Page 26 of Brutal

This means I get to focus entirely on Mimosa. No getting distracted, no letting her get under my skin.

I flip through emails on my way home, reading them despite Caroline’s insistence that she could handle everything.

There’s some stuff only I’d be able to handle, no matter what Caroline says.

I’m in a strange mood when I get off the elevator and walk into the penthouse, thinking about the absurdity of the entire situation. I’d have killed for a vacation like this when I was young. Never mind Spain or Hawaii—just getting to chill at home in a luxury condo would have seemed out of reach back then.

Instead, I got to listen to my parents tell me how we couldn’t afford to do anything nice, ever.

They’re dead now. I should miss them, but I don’t. Instead, I’m only reluctantly grateful for their life insurance policies, the only good thing they ever gave me.

I shake off those thoughts, focusing only on the fact that I’m going to have Mimosa to myself 24/7 for the next few weeks.

“Oh, Mimosa,” I say with a savage grin as I enter the bathroom she’s tucked away in. “I have great news for you.”

It takes me a second to spot her. She’s lying in the bathtub with a pillow under her head and a blanket pulled over her.

And somehow, she’s actually asleep.

I frown at her, not liking the fact that she gets to rest while I deal with the snake den that is work these days. I go to her, shoving her hard to wake her up.

Mimosa gasps and startles upright, clutching the blanket to her. “What the f—” She cuts herself off when she sees me.

“It’s after five,” I inform her. “Time for little sex slaves to serve their masters.”

The vacation is good, I remind myself. It’ll be nice.

I’ve been dying for time off.

“Okay,” she says, schooling her expression. “How would you like to be served?”

I stare down at her. I want to break through that. I want to see her as she really is. I want her to squirm and cry and break.

Don’t I?

“Let’s deal with food first. And no backseat cooking,” I tell her. I unchain her, then add, “Oh, and I’m on vacation for the next two weeks. We’re gonna have some fun.”

Her eyes widen, and I feel a small thrill about that. Oh yeah, she’s gotten used to me being out most of the day. Well, I’m going to show her just how terrible my full attention can be.

“Yeah,” I say, chuckling. “I know you’re happy. C’mon. Crawl to the kitchen.”

I turn, striding for the kitchen. I half-hope she decides to stand to follow me, but she obeys, crawling from the bathroom to the kitchen. It has to be hell on her knees, but I don’t particularly give a damn.

“Good girl,” I tell her before turning back to the fridge. Chase and Hunter might make fun of me for my diet, but what they don’t know is that I didn’t get things like meat when I was growing up. I have no intention of forcing myself to eat anything I don’t like, which is why I pull out a few thick-cut pork chops from the fridge.

Mimosa ends up resting against the kitchen counters again, watching me warily. I ignore her while I cook.

I could hire somebody to do this, but I don’t want to explain my eating habits to a total stranger when I can just as easily fry up the chops myself. I do too many meals with clients anyway, so it seems pointless to have someone on hand.

I could gag her and lock her in the bathroom, but that isn’t foolproof. If a private chef went snooping or decided to use my bathroom instead of one of the others… No. It’s never been worth it before, and it certainly isn’t now.

I grab some sweet potatoes for variety, starting to cut those up.

Once I put everything in the oven, I’m left with twenty minutes of downtime.

I stare at the oven timer, but it doesn’t tick down any faster.

Twenty minutes of nothing to do.