Thorne Princess by L.J. Shen EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: L.J. Shen
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Series: None
- Price: Free
- File Size: 2 MB
I have something I need to ask you, and you can’t say no.”
Tom barreled into my office, tossing a glossy magazine onto my desk.
The type you see in the waiting room of a B-grade dentist.
“No,” I drawled, not bothering to look up from my Apple screen.
Chuckling, my business partner fell into the seat across from me,
loosening his collared shirt.
“Did I invite you to sit down?” I asked, still typing.
“It’s important,” he said mildly. Everything about the fucker was mild—
his nature, his looks, his tone. I found his averageness appalling. Less so than
the general population, but still annoying enough that I didn’t want his
company unless I specifically asked for it. Which happened never.
This begged the question—why the fuck was he here?
“Out.” I crushed the end of my pen with my teeth.
“Not before we talk.”
“Talking is overrated. Silence is golden.” I spat the pen out onto my desk.
It rolled and fell in Tom’s lap.
He probably wanted to invite me to a family dinner, or worse, golfing.
For reasons beyond my grasp, my business partner did not understand the fact
I gave zero fucks about socializing, and minus fifteen fucks about his beloved
geriatric sport. My hobbies included CrossFit, pussy, and red meat. Above all
—being left alone. I didn’t have a family, and I liked it that way. Trying to
rope me into his didn’t win him any brownie points.
His insistence on validating our shared past only encouraged me to spend
less time with him. We’d already spent our youth together. And neither of us
enjoyed it.
“It’s work.” He grabbed a stress ball from my desk, crushing it in his
palm.
I tore my gaze from the screen reluctantly, taking a break from emailing a
client to notify him that he was three seconds away from getting violently
robbed if he continued flaunting his Rolex collection on Instagram.
I was the co-owner of Lockwood and Whitfield Protection Group. As
such, I spent my day explaining to dumb, rich people why they needed to
stop doing dumb, stupid shit that could land them in danger. In this case, the
heir in question was not complying with my company’s contract. The agent
I’d appointed to protect him complained that Vasily informed his 2.3 million
followers in which New York hotel he was staying, including what floor.
The man did not deserve his wealth, not to mention the oxygen he
consumed.
Babysitting rich morons wasn’t a dream come true. It paid well, though,
and it sure beat everything else a man of my skill could do for employment.
The other option was a hitman. Although I disliked humans, I did not
particularly yearn for prison time.
Tom dumped the magazine onto the desk between us.
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