The Stranger Behind My Orgasm

Abigail

Five hundred thousand dollars.

I rubbed my eyes dramatically, gaping at the screen in disbelief, glanced up at Gina Wolfe, then back at the screen. Now, I was damn sure this was a trap. Even the devil wouldn’t bribe me this much.

"What’s this, some money laundering scheme?"

The old woman scoffed in annoyance, pressing her lips in a thin line. "All I need is for you to keep me informed on my son’s schedule. His meetings, his travel plans. I’m not asking for anything extraordinary. A mother simply wishes to stay connected to her child’s life."

My face scrunched up in cynical confusion almost immediately. That had to be the most bullshit of all bullshit to have ever been spoken.

"That’s very touching," I said, a mocking smile playing on my lips. "I can totally feel the maternal concern, it’s very touching."

Her green eyes narrowed into slits and boy, it sucked how much resemblance she and Finnegan shared. "I’m prepared to be generous, if that’s the issue-"

"Five hundred thousand dollars is very generous," I agreed pleasantly. "For a spy."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You want me to report my employer’s movements to a third party." I tilted my head, tossing my hair behind my shoulder. "That’s spying, Mrs Wolfe. You dressed it up very nicely, but still, a spade is a spade."

"I am his mother," she spat, taking a few steps forward until she was a few inches from me.

There was a vein on her forehead that jumped with every word she spoke. It must be from that ridiculously tight bun she had pulled her hair into. "I have every right to-"

"To what?" I asked, genuinely curious now, because this didn’t seem right. She was his mother. A woman like Gina Wolfe didn’t just conduct some weird parking lot rendezvous just because she wanted to know if her son had a dental appointment on Thursday.

She had his number. She didn’t need a spy for that.

She needed a spy for something else entirely. This was some entry level trap and after just barely getting out of one with Alicia- I had the bruises forming on my face as proof, I didn’t have time for all these shenanigans.

"Mrs Wolfe," Her face scrunched up at my words, I shrugged it off. "If you wanted to know your son’s appointments, you would call him. I assume you’ve never had any trouble getting his attention before." I paused, leaning forward, a wide smile pulling at my lips.

The woman looked like she would pass out either from anger or being too close to me. What a snob. "So what exactly is it that you need to know that you can’t simply ask him?"

"My son is a private man,"

"Exactly, ma’am," I handed the phone back to her. "Which makes me wonder why his own mother needs to pay someone to keep tabs on him."

Mr Curly-mustache shuffled on his feet behind his mistress darting his eyes around the parking lot nervously. Gina’s eyes went cold.

Her voice dropped to an icy cold tone. "I am offering you a significant sum of money for something that requires very little effort on your part. I would strongly suggest you consider it."

"Not in a million years. My loyalty is to Mr Wolfe." I picked up my bag from the roof of my car where I had set it. "He pays my salary. He hired me. If you want to know your son’s schedule, pick that tiny phone up and call him." I unlocked my car, yanked the door open, and looked at her over the top of it. "You might want to step back, Mrs Wolfe. I’d hate to accidentally clip you while pulling out."

Her mouth thinned to a line so flat it could have been drawn with a ruler.

Without another word, she turned to leave while her bodyguard, or boyfriend, really whatever he was, ushered her to a black sleek vehicle a few meters away. I watched them drive off and leaned on my car door, my brows frowning in confusion.

Why did Gina Wolfe need some insider spy on her own son? Was it something she started with me, or had she been spying on him using his previous assistants?

I couldn’t find an answer and I didn’t think Finnegan would exactly believe me if I told him his mother bribed me to spy on him.

After a long drive back home, I got home to Annette doing a dance off game in the living room. Loud music screamed from the speakers as she hopped and jumped. I dropped my bag on the couch and headed straight to the fridge to find an ice pack for my face.

"Take that!" She screamed as the game ended.

"Damn chill, Michaela Jackson," I teased.

"That’s Bruno Martha to you girl- WHAT HAPPENED. TO YOUR FACE." Her jaw dropped as she rushed around the couch to meet me.

"Drake happened to my face," I grumbled.

Annette’s eyes flashed with anger. She grabbed my chin and turned my face toward the light. "What the fuck? He hit you?"

"It was more of a smack, the wall did most of the work for him."

Oh shit. Maybe it was a little too soon to make jokes about it? Annette’s face turned so red, I thought she would evolve into the fucking angry bird or something.

"That sniveling tiny balls asshole!" Annie screeched, steering me toward the kitchen counter, she snatched the icepack from my hands. "Sit. Don’t move. I swear to God when I’m done with him, he’s going to wish he was never born!"

"He’s been arrested, Annie."

She gave a gleeful squeal. "Now that’s what I’m talking about! For real?"

"Yup- Ow! Be gentle with the ice pack!"

"I’m just so fucking happy. Oh I know," She snapped her fingers. "Let’s let his millions of followers know!"

She whistled, dancing all the way to the bedroom to get her laptop. I cackled at the sight, stopping mid way when my phone rang. I fished the device out and frowned at the caller ID. Raymond Cole. Had he found something on my parents?!

"Abigail, We have to meet, it’s urgent,"