Page 10 of Bourbon Kingdom
Pure rage rapidly flowed through my body as I read the text message from Rex a few times over and over again. Not just rage, but embarrassment . . . embarrassment for, once again, not being able to hold on to a woman, for once again losing another woman to Rex. I should have known.
Kace was badgering to know who the text was from, but shame washed over me, so instead of telling him what was going on, I put on a strong façade, looked Kace in the eyes, and said, “Find a replacement for Goldie. We’ll need one with Babs doing a new night course for her business and Goldie no longer being a Jett Girl.”
“Jett . . .”
“Do your job and find a fucking replacement,” I gritted out, not wanting to hear Kace’s lecture.
“Fine,” Kace conceded, while getting out of his chair. “Same contract?”
Did I want the same contract? Did I want to revert back to my old ways of calling up a girl every night?
Turning around in my chair to look out the window again, I lightly said, “Same contract.”
Chapter Four
“I Need a Dollar”
GOLDIE
“These dishes were actually imported from Europe. The queen used them in one of her cottages. I was able to win them on auction; they are worth well over one-hundred thousand dollars,” Rex educated me about his stupid-ass plates.
All I heard was that they were a giant waste of money. The dishes were wretched. Some creepy square gold and red pattern ran along the edge that was supposed to symbolize family or some bullshit like that, I wasn’t quite sure, because I’d zoned out halfway through his speech on their history.
Who knew such a strong alpha male could be such a dork, with his collection of teacups, swords, and paintings. The more I saw of his house, the more I realized the man was a hoarder of old crap. Rugs from the White House that smelled like musty old man balls graced the floors, chairs from president’s houses that had permanent sweat stains on them, and books that didn’t even have pictures filled his home. Where were the sex swings, the crops, the lubes, and edible undies? Non-existent, unless you considered the pantaloons from a late Martha May-type lady that were hanging in the hallway to be edible.
Fucking pantaloons.
“They’re just lovely,” I lied, as I envisioned breaking every last one of them.
There were so many collectibles in his house that I’d started devising a plan in my head last night to slowly steal items from his collection, so when I left, nothing in his house would be complete. It would be the ultimate burn.First thing to go, one of his damn teacups, and then one of the little silver spoons he collected. Why would someone need a mini spoon that they didn’t even eat with?
“Are you ready to go?” Rex asked, as he checked his watch.
“Yes, just let me grab my phone.”
“No phones,” Rex said. “Any kind of electronics that are taken inside the club will be confiscated. We take our privacy very seriously. Every employee will be searched before entering.”
Well, fuck. Talk about uptight. There went my idea of getting proof of the whole operation.
“Not a problem,” I said causally. “Let’s go.”
Shit.
Rex eyed the table where we’d just been eating and asked, “Are you going to clean your plate?”
I looked over at the paper plate Rex had given me with a dried-out croissant on it. The man clearly didn’t trust me with his precious plates, which was evident by what I had to eat off of. Not that it bothered me, eating off of a paper plate; hell, I had once eaten off of an old sock. I’d seen worse.
“Oh, sorry. Great thing about paper plates is you can just throw them out, unlike those king plates you have.”
“Queen. They are plates from the queen,” Rex corrected me.
“Oh, yeah, that old bird. Did you know she carries a purse around with her everywhere she goes? Like, hello, you’re the queen, what do you need a purse for? If you see something you like, you just bust out your queen card and it’s yours. What do you think she keeps in there? Lipstick, obviously, she’s not a beast, but do you think she has things like hand sanitizer? Gum, maybe. Oh, wait, no. Do you know what she has? She totally has butterscotch candies. Classic Queenie and her butter—”
“Enough,” Rex said, growing angry.
“Sorry,” I said weakly. “I ramble sometimes.”
“I suggest you don’t,” Rex said, as he walked out of the kitchen.
