Reckless Intentions: CH. 5

CHAPTER FIVE: ALL THE KING'S HORSES

The best way to take down a serial cheater is very simple. First, you isolate him from his family. Then you isolate him from his friends. You make it so that the only person they can count on is you—that the only person they trust is you. It must be done strategically, carefully, calculated. It's like playing chess, and you have to be four moves ahead at any given time. You have to have one redundancy after the next, one contingency after the next, and your contingencies must have contingencies. You have to be fifty times smarter than anyone else in the room, and you have to do all of these things without them catching on to you. So how is it actually done? Very, very carefully.

When I wake up the next morning, I have three targets, and I can't miss with any of them. If I don't succeed, a very critical part of my plan isn't going to come to fruition, and I need it to come to fruition. The stakes are too high for anything less than perfection.

I meet Jack downstairs in the breakfast parlor. Yes, they have a separate dining room where they eat breakfast—even though there's a table off the kitchen and the second island has seating for seven. We still eat in a whole room made just for breakfast. The absurdity of it isn't lost on me. Sometimes I hate rich people.

Mrs. Fuentes brings in a spread that could feed a small army. Huevos rancheros, eggs Benedict, waffles, bacon, sausage, scrambled eggs, Canadian bacon, fresh fruit arranged in perfect little pyramids, maple syrup from a jar that looks like it was flown in straight from Vermont, and three types of juice in crystal pitchers.

All this food, and I can bet you eighty percent of it will go to waste. It always does in houses like this.

Jack barely glances up from his phone when I sit down. "Alex, have you seen my red polo?" he asks casually, still scrolling.

Have you seen my red polo is code for help me look for my polo while we have sex. We've been doing this little dance for weeks now, and I know exactly what he's really asking.

"I don't think so," I say, reaching for the orange juice. "I can check my luggage in case you accidentally put it in my stuff."

"Great! Help me look?" He finally looks up, and there's that familiar glint in his eye.

"Oh man, I'm really hungry—five minutes, I promise," I say, loading my plate with eggs Benedict even though my stomach is in knots.

If he thinks his dick is going anywhere near me, he's got another thing coming. He can go and fuck Kyle again. I mean, he probably will anyway, but seriously, he ain't fucking me.

He walks off towards the guest suite, his footsteps echoing down the hallway. Meanwhile, Jack Sr. remains at the head of the table, absorbed in the Wall Street Journal, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. Mrs. Harrington has been surprisingly absent ever since she had to fire her trusted assistant. But not to worry. She's going to get a replacement real soon.

Olivia was done eating and decided to excuse herself. She managed to eat a whole three bites of her egg white omelet—must be some kind of record for her.

"Sweet pea, you're feeling okay?" asked Jack Sr., lowering his paper just enough to peer over the top.

"Yeah, just a headache. I think I'm gonna lie down," she replies before pushing away from the table, her chair scraping against the marble floor.

Now it's just me and Jack Sr. The silence stretches between us, broken only by the rustle of newspaper pages.

"You haven't touched your food," I say, nodding toward his untouched plate.

"The hell do you care?" His tone is sharp, defensive.

"Ah—that stings," I say, clutching my chest in mock hurt.

My phone pings. I check the screen. It's Jack.

Where are you?

I thumb a quick message back, keeping my expression neutral in case Jack Sr. glances up.

Strip down and start stroking.

He replies a few seconds later.

Kinky!

"Jack, why don't we go hang out in the pool house?" I ask while loading up a plate of fruit and sausage, trying to keep my voice casual.

"Are you insane?" He doesn't even look up from his paper.

Just then Mrs. Fuentes walks in, her soft-soled shoes barely making a sound on the floor.

"A little bit, yeah," I say with a shrug.

He gives me a sly smirk, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

"Mrs. Fuentes, can you please take this to Jack Jr.? He's in the guest suite," I say, holding out the plate.

"Of course," she says, taking the plate with both hands.

I get up and walk over behind Jack Sr. I reach down and grab his cock through his pants, feeling him stiffen—both in surprise and in other ways.

"Aren't we all a little bit insane?" I ask in his ear, my breath hot against his skin.

He snatches my hand away, his grip tight around my wrist.

"The hell is wrong with you?" he whispers harshly, looking around to see if anyone saw me.

"Don't be a sourpuss. Come fuck me, I'm horny," I say, keeping my voice low and teasing.

"Don't you have my son for that?" he asks, his jaw clenched.

"He's about to trauma bond with a septuagenarian. Come on," I say.

"What?" His brow furrows in confusion.

Just then, two distinct screams echo from down the hallway, followed by the clattering of a plate hitting the floor.

"Yikes, he really should have locked that door," I say, unable to suppress a grin. "Now come fuck me."

I walk out through the back atrium doors and down to the pool deck, my bare feet warm against the sun-heated stone. I don't look behind me—I'm just hoping that was enticing enough. When I get to the pool house, I don't bother shutting the door. I pull my pants off, tossing them onto a nearby chair, and almost right on cue, in walks Jack Sr. He shuts the door behind him and locks it with a decisive click.

"I see one of you Harrington boys learned," I say, falling back onto the bed, propping myself up on my elbows.

He walks over to me slowly, a look in his eyes that's equal parts seductive and menacing. I'm not sure if he wants to fuck my brains out or beat them out, and somehow that makes the situation all the more hot.

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