Fated Series. Book #2
"Be possessive of me, own me, keep me, because if you do then nothing and no one else can." - Maddox.
My name is Maddox Vallero, and I'm dead.
Well, that's not quite true. I'm alive in the breathing, walking, talking sense-but...
Welcome back! I know many of you are excited for the next book and surprise...it's here. ————————————————————————
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Chapter 1 A Rewarding Idea. Maddox.
Is murder a good idea? Usually, I'd say maybe. The court proceedings, the lawyers, the whole risk of life in prison—bit of a headache, sure, but sometimes worth it with good reason. Right now, though? My answer is edging out of maybe territory and into a strong fuck yes.
Because, at this moment, I think I might actually murder my best friend. Why? Because this motherfucking, delusional, birdbrained idiot just kicked me. Under the damn table. While I was peacefully napping. Okay, maybe not peacefully—because, let's face it, I don't really nap, or sleep, or do anything peacefully. But I was in a rare state of relaxation. Sort of. The closest I can get these days, anyway—which is just sitting there, body on full alert, eyes closed, sensing everything around me.
It's a dream come true.
I snapped my eyes open and glared at Mateo, but he just stared back at me with that same bored expression. What the hell did he want from me? Did he expect me to entertain him? Stand up and do a little jig on the conference table? I rolled my eyes and turned my attention back to the presentation in front of us. Kevin had really did a shit job this time—no offense, but actually, full offense. None of these companies he was pitching were worth investing in. Terrible profit margins, growth that looked like it had flatlined years ago. I could tell that much just from glancing at the stats on the screen. So please, enlighten me—why was he wasting our time? I almost wanted to point that out, but did I really want to risk another kick?
I stifled a sigh and checked my watch. Twenty minutes left.
Hell, that might as well be twenty years.
This whole suit-wearing, meeting-sitting, coffee-sipping lifestyle is still taking some getting used to. Mateo's adapted faster than I have, but that's not surprising. He can blend in anywhere, adjust to any situation like it's second nature. Me? I just know how to disappear. Plus, he's got his bubbly, motivational-quote-of-a-girlfriend cheering him on. So, he's sitting there in an eleven-thousand-dollar Brioni suit, listening intently, sipping his black coffee, and, of course, kicking me. He looks devilishly good, I'll give him that. Joke's on him, though, because I know he'd rather be drinking some caramelized nonsense with whipped cream and sprinkles.
Unlike him, I'm not wearing a suit because I'd actually rather roll over and die than shove myself into one. I've got on a pair of black stretch chino pants and a black Valentino jumper that doesn't scratch or suffocate me. And these comfortable-as-hell Louboutin Surcity sneakers, thanks to my fashion-obsessed sister who did me the favor of shopping for "appropriate" attire. If it wasn't for her, I'd probably be walking around in sweats—which, honestly, I'd much rather be wearing right now.
