Page 21 of House of Payne
“I love you, too,” I tell him. “With my whole heart.”
“Don’t worry,” he reminds me. “We’ll get through this together. We’ll get through everything.”
I believe him. I have faith and trust in him. I know love could never get better than this.
With Noah by my side, everything will work out.
It has to.
Chapter Six
Mason
I don’t want to draw too much attention to myself, so I play it casual, dressing in a simple white shirt, dark jeans, and black jacket to blend in. I stick to suits for the most part, but I can only imagine the thoughts that would run rampant in the owner’s mind if he saw a man in a suit, knowing it wasn’t one of his regular patrons.
My looks are intimidating enough.
It won’t take much to secure a deal. That much is obvious as I pull up to the old diner. There are hardly any cars parked out front, and the ones there are older and a bit scraped up. The diner has an old-school charm to it, but that’s not enough to make it stand out in a city full of booming businesses.
If he’d been wise, he would have realized his business would have failed with or without the loan and accepted his fate. Who am I to complain when his stupidity and ignorance profits me in the end?
Inside is a ghost town.
It makes sense why he hasn’t paid me. He’s probably barely keeping himself afloat, paying back a loan he never could afford in the first place.
I stand at the entrance for a moment, waiting to see if someone’s going to seat me or, at least, greet me, but the bell that announced my arrival when I opened the door must not have reached anyone’s ears.
This would never stand in a restaurant I owned, but what do I expect out of a hole-in-the-wall diner that has one foot in the grave?
I whistle, feeling my impatience beginning to get the best of me.
“I’ll be out in a minute!” a woman’s voice calls out, and I notice the surprise evident in it as if this place isn’t used to serving people at this time of the day. How many customers does it get a day? One? Two?Three on a good day?This woman can’t be making much of a paycheck. She’s better off working for me.
I glance at my watch, a gold Rolex that cost more than the owner’s seen in his life. One thing my father instilled in me a long time ago is that money is power, and what’s more important than power?
Power means you don’t get taken advantage of. It’s what separates me from the people who wish they were me. Most importantly, it’s what allows me to continue building the empire I’m so proud of.
The kind of power I have means I can do whatever I want to do, whenever I want.
Maybe it’s a little sadistic. I’ll never claim to be a good guy, but I like the look I get when people realize who I am.
I glance out one of the windows to see my new black SUV parked out front. I suspect that once she sees my car, she’ll know I’m not a normal patron. She’ll at least begin to realize she’s dealing with someone of a higher class than she’s used to. The shift to respect will start, and I’ll enjoy the sweet, sweet position of being in control.
Finally, the kitchen doors swing open. I expect to see a withered old woman, maybe the wife of the owner, but I’m pleasantly surprised by the vixen who presents herself instead.
Short and sexy with long, blonde hair piled on the top of her head in a bun, pale skin, and pink lips.
The things I would do to that mouth.
Her jean shorts and black shirt fit her curves perfectly, and I wonder who this girl is. It’s been a while since I’ve felt my dick stir from justmeeting a woman.
I’ve been staring too long, or maybe my gaze unnerves her because she clears her throat, her cheeks turn pink, and fear flashes in her eyes as if I’ve frightened her.If only she knew how scary I can be.
“I’m sorry, I was just in the back doing some restocking.” She steps forward, and I see the name tag on her shirt.London.A box of condiments is leaning precariously in her hands. She’s so focused on me that she doesn’t seem to notice until it weighs her down, causing her to slip and forcing the box to tumble, with glass bottles of ketchup and mustard shattering around her feet.
She’s close enough to me that some splatters on my ten-thousand-dollar shoes.
“Oh no!” She steps forward and slips on the spilled condiments.
