Billionaires’ Indulgence – Irresistible Attraction: Menage Romance (Book 1)
How is it possible to adore your family, but at the same time feel the urgent need to get as far away from them as possible?
As much as I love seeing my parents, they can be a bit much to handle. I know my mom wants me to be happy, but if she asks me one more time if my boyfriend Clark and I are making any plans to take things further in our relationship, I swear I’ll scream. I’m sure she means well, but Mom is constantly reminding me that my three older brothers are married and I’m not. As if I couldn’t figure that out on my own.
I made a special trip back home to Chicago to spend time with my brother Josh’s firstborn. I had planned on spending four days doting on the sweet child like a good aunt, but since she was so sick my sister-in-law, Stefani, decided it would be best if little Kimberly didn’t have too many visitors.
I could have stayed longer at my parents’ house, but I saw my niece’s cold as my cue to return to New York. I was supposed to catch the last flight of the day back to the Big Apple, but instead I grabbed a four-thirty flight. Since the trip is only a few short hours, I was able to land an hour ago and I should be home soon. I’m already relishing the thought of kicking back with a mouth-watering pizza in one hand and my remote in the other. If traffic isn’t too horrendous, I should be sitting in front of my television by eight.
As I’m zooming down the busy streets of Manhattan at the back of the cab, I can’t help but wonder if Clark will ever pop the question.
Do I even want to marry him?
I know it’s an odd question considering we’ve been living together for a year now, but lately, it’s felt like we’re more roommates than boyfriend and girlfriend. I often wonder if he’s seeing someone else behind my back, but Clark is always quick to brush away my concerns. Every time I broach the subject of his distant attitude, he blames his workload. It’s not as if I was a skinny supermodel when he met me, but I might have put on some weight lately. In the last few months I’ve often caught him ogling slim and sexy women, but what can I do? As long as he’s just looking, we’re good, right? Where would he find the time anyway? Since his recent promotion to junior trader, he’s been chained to his computer working the most insane hours. When he’s not crunching numbers or analyzing graphs in the hopes of advancing his career, he’s drumming up business for Venture App, the investment company he started a year ago with his colleague Jasper Reid. I know I’m being insecure for no good reason.
Maybe I should have called or texted him after all to let him know I’m coming home early.
I thought of letting Clark know I would arrive home at eight this evening instead of midnight, but I figured since he had plans to catch a Yankees game with his friends, he wouldn’t be home until midnight anyways. Every time he goes to see his favorite team play, it turns into a rowdy evening with his best friends—Tim and Anthony. Since it’s Tuesday, it’s half-price chicken wings and beer at Atomic Bar & Grill and I’m pretty sure he’ll stop there before coming home.
I could use the time alone to unpack and relax.
You’d think four days back home visiting my parents would be a vacation, but it never is. It’s so hectic and now that two of my brothers have young kids, it means my time in Chicago is always crazy. There’s never a dull moment in the Randall clan.
When the cab turns off the main street, I pull out my phone to check the time.
Seven thirty-five. Great. I’ll have the house all to myself for at least four hours.
My eyes are still glued to my phone when the cab driver slows down in front of the house we’re renting.
“We’re here, ma’am. Your fare comes to seventy-three dollars. Cash or credit card?”
I can’t believe how expensive it is to drive in from the airport. “Cash, please.”
After parting with my hard-earned money, I climb the few stairs separating me from an evening of lounging in my little abode.
When I open the door I stumble on a pair of ridiculously high-heeled shoes. Huh? Those aren’t mine. I drop my luggage and squat down to pick up the pair of strappy hot-pink sandals. I hold them up and twirl them in my hands with such fascination, you’d think I’m looking at a work of art. Nope, those are definitely not mine.
As I rack my brain trying to understand what’s going on, noise comes from the upper floor. I panic at first, afraid we might be being burglarized, but then I realize I’m listening to two people moaning. Is Clark watching porn again while jerking off? I slowly climb the stairs and more items of clothing are scattered on each step—a woman’s black lacy bra, a tiny black skirt and a matching jacket, a hot-pink bustier and a skimpy G-string
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