Say You’ll Stay

Chapter 2 – West

Chapter Two

WEST

T he light goes off on the third floor. I find that my hand is on the door latch of my car, and I have to intentionally peel it off. That’s not my house and not my woman. I have no right to her.

Yet.

Vasey Hamlin has been watching over that slip of a girl for five years now, and I’d be some kind of monster to separate the two. When Vasey and I were kids together in the foster system, bumping from one bad situation to another, the thing she missed the most was having a momma. She’d cling to those mother figures even when they slapped her, used her up, and kicked her out. She was always finding excuses for them. Having five kids in the house is hard. Teens are moody. I think I’m a lot to handle.

She never was. She was just a kid looking for a place in the world to call her own. I was going to provide that for her, but I made the wrong decision. I left for the military, and when I got back, she was all tied up. I waited for her to untangle herself. I thought this nanny position would be temporary, that she’d move on and I’d present her The Academy on a silver platter, and that would be it.

That was not it.

I was dumb as fuck to think that, which is why I’m sitting in this car outside of her employer’s mansion with my dick in my hand and not inside her sweet pussy.

Metaphorically, that is.

A half-million-dollar sports car roars by me with Ware’s stepson at the wheel. He nearly crashes twice before the taillights wink out of view.

Rumors are that Ware has little interest in this kid, and no one knows why he remarried. Roberta Franklin came from money, but Ware is loaded. He didn’t need her or her connections. Her looks are ordinary, crafted by the finest surgeons on the East Side. The only thing Ware seems to care about is his empire and sometimes his daughter. He needs to pay closer attention to his daughter, enough so that the kid doesn’t need a nanny anymore. The nanny belongs to me, and it’s time to claim her.

“She loves me.” Snip. “She loves me not.” Snip. Snip. The boy with the scissors laughs maniacally as the locks of hair he’s just cut fall to the floor. The call girl on his lap forces out a giggle, but the pained look on her face says she’d rather be on her knees than suffering this.

I catch her eyes and jerk my head toward the door. She doesn’t waste a minute in escaping.

“Hey, bitch, get back here,” the boy yells. He shakes the scissors at a club staffer. “I paid for that. Fetch her.”

The staffer glances in my direction. I nod lightly and stroll over. “I paid for her to go.” I pluck the scissors out of his unsteady grip and hand them off.

“Who the hell are you?”

He’s only been here an hour, but the coke and booze have him slurring his words together and swaying in his seat.

“Friend of your mom’s,” I lie.

The chair across from the boy’s is dusted with strands of light blonde hair. A staffer rushes over and tries to clean the seat for me, but the hair clings stubbornly to the velvet. “It’s fine.” I wave the man away.

“So, you’re Ware’s new charge.”

“Son.” The kid juts his chin out. “I’m Thomas Ware’s new son.”

“He adopted you? I hadn’t seen the news.”

“Fuck you.” The response is venomous. Obviously, a touchy subject.

“You seem bored.”

“You don’t know a thing about me, old man.”

“I know your kind of excitement is using a fake ID to get into a bar, snort some coke, and cut off the hair of an Insta model, which screams boredom to me. It’s giving big loser energy.”

He stiffens defensively. “I’m fucking popular. Every bitch around wants in my pants, and every guy wants to be me. Have you seen my wheels? Custom V12 Lambo with hand-stitched Napa leather?—”

“I don’t care.” I am not interested in listening to this little shit talk about the things Ware has bought him so he doesn’t have to actually parent. “If you really want to do something interesting, call this number.” I flip him a card.

There’s no need to wait for an answer. Curiosity will drive him to contact me. I know his type. The question is once I have him in my trap, what do I do with the sociopath? I can’t easily make sixteen-year-old rich boys disappear, especially ones connected to Ware, but as long as this kid remains in the sphere of Jasmine Ware, my woman is out of my reach.

Things have to change, and I’ve run out of patience.