How to Stay Out of Prison: A Modern-Day Woman's Guide

Chapter 2

Nixon~

"We have a problem," Abbi Lewis said in lieu of her usual professional morning greeting.

I walked past her, then straight into my office, but I knew that she would follow like she did every morning. Normally, it was with a morning greeting and a rundown of what the day looked like, but I guess today was looking to be anything but normal.

"Oh, really?"

"Yep," she replied.

I placed my briefcase on my desk, then turned to face her. "So, what is it?"

Abbi walked up to me with her hand stretched out, handing me some papers. "The building manager for the apartments on Canal Street moved his boyfriend into apartment 4D, and he's waiving his rent, letting him throw parties every night, and basically letting him get away with murder."

I grabbed the papers, then scanned over them lightly, though I didn't really need to read her reports. Abbi wasn't one for extra flair, so whatever she said was usually on her reports, word-for-word. "How do you know Randall's letting all of that take place? Maybe he's clueless about his newest tenant."

Abbi cocked her head, looking at me like I was an idiot. "Good old-fashion gossip, Nixon," she answered. "I have a friend who lives in that building, and she and Bruce-that's the boytoy, by the way-have become friends of sorts. Apparently, Bruce isn't big on discretion, and he's been bragging to anyone that will listen about how he has it made as long as he keeps sucking Randall's dick."

Fuck.

I'd gotten into real estate seven years ago on a fluke, and for the most part, it'd been a positive and profitable direction for me. I had graduated college with degrees in finance and architectural engineering with some grandiose idea of living my life by creating magnificent buildings. However, that shit had come to a quick halt when it'd become obvious that I didn't work well with others. My vision was my vision, and my vision alone, so I had struggled with suggestions and direction from others. Word of advice: architecture was not the choice career for someone that couldn't work well with others.

So, seven years ago, I'd been stuck in traffic when a rundown corner building had caught my eye. I'd sat in my car, staring at it for a while-mostly because traffic had been at a standstill-then had started to envision everything that could be done to it. That night, I had called around to find out who owned the building, and with the help of my brothers, I had purchased my first flip property.

The experience had been an entirely different kind of involvement from creating something from scratch. I'd been limited to what I could do with the building's structure, and believe it or not, that had helped me get over my aversion to taking suggestions and the like. Granted, I still had final say over what any of my buildings would eventually represent, but I wasn't a dick about it anymore.

Well, not much of a dick.

Now, seven years later, I had paid my brothers back, flipped more buildings than I could count, and own multiple commercial and residential buildings, apartment buildings included.

I shook my head. "Why would Randall risk his job for a hookup?" I mean, I was all for scratching that sexual itch, but to risk losing your job and home for it? No pussy was that good.

Abbi cocked her head to the other side. "You've obviously never had a good dicking," she said sardonically. Abbi wasn't one to mince words.

I cocked a brow. "And I never will," I replied, making sure that we were clear on my sexual preferences. While I had nothing against how people got down, I was attracted to women only.