“It’s a Baby,” Linda says quietly, her voice full of grandmotherly affection. She calls all the Sugar Babies just Baby. “I think you need to meet with her.”

Christ. I don’t need this shit again. I hear it in Linda’s voice. I know exactly why there’s a Baby here and I don’t even need to talk to her to know that I’ll be paying a very angry visit to JT soon.

“Send her in,” I say as I log out of the beta program and stand up from my desk.

The door to my office opens and Linda escorts a young woman in. Exactly JT’s type. Blond, built, and innocent-looking. While all of our Sugar Babies are eighteen or older, this girl looks like she could pass for fifteen, which is another thing that JT looks for in his acquisitions.

I step forward, hold out my hand. “I’m Beckett North, but everyone just calls me Beck.”

Her eyes are frightened and I can see the hint of a bruise at the base of her throat. My stomach recoils as I accept her hand. It’s soft, delicate, and weak in my grip. She’s subservient, just the way JT likes them.

“Jenny Warlick,” she says softly. My eyes cut past the girl to Linda, who gives me a sad smile, backs out of my office, and closes the door.

I release her hand and wave to the couch. My office is so large it affords ample space for my U-shaped work desk that holds four computer monitors, a small round table with four chairs, and a seating area that boasts a couch and two sumptuous chairs. A liquor bar is built into one wall, but I don’t offer her a drink other than water or soda. She declines.

Jenny takes a seat on the couch and I sit in one of the chairs opposite with a low coffee table in between us.

“So tell me what’s wrong,” I say after we get settled in.

—
I’m so fucking pissed at JT my hands are shaking. I make my way down the long hallway that separates our corner offices and practically bark at his secretary when I reach her desk. “Is he in?”

“Yes, but he doesn’t want to be dist—”

I ignore her, throw open JT’s office door so hard it bangs against the interior wall like a thunderclap. I find him hunched over his desk, snorting a line of coke.

“Fucking typical,” I growl as I slam the door closed behind me, which probably only ensures his secretary now has her ear pressed against the door.

His head raises up slowly and he takes a deep sniff, his eyes bloodshot and watery.

Pupils dilated to pinpricks.

“You fucking asshole,” I grit out as I stalk up to his desk. “You’re fucking doing blow in your office now?”

“Relax,” he says with a grin, running a finger under his nose to wipe the residue away. “It’s just a pick-me-up. I had a late night last night.”

“With Jenny Warlick,” I snarl. “She just left my office.”

“Who?” he asks dumbly, and I have to physically restrain myself from punching him.

“The girl you fucked last night. Tied to your bed. There’s fucking bruises on her neck, you asshole, and she’s scared.”

JT shrugs and says, “Huh. Don’t really remember.”

“Because you were probably high,” I shoot back.

“Probably,” he says with carefree aplomb. “But relax…I’ll drop some money in her account. That’s all these girls want.”

“You cannot give her money for sex, you idiot.” My fingers curl into fists and I can feel my blood hammering so hard the pulse in my neck is thumping. “And you’re lucky she’s not crying rape.”

“She wasn’t raped,” JT says as he leans back in his chair and puts his hands behind his head. “She willingly let me tie her up. Hell, she came on to me. They all want a piece of the king Daddy.”

“Thought you didn’t remember,” I grit out, but it’s futile.

He remembers enough, probably more so because last night was his normal modus operandi. And I came on strong throwing out the rape word to JT, but I wanted to try to scare him. Jenny never even implied that to me, and even confirmed what he just said. She let him tie her up, but she was scared because he got rougher than what she had expected. He told Jenny last night he wanted to see her again, but she wants no part of that and came to me because she’s worried it’s going to hurt her status as a Sugar Baby with the company. I, of course, assured her it would not and that JT wouldn’t expect anything further from her.

Fuck, but he’s gotten so out of control these last few months since the news outlets started reporting on our business. He loves the limelight and the stardom. Loves the endless stream of pussy in his bed and people bowing down to his greatness.

Always seeking the next big rush. The thrill that will make that last orgasm pale in comparison. He’s using drugs and making stupid business decisions, and Jenny isn’t the first one to come to me that has been roughed up by JT. My respect for him is all but destroyed and I just don’t have it in me to continue on like this, despite my tie to him.

“I want to buy you out,” I tell him in a calm, level voice.

That gets his attention and the smug smile slides from his face. He sniffs deeply and leans forward in his chair. “Absolutely not.”

“This isn’t working,” I tell him. “We’ve diverged on how we want to run this business.”

“My business,” he says flatly.

“No…it’s our business. It’s fifty-fifty.”

“I provided the start-up and capital—”

“I provided the product. Without my skills, The Sugar Bowl wouldn’t have even come into existence. And I’m not arguing with your coked-out ass. We have the partnership papers to prove my worth, so I repeat…I want to buy you out. We can get a trio of appraisers to value The Sugar Bowl. You choose one, I’ll choose one, and they’ll choose an independent. Come up with a fair price, and I’ll pay you the money. You can walk and go start up some other business if you want.”

Or just live on the interest earnings and fuck your way through the free world, I think to myself, because JT’s done. My friend, through childhood and beyond, is but a pale shadow. My tie to him runs deeper than anyone can begin to imagine. Deeper than JT could even imagine, and yet I feel it all slipping away. The suave and intelligent businessman I knew and partnered up with three years ago is gone. Not a shred left of the man I’d respected, although never really admired. He was often sort of a douche.