Million Dollar Baby (complete)

Blackmail?

JSPOV

Goddamnit.

I checked myself over in my bathroom mirror. My gorgeous face looked distorted, but at least I'd managed to clean off the blood and bandage the open wounds.

They wouldn't go to the cops. I was sure of it. Doing so would mean they'd have to expose themselves in the process, and I was pretty damn sure prostitution and being involved in a human slave trade would carry a much higher residual penalty in the long run than what I almost did.

Shit just wasn't supposed to go down like it had, though.

I'd planned perfectly.

Step one: Make my proposition to the whore, threaten to expose their whole sordid affair and bank on her loyalty to Justin - which I'd seen firsthand at the company ball - to seal the deal.

Step two, my personal favorite: Fuck her blind, let her know what she was missing by dissin' Big Daddy Dick, leave her begging for more, all while waiting for Bieber to walk in and catch us in the act.

And then the pièce de résistance: Sit back and relax while I watched the bane of my existence go all self-destructo with the knowledge that I'd claimed yet another one of his prized possessions for my own.

But my shit backfired on me. Isabella didn't accept my proposal, which meant that in order for me to make sure Bieber saw us fucking, I had to force myself on her. I hadn't figured on her being a fighter; a little thing like her should've cowered to my advances. But she didn't. As a result, the scuffle that ensued lasted for far too long. Justin had come in and busted me in the act.

Literally, he busted my shit up pretty bad.

"Fucking dick," I scoffed into the mirror before I walked into my office and poured myself a stiff one.

Swirling the dark amber liquid in my glass, I walked over to the window and looked out over the city. My city...I fucking owned it, or at least, I would.

I winced when I took a drink and the glass made contact with my busted lip. A drop of alcohol dribbled out and landed right on the cut, stinging like hell and adding insult to injury.

"Goddamnit!" I roared and then threw the glass against the closest wall. It shattered, coloring the white canvas with sprays of whiskey while tiny shards of glass rained down onto the floor.

Just another fuck up for the evening. I swore under my breath and decided to leave it there for the cleaning crew, and then turned back to my window.

What went down earlier was nothing but poor planning on my part. I should've allowed myself a little more time with her. Not that he wouldn't have wanted to kick my ass even if she had been a willing participant. It's just that if that had been the case, his fist wouldn't have packed quite as much punch. Wounded pride and a broken heart are a whole lot easier to deal with than a man with a superhero complex going on a Rambo rampage to defend his territory.

Kind of ruined my plan. No matter, I still held all the power. Or, at least, I would before the night was through.

No, I didn't have to fuck his girl to destroy him; I already had that in the bag with the reveal I'd planned to make at the board meeting on the following Monday. But I did have a point to prove. How many times had I tried to make the dumb fuck understand that women were only out for one thing? Money. Plain and simple. Gold digging whores, each and every one of them.

Okay, maybe two. Dick. They liked that shit, too.

When we were a couple of young punks, I'd tried to drill my theory on bitches into his thick skull, mostly because I wanted him to be available to hang with me on the weekends, or just...whenever. But, I believed what I said to be true. I'd seen my father change wives almost as often as he got a haircut. And every one of them left, owning a little piece of his fortune; a fortune that should've rightfully belonged to me.