When I told Sharon that I didn’t want to know their names, I meant it. It was bad enough knowing one of them, and I didn’t want any more to climb out of the woodwork and destroy any of the groundwork Sharon and I had set up so far. I liked her. She was just the distraction I needed, someone who’d allow me to be myself in the bedroom and teach me a thing or two about what I really wanted. Her submission intrigued me. It was so natural. But at the same time, I wasn’t about to determine her wardrobe and menu choices. There would be no punishment waiting for her if she didn’t wear her hair a certain way or brush her teeth at exactly seven in the morning and seven at night. I liked to keep my domination of her in the bedroom, behind closed doors.

But I had a problem and his name was Sebastian Lowery. He was determined to make it hell for one of my properties only because he couldn’t stomach the idea of another man taking what he believed was his. Sharon never said anything about filing a restraining order against him. She didn’t tell me she was crashing at a friend’s apartment because she couldn’t go home. But she didn’t need to tell me these things. All it took were a few phone calls, internet searches and emails. Lucky for him, restraining orders–and open code housing violations–were a matter of public record if one knew where to look. Did Sebastian even know that?

Instead, the asshole was determined to rally other tenant advocacy groups to protest a new development one of my companies was undertaking. He claimed it would displace hundreds of residents at a rent-controlled apartment complex a block away. He even had the gall to threaten me about contacting the media, making sure that my name was right there for all to see unless I left Sharon alone. It was the last thing I needed after my breakdown at the shareholder meeting a few weeks ago. Shit like that had a bad habit of spreading and I couldn’t risk it.

I should be glad that the press hadn’t gotten wind of it–not yet. But if they did, all they had to do was keep digging until they’d strike gold and my credibility would be in the toilet. Rachel, Westonwood…my ass would be toast. I could lose millions, no, billions, in deals and there was no way I was going to let that happen. A punk like Sebastian Lowery was not taking Jonathan Drazen III down.

With one more day in San Francisco before I had to fly out to Seoul, I had to make sure everything would be handled as soon as possible without my name ever being mentioned. It meant more emails and more phone calls but I was running out of time. My assistant, Kristen, had been up all night helping me get everything I needed and she’d probably fallen asleep on her computer as soon as I told her I’d take over from here on.

My first order of business, as soon as I dropped Sharon off at her apartment and picked up myself a strong cup of coffee, was to call Margie, my oldest sister. She was probably already at the Beverly Hills law offices of Boden, Drazen and Weinstein, and judging by the sound of people talking legalese around her before she sent them away, I was right.

“Do you ever sleep?” I asked as I set my coffee into its cup holder. I was still parked by the coffee shop where I’d first met Sharon.

“And miss a call from you? Of course, not,” she replied. “So, what’s going on?”

“I need your help.” With Margie, it was best to go straight to the point. I also had a meeting in half an hour.

“When don’t you need my help, Jonny?”

“I’m serious,” I said. “I need you to get someone out of my face. His name’s Sebastian Lowery. L-O-W-E-R-Y. He heads a tenant advocacy group that takes pride in shaming developers like me.”

“Oh dear. One of those.”

“He wants to block the latest development over…” I paused. Did I really have to go over the specifics? Sebastian’s beef with me had nothing to do with my properties at all. It was over something else. Someone else. “It’s over a woman.”

“Oh, wonderful. I didn’t even realize you’d started dating, Jonny. Who is she?” Margie asked. “Do I know her?”

“I just met her, but that’s not my point, Marg. She’s got a restraining order against him and now, he’s threatening to bring my name to the media over this latest development unless I back off.”

“He doesn’t know anything about you, does he?”

“But given my recent breakdown at the shareholder–”

“Say no more,” Margie said curtly. “Send me the specifics as soon as you can.”

“I’m doing that as we speak.” I pressed Send on the email I’d prepared earlier that morning. “On its way.”

“Good. So, what have you got on him so far?”

“His nonprofit, the same one that supposedly champions tenants’ rights, owns two properties that have over 430 open code violations combined. Kristen verified the reports for me an hour ago, and I just forwarded her emails and attached the documents.”

“And what do you propose I do with this information? And why isn’t this common knowledge?”

“How the hell should I know? It took a lot of digging for Kristen to find it, but she did.” My internet search in Sebastian’s business could only go so far last night, not when I had a lovely distraction lying on my bed. But I was confident that Margie and her people could figure out how to execute its exposure while I was out of the country. “No matter how you decide to do it, make it current. Asbestos, sewage problems, cockroaches, whatever you can dig about the violations, the better. I want him out of the picture. I don’t want anything blocking my latest development.”

And definitely not over a woman.

“And you think this would get him off your case? What if it doesn’t?”

“If he values his nonprofit, he’ll know not to bark up the wrong tree. Just make sure my name isn’t attached anywhere,” I said through gritted teeth as Margie chuckled. “What the hell is so funny?”

“Nothing. She must be special, this girl.”

I almost said no. It had nothing to do with Sharon being special. She was, but not in the way that Margie would have appreciated. My oldest sister was as straitlaced as they came. She wouldn’t understand what drove someone like Sharon to like the things she liked done to her behind closed doors…or me for enjoying doing them to her. But even I had my limits.

I’d read the restraining order Kristen had forwarded to me. Sebastian had chained Sharon to the bed like an animal all because some guy looked at her funny at a concert. The mark around her ankle made sense now. He’d scarred her. The guy was a control freak and there was no way he’d take her no for anything but a yes. I saw it at the restaurant. This also wasn’t just about her. It was about my projects in the region–and my reputation.

“Whether she’s special or not is not the point, Margie, unless you don’t mind seeing your baby brother’s name dragged in the media,” I said. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll find out about Westonwood and–”

“I’ll do it, Jonny. Don’t worry,” Margie said, pausing. “He won’t even know what hit him.”

I thanked her, said goodbye and hung up. I could always count on Margie. That’s what family was for, no matter how messed up we were. And if there was one thing Sebastian would learn about stepping into someone else’s parking lot: No one fucked with the Drazens.