Read Madame X (Madame X #1) for Free Online

be nearer to her family, because she needs help. She’s probably working a job on the side while her son goes to school, stashing away money unbeknownst to her husband, because she’s losing faith in his ability to take care of them. Enough that she could move out and provide for her son if worse came to worst.
    It is a pleasant distraction, focusing on the fictional, normal lives of random people. It allows me to safely wonder what life is like outthere, for them. Safely, because to wonder what such a life out there would be like for me? That’s dangerous. A threat to my sanity, which depends on a careful balancing act.
    I hear the faint
ding
of the elevator arriving. I glance at the Venetian-style wall clock: 6:10 A.M. ; five minutes early. But a moment or two passes and there is no knock at the door. I move across the room, keeping my heel clicks as silent as possible, and stand by the door, listening.
    “Yeah, I’m almost there,” you say, your voice low. “I fucking hate these early-ass appointments. No, my dad makes me go. Some kind of stupid corporate training, basically. Make me a better leader, bullshit like that. Put my ass in line. No, man, it’s not like that. I can’t really get into it. No, for real, I’m not allowed to talk about it. I signed a contract, and if I fuck this up my dad’s going to cut me off totally. After what happened with that slut Yasmin, I’m on real thin ice with him, so I’ve got to toe the fucking line. . . . Or what? Or he’ll basically gut the position of president out of the charter and turn all the power over to the board, which means I won’t inherit dick when he retires. He’s got the documents drawn up. He showed them to me. No, man, I fucking
saw
them, okay? It was after he got the judge to let me out on bail. He had to pay a shitload of money to keep the whole thing quiet. Paid Yasmin like half a mil to keep her fat mouth shut about what happened. My plan? My plan is to go along with this training program, keep my dad happy, play the game. I’ve got friends on the inside, on the board, certain members who are unhappy with where Dad’s been taking the company. If I can string things along another year or two, I can probably work a little magic behind the scenes, steal the whole shit show from the old fucker, and I mean pull a real-deal coup d’état. And as soon as I’ve got my hands on the company . . . man, I’ll be set. I’ve gotplans . . . no, I can’t make it out tonight. I’ve got . . . other plans. . . . No, I let that bitch go, she was a screamer. This is a new one. She’s all wrapped up like a sweet little present. She ain’t wearing a damn thing except the handcuffs, and I didn’t even have to gag her. No, you asshole, you can’t
help
. Last time I let you help, you took it
way
too fucking far, and I had to pay the slut to keep her from yapping about what your stupid ass did to her. I’ve told you, there’s an art to it. Listen, dude, I’m gonna be late, I’ve gotta go. The bitch that runs this show doesn’t fuck around, I can tell you that much for free. Anyway, for real, I’ve got to go. And Brady? Stay the fuck away from my place, okay? I’m serious. I’ll kill you for fucking real if you go anywhere near her. All right, bye.”
    My heart thuds as I take a couple quick steps away from the door, smoothing my expression into neutrality.
    Deep breaths. Focus. Put on the armor. No cracks, no chinks. Hard. Cold. Smooth. Unassailable. Imagine claws in place of fingernails. Viper eyes. Ice.
    Knock-knock.
    I glance at the clock: 6:17 A.M. One last deep breath, blown out through pursed lips. Twist the knob, swing open the door. “Mr. Drake.” An arched eyebrow. “You’re late.”
    You bring up your arm, extend your wrist, bare your extravagant Blancpain watch. I loathe that movement: arm rises, flick the wrist forward. It’s ostentatious, vain. And that watch? Easily three hundred thousand dollars. Alligator leather,