Our Broken Pieces - M.E. Clayton Page 0,36

later.” I hung up before he could talk anymore shit.

It wasn’t even that I was judging women who went for the wallet. Everyone had their own sense of survival, and sometimes that meant sleeping with a guy for money. Even if it ended up in marriage, you still had gone after the guy for the commas in his bank account and not his personality.

My issue was that, even if I could find a woman who would let me unleash my demons for the right price, was that I didn’t want manufactured devastation.

I didn’t want a woman screaming my name in pain because I was paying her to do it. I didn’t want a woman pretending to cum with my hand wrapped around her throat. I didn’t want a woman begging me to bite the fuck out of her, but then collapsing in real tears because she was in more pain than she was in pleasure.

I wanted the real deal.

I wanted what Mystic Anderson had done for me.

I wanted someone who soaked my cock with her juices because she genuinely got off on the pain that was being inflicted upon her. I wanted someone who broke my skin because she’d rather embrace the pain than ask me to stop. I wanted to be able shoot my load deep inside a pussy, all the while, ignoring the feminine cries of the word no.

Everything I craved was a lawsuit waiting to happen, whether it be criminal or civil, and that wasn’t something I was willing to risk. Besides, the last time I gave into the beasts that tormented me, that fucking girl broke something pivotal inside me. The fuck if I would ever go through that shit again.

I didn’t kid myself into believing I’d ever find another Mystic, so random pussy, missionary, and all married-like, was what I satisfied myself with these days.

Even though I was never, ever truly satisfied.

Chapter 21

Mystic~

While Reagan’s eyes widened in panic, I did my best to keep my face absolutely stoic. I prayed I gave nothing away. I pretended I was at police headquarters, being interrogated for murder. My face wasn’t going to give anything away, and my mouth was going to stay firmly shut.

This. Was. Not. Good.

The room was silent. Me, because I wasn’t going to tell on myself. Reagan…well, I didn’t know why she clammed up. She was the one who’s met Mr. Cavanaugh before. Shouldn’t their interaction be more…comfortable?

I waited for someone to crack first because it wasn’t going to be me.

Five...four...three...two…

“Mr. Cavanaugh, uhm...Ms. Anderson approached me and...uh, expressed interest in helping me with some low-level accounts, and-”

His reaction wasn’t a positive one. “Ms. Contreras, Cavanaugh Industries doesn’t have low-level accounts,” he snapped, interrupting her. “Every client we have is held at the highest regard whether they bring in a billion dollars or a nickel. Am I making myself clear?”

Reagan started nodding her head. “Of...of course. I’m sorry, Mr.-”

Mr. Cavanaugh put his hand up to stop her, and it was clear he knew she was lying to him. “Is it your position, then, that Ms. Anderson came to you and you handed her your accounts in an attempt to mentor her?”

Reagan’s face relaxed and I could tell she thought he was buying her bullshit. “Yes, Sir. Exactly.”

“Then why don’t any of your low-level accounts have her name on them, giving her assisted credit?” Her jaw clenched at his use of the words low-level, and she wasn’t doing a great job of schooling her facial features. She knew she was in deep shit.

We were in deep shit.

“Uhm…”

“See, Ms. Contreras, I don’t have a problem with mentoring or team building,” he explained in a calming voice I knew was a farce. This man was pissed. He was taking it as a personal affront that we did something behind his back. Even if the accounts were handled expertly, we lied. We were sneaky about what we were doing, and Mr. Cavanaugh didn’t look like the kind of man who took kindly to being hoodwinked. “My issue is when work-excellent work-is done by one employee, yet, taken credit by another. And that’s exactly what the case seems to be in this instance.” He lifted a raven brow. “Unless you can, indeed, explain to me why Ms. Anderson’s name was left off the final presented project details.”

Reagan looked panicked and Lacey wasn’t offering up any help. I didn’t know Lacey well, but I was pretty sure Lacey was going to save herself here. And she was doing so, by waiting