get to work.

Part of me still isn’t sure whether my fingers are clenching out of a desire to touch myself or throw a punch.

Especially when the guy getting fucked moves his head to the side.

The bedside light hits his short blond hair, prominent nose, and razor-sharp cheekbones in profile.

A glittering gem in his ear adds a touch of elegance.

Not to mention those full, pouty lips. I can almost feel myself sliding between them.

And then there’s my husband’s ass, carefully sculpted by hours of Pilates and regular visits to the Belle Argo MedSpa, flexing in time with each grunt. My husband, whom I’d thought was a strict bottom. Then again, right up until this moment, I’d also thought he was faithful. We had an agreement.

It’s the other guy who keeps grabbing my attention.

Braced on hands and knees, I can see the muscles Jacob mentioned from the bedroom doorway.

The ripples in his back and the bulges in his shoulders and biceps as he holds himself up, the long line of his bent neck.

His back, covered in a sizable grayscale tattoo of what looks like a mirror that’s been shattered, is a work of art.

He is a work of art.

As I consider how I want to handle this, my hip bumps the open door and sends it into the wall. The bottom’s eyes fly open. He turns to look over his shoulder, pegging me with a curious stare—a slight smile forms on his lips.

Lost in the throes of his release, Tony is still wholly unaware—no passionate throes for the bottom.

Tony murmurs something about what a tight hole the bottom has, and the other guy responds with, “You didn’t tell me you’d invited company.”

In the wake of Tony’s clear confusion, I add, “Yeah, Tony. You didn’t tell me you’d invited company. You said you were doing accounting tonight. Is this Accounting? Because you’re doing it wrong.”

“Shit.” Tony’s attempt to spin around while pulling out results in him toppling sideways and right off the bed.

He lands on the carpet with a satisfying thump. Very. Satisfying. Then he pops back up with his flaccid, rubber-covered dick flopping around.

“At least you wore a condom.”

“Bas.” Tony’s mouth works momentarily, opening and closing with nothing but a high-pitched wheeze. “This isn’t… I don’t…”

“If you’re planning to suggest this isn’t what it looks like, you should know I was at the door for two minutes before you noticed me.”

“Don’t worry then, you didn’t miss much,” the blond chirps. He’s off the bed and tugging on the pieces of a discarded suit. Poor bastard didn’t even get off. Not that I care, but if I were him, I’d have some complaints.

Tony shoots him a glare. Blond Guy responds by winking and blowing a kiss in a way that seems less affectionate and more of a “piss off” gesture. Against the odds, one corner of my mouth pulls up into some semblance of a smile.

The enemy of my enemy and all that.

“Bas. You’ve, uh, been working late a lot,” Tony manages.

“I’m not sure if that’s your excuse for getting caught or if you’re trying to blame me for the fact that you brought someone else into our bed, but you’re right.

I have been.” And if I hadn’t come home to shower off a spilled cup of coffee and change, how many more times would this have happened before I knew?

“We had an agreement, Tony.”

No community gossips more than Belle Argo’s wealthy elites.

A community with which I do a great deal of business as an entrepreneurial consultant, and from which I do not want people whispering about me behind their hands.

Tony should know that better than anyone.

And yet here he is, sneaking around behind my back.

Tony stammers and tries to pull open the sticky top drawer on the antique dresser he just had to have when he moved in.

At this moment, I’m questioning every night he was out with friends.

Every event he hosted with his party planning business.

Should I have seen a sign sooner, but I wasn’t paying attention?

My gut tells me Tony won’t give me a straight answer, which leads me to one apparent certainty.

Two certainties. No, I wasn’t paying enough attention. Also, I don’t trust him after this.

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to turn around, I’m going to leave, and I’m going to go back to the office.

” I know Lehman won’t be happy to see me.

I also know the employees call me Bastard behind my back.

Lehman will just have to go ahead and say it to my face.

“While I’m gone, I want you to pack your shit and find somewhere else to stay. ”

Tony’s sculpted brows hit his hairline. “What? Where am I supposed to go?”

“I don’t care. Not here.”

Tony grapples for a piece of clothing, finally wrestling on a pair of briefs. “Look, I’m sorry. I fucked up. Can’t we at least talk about this?”

“We are talking about it. Right now.” My anger surges again. Tony and I married when we did for reasons of convenience. But we had mutual respect—a symbiotic relationship—or so I’d thought.

Out of the corner of my eye, a now mostly dressed bottom boy pulls Tony’s Tiffany blue wallet from a pair of khakis on the floor. I bought it for him as a wedding gift.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Tony storms over and snatches back the wallet and pants, but not before Blond Guy plucks out a stack of cash.

“You only paid me for the sex,” he says with a wide grin. “I charge extra for the drama.”

I turn back to Tony, whose face is bright red. “Can’t even cheat on me the regular way, you had to hire a sex worker? Asshole.”

The blond guy raises his chin. “I prefer whore.”

There’s a flicker of vulnerability as he sweeps his gaze from my toes to my head.

Just as quickly as it appeared, the look is gone.

With another wink aimed at me, he slides on a pair of sunglasses and tries to slip past me.

I grab his arm as he passes and press him against the wall, giving him a glare that’s made more confident men piss themselves.

The fault in this situation lies with Tony. Still, the bottom boy’s apparent lack of remorse gives me the urge to wrap my hand around his throat.

Whether he’s stupid or just cocky, the more petite man is not intimidated. He only smiles and uses the thumb and forefinger of the hand holding Tony’s cash to remove his sunglasses again. Then the little asshole slides them onto my face.

“There you go. You need these more than I do.”

Now I’ve got his arm in one hand and my phone in the other. If I want to take them off, I’ve got to let go of something. I release him and remove the sunglasses. “It’s after nine at night. Nobody needs sunglasses right now.”

The sex worker clears his throat. “Gray eyes are more sensitive to light and more prone to damage and certain types of cancer. You need your vitamin D, though. It will probably be a big help for that grumpy-ass attitude of yours and the fact that you’re awfully fucking beige for a guy who lives in Florida.

Be a real shame if you couldn’t glare at people like you’re dying to either fuck them or murder them. It’s hot as shit.”

Tony makes a sort of strangled gurgling noise, which I ignore. “Where the hell do you get off judging me for anything?”

“No judgment.” He shrugs. “And no getting off. Not here, anyway.”

Tony sounds as if he’s choking on his tongue. Blond Guy might be an even bigger asshole than I am.

Then the escort—the whore—pushes past me and marches down the hall and through the stairwell door with his head high.

As he goes, he folds the money from Tony’s wallet into his back pocket and slaps his own ass for good measure.

I wonder if he cares that it’s a long way down to the lobby.

Judging by the glimpse I caught of his quads, I’m betting he has the stamina to make the trip.

If I hadn’t caught him in bed with my husband, he might have my respect. Maybe he does just a little, anyway.