Honestly, the spy that I have in Drake’s administrative assistant pool has paid for herself so many times over; it's insane. I mean, I’m smart about it. Don’t get me wrong. I usually only contact her a few times a month. Tell her what I’m interested in, or what I’m looking for.

Really, the spy is more of a way of making sure Drake doesn’t do anything crazy trying to get back at me or bring me into the fold.

You want to know who she is don't you?

I mean, it doesn't matter so I guess I can tell you. Her name is CJ and she works for Drake Carlton. On the side, she spies for me. I pay pretty handsomely. 

It’s my early warning system of keeping track of him.

So I never figured that I’d use her to find out where Drake was taking Natalie. But it was useful.

What? Don’t look at me like that.

I had to find out where he was taking her. You think if I just called up my stepdad and asked him, he’d tell me? Fat fucking chance.

Besides, I should've figured out that he was bringing her here to the Yale Club.

The elevator door opens up and I step out into the formal dining room of the Yale Club.

If you haven’t been here to this bastion of fucking privilege on Vanderbilt Avenue next to Grand Central, let me just tell you that the dining room is gigantic, with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Midtown Manhattan. There’s a terrace that you can walk out to, if you want to stare down at the people who aren’t able to get into this exclusive little club.

And, of course, there’s a fucking bar that travels the entire length of the wall of the dining room. Stocked with liquor from seriously all over the world.

It’s a place that you would bring a girl to when you’re looking to fucking impress her.

When you’re looking to fuck her.

That’s exactly why I had to come over the moment I heard Yale Club.

This isn’t some stepdad expressing some paternal interest in his stepdaughter’s company.

No. Drake Carlton is going to fuck Natalie Vanderhill. He’s going to fuck his stepdaughter. Then he’s going to buy her company under the guise of a private equity investment.

She has no idea what’s about to hit her. She won’t be able to survive The Shark of Wall Street. No fucking way.

I know I’m late. I didn’t want to be early and have to wait for them. That would just make me look like a fucking loser.

That’s why I’m completely on guard the moment I walk out of the elevator.

I take a few steps toward the bar, and all of a sudden there she is.

Natalie Vanderhill.

She’s wearing black. Tight wraparound dress. Fuck, it’s hugging her curves like nothing else.

My eyes are just traveling every inch of that gorgeous body. Those juicy, plump tits. God, how much I’ve just wanted to squeeze them and suck on them ever since I saw them.

Yeah, yeah, she was my stepsister. That’s why I never fucking did anything except jerk off to those tits. And boy, did I spew gallons of cum just imagining those titties in my face. Thinking of them, I wanted to run my cock between them, and fuck those tits till I came all over that cute-as-a-button face. 

God, my eyes are moving past those tits somehow to that long and slender body. I swear it's curvy in just the right places. Like that flat, taut, tummy, and that tapered waist and that ass. 

God, that ass is just calling out to me. 

It's thick. And juicy. I want to fucking grab it. Squeeze it in my hands. 

Knead those cheeks like dough. 

I can feel my cock. It's doing more than stirring at this point. It's twitching. It's fucking throbbing. Its got its own heartbeat. 

In my head, everyone else in the Yale Club has disappeared. It's just my blonde haired goddess of a stepsister and me. She's looking at me and I can tell from her eyes that she's eyeballing my body as well. And why shouldn't she? I got a body that would make any woman wet. And once I use it, it'd make any woman moan. 

Her entire body is moving as she turns in my direction. I can see the rippling muscles in her tight, oh-so-fuckable body. 

"Sloane?" she asks, by way of greeting. No doubt she's surprised to see me. 

"What are you doing here?" another voice asks. 

And that's when I come crashing back down to reality. It's not just me and her at the bar now. No, next to her, turning around and squinting at me is none other than my fucking stepdad, Drake Carlton. 

"What?" I ask, pointing my question at Drake. "I can't come to the Yale Club for a drink after racquetball?"

Yes, I made sure to play racquetball downstairs at the gym today. That way I'd have a valid excuse, and it wouldn't look like I just came all the way from work, or One57 to jump in on their little date. 

"I didn't know you played racquetball, Sloane," Natalie says to me, her eyes widening and her voice barely above a throaty whisper. 

She wants me. I can tell by the way she's looking at me. Her eyes are gleaming with desire.

But hold on there, darlin'. Before you go thinking there's any future or that we're close to some happily ever after, let me just tell you that its always been like this. Ever since Drake married Linda, we've looked at each other like this. 

But she's my fucking stepsister. I knew I couldn't do anything. And I'm pretty sure she knew that too. Whatever we wanted to do to each other, however we wanted to defile each other's bodies, had to be put on ice. Because we were fucking family. 

But somewhere along the line, I think Drake just decided to throw that message away. Because here he is, sitting there at the bar, one hand on Natalie's knee, looking at me. 

"Are you here by yourself, Sloane?" Drake asks, and I can feel the snide tone seeping out of his fucking voice. He knows that I'm here to stop him from fucking Natalie. Whatever, I don't need to stop him. Natalie's free to do what she wants. Just because Drake is older—I think he's 35—doesn't make him wiser. 

"Like I said," I say with a forced sigh. "I was playing some racquetball and thought I'd stop here for a drink."

Drake looks at me with a fucking smirk. Asshole. I'd like to wipe that smirk off his face. 

"What are you guys up to?" I ask, trying to stay friendly. 

"Drake is going over the alternatives for financing Dirty Lil' Angels," Natalie says quickly. I can see her eyes travel to Drake and meet me. She's trying to keep the peace. 

That's fine. I'm not here to fight. Yet. 

"I guess that makes two of us then that are interested in your company, Natalie," I say, taking a few steps toward her, completely ignoring Drake. He doesn't even exist in my world. "Looks like you might become the center of attention."

"I'm always the center of attention, silly," she says, sticking her tongue out at me. "People love me. They can't help it."

"Make sure you know who you're loving though, babe," I tell her, eyeing Drake. "Not everyone is as innocent as you."

"Oh?" Natalie asks with a raised eyebrow. "I'm not really that innocent, you know."

I smile at her and she smiles back. And then there's a cough. 

Again, the world intrudes. In the form of fucking Drake Carlton. 

"Well, Sloane, I hope you have a pleasant evening," Drake says to me. "As you can see, we've already begun ours."

I look over at Drake for the first time. He's staring at me. With his arm still on Natalie's knee. She doesn't remove it. But she's not encouraging it, either. 

She's waiting to see who's gonna win her. 

"Are you leaving soon?" Drake asks again. I can tell he's starting to get exasperated with my presence. 

Good. 

"Oh, I just got here, Dad," I say with a fucking smarmy ass smile. "I'm not leaving here for a good, long time."

"Well, good," Drake says, his eyes becoming steely. Fuck this man if he thinks I'm just going to fucking leave and let him proceed uninterrupted. 

"I'll be next to the terrace windows," I say to them both. "Catching up on some emails."

Then I look to Natalie. 

"Can't wait to catch up with you tomorrow, sis," I say. I can see her cheeks flush. She's thinking of what's going to happen. 

Whatever happens here tonight, tomorrow will hang over her head. 

Make her wonder what else is coming. 

Fuck Drake if he thinks he got to her first. 

This game has just but fucking begun.