Free Heller's Girlfriend by J.D. Nixon Page B

aware of
the dollar cost of his actions,” I said confidently. “It’s probably
the only thing he does care about.”
    “Okay, but I want to be kept
fully informed of all developments,” he commanded.
    “Of course,” I replied dryly as
we pulled into the driveway of the Warehouse.
    We walked up the stairs together
and he left me at my place, telling me he was going out that night.
Every couple of weeks or so he went out to get laid, his preference
being bored or lonely women staying at the top-end hotels in the
city. He would pick up a different one each time in the hotel bar,
and spend the night with her in her room making all her erotic
dreams come true, before returning home in the early hours of the
morning. He never stayed all night with them, not trusting anyone
enough to fall asleep with them. He also never brought anyone back
to the Warehouse, being almost paranoid about security.
    Obviously, due to his incredible
good looks, he never had any trouble picking up women. I know from
what he’d told me that some of the women he met liked it very rough
indeed. He was happy to oblige, and for him, morals never came into
it. He didn’t care whether the women were married or in
relationships or had children, because for him, it was just pure
release. Emotions never entered the equation either.
    I knew all this because he was
disarmingly honest about his sexual activities, if not about other
aspects of his life. All of us knew when Heller was out on the
prowl, and I was usually ‘privileged’ enough to receive a summary
of his romps from him the next day, whether I wanted to hear about
it or not.
    Forcing a smile on my face, I
wished him well for his forthcoming carnal activities, crushing the
sharp stab of jealousy that ripped through me. I had no claim on
him and no cause to be jealous, I reminded myself harshly.
    After a quick dinner, I rang my
parents, promising to visit them soon, and I almost even meant it.
I hit the sack early, trying not to let my mind dwell on Heller and
what he’d be currently doing and who he’d be doing it to.
    The next morning was a repeat of
the previous day. I met Patricia at her hotel and we waited for
Corella in the foyer before being whisked away, somehow managing to
survive her scary driving to arrive unscathed at the mediation
centre. The nervous mediator was waiting for us once more, not
looking particularly thrilled at that moment with his choice of
employment. We sat in the dreary waiting room, with varying levels
of patience, for Mr Warburton to show up again.
    His strident voice floated down
the hall before him, but it had a different tenor. I believed I
could detect a note of victory, rather than the angst at being late
that dominated his voice the previous day. The reason for his
smugness soon became apparent, and I gave him a point for
strategy.
    Preceding him into the room was
his own security officer, a tall, broad-shouldered man in his late
twenties with thick, wavy black hair and eyes so dark blue in
colour they almost appeared black. The first thing I noticed was
that he was very attractive; the second was that he was wearing the
dark blue trousers and pale blue buttoned shirt of Heller’s bitter
rival business, Select Security.
    We sized each other up in an
instant and he nodded at me curtly, a professional courtesy I
hadn’t expected from a Select staffer, given the hostile
relationship between the two businesses.
    I nodded back, equally
brusque.
    Warburton said in an overloud
voice while pointing at me aggressively, “That’s her! You make sure
she stays away from me.” Then to me in a nasty tone, “He’ll crack
your fucking head open if you come anywhere near me again.”
    The Select man rolled his eyes
behind his client’s back, and I took an immediate liking to
him.
    Warburton then turned his words
of wisdom on Patricia. “I’m thinking of getting a restraining order
against you for setting that bitch on me yesterday, Tricia.”
    Corella wasn’t