3. Ripley

Cas’ pov

Married?

Yeah, right. That woman looked barely older than twenty. And she had been eyeing me all fucking day. No way she was married.

She was a handful, though. It had been a while since someone had spoken to me the way she did. Normally, I would have made sure she was fired on the spot, but she intrigued me.

There wasn’t really anything special about her. She didn’t have big boobs or a great body. Her ass looked all right when she was picking up the trash, but other than that, the cleaner was pretty basic.

Short brown hair, while I preferred long blonds. Brown eyes and little to no make-up on. Her hair was all over the place, like she didn’t give a fuck how she looked.

Maybe that’s why she intrigued me. Because she didn’t care. Every woman and man cares who I am. I am Cassius fucking Hemming, the richest man in town. The guy who owns most of the buildings in this damn city.

It’s hard to tell who actually wants to get to know me or who wants my money.

That’s why I usually date college girls. My parents think I’m getting too old for those women, but they’re great for a casual hook-up. Too busy with school and their social lives to give a crap about me. Sex—maybe a date or two—and we call it quits. No harm, no foul.

And if they do cause any trouble, I buy them off with a car or a nice bag. Easy peasy.

But even as a grown-ass man who is nearing his 30th birthday, I am not allowed to dictate my own life. I can run a successful business. I can own multiple houses, but yet, it’s my fucking love life that my parents still care about.

Daddy dearest told me he would sell me his shares if I stopped fooling around, knowing that’s the only power he still has over me. His fucking shares. If I have those, I can run the business however I like because I’ll own 51% of the company.

What’s my point? I stared at the small paper wrapper the woman left behind.

My point is, I am here to get away from all that bullshit. To have a little break from my parents and their plans. To focus on my business and relax.

And she got on my fucking nerves.

This hotel has always been my go-to when I’m in the city. The view is fucking amazing, the food is good enough, and there’s plenty of women around for me to take up to my penthouse suite. Life is easy when I’m here. Away from all that fucking pressure to be something I am not.

And somehow this little woman, with her weird haircut and her scowl, has surprised me.

I bent down to pick up the wrapper and threw it in the trash.

Firing her would be too easy. No, I will make sure she stays here a little longer. Let’s see if I can push her buttons a bit more. It’s been a while since I had some fun riling someone up. I wonder how long it will take for her to truly snap at me.

She honestly thought she could reject me?

Me!

I scoffed; the thought alone made me laugh. She was nothing, and I am the richest man in this fucking city. She needs to remember her place.

And then…. Then I’ll make sure she’s fired.

First, I needed to know her name, though. Reluctantly, I called Allison. The few times I had talked to her were already too many. That woman was so damn nervous around me. Perhaps because she had to fire several cleaning ladies because of me.

They always get too attached. Like that Heather girl. She wasn’t even that great in bed, but a few weeks ago she was there when I came out of the shower, and one thing led to another. Now, every time she got the chance, she would offer herself up. It was pathetic, ready to drop her pants for some extra cash.

If I wanted a prostitute, I would hire one. Someone with some class. Not Heather, who was eyeing my watch every time we spoke. That girl was a golddigger. But she was a damn good cleaner.

Heather knows exactly the way I like my room. And to have to train someone else to do my bed the way I like it—who knows where all my stuff goes, ugh. It’s too much fucking work. It's my own fucking fault. You don’t eat where you shit. I should have never fucked Heather.

“Allison,” I said, calling the head of the cleaning staff after my meeting.

“Sir. Mr. Hemming. How can I help you?"

“That girl, new one. Short hair. What’s her name?”

“Ripley, Mr. Hemming. Did she make a mistake? It’s her first day; I’m sure she’ll get better.” Allison replied nervously.

“No, I was calling to tell you she did a great job in the conference room. She’s an excellent hire.”

“O. Wow. Thank you, Mr, -“ And I hung up the phone. I was in no mood to listen to that woman talk any longer.

Instead, I went outside to the private terrace to get a drink. Another client would be joining me soon, and I wanted five minutes to myself.

That's when I spotted Ripley. What kind of name is that anyway? Weird ass name for a weird woman.

She sat on a bench outside in the sun, her eyes closed, for a minute, and then began eating a sandwich out of a plastic bag.

Did she really have time to daydream? I wish I could be that lucky.

“Cassius Hemming, good to see you.” Mike Hasting said, reaching out his hand for me to shake.

I gave him a nod and motioned for him to sit. I’m not a fan of touching people I don’t have to. Especially shaking hands or holding hands.

Mike began to talk, but my attention was on Ripley. Why was she sitting there by herself? Didn’t they have a room downstairs to eat lunch?

When she was done with her sandwich, she drank some water from her bottle and then headed back.

“Cassius?”

“Yes, Mike. What were you saying?” He would never scold me for not listening. Nobody did. Time is fucking money, and my time is mine to decide. If I don’t like hearing you talk, then I don’t. It’s your damn job to make sure I pay attention.

At the end of the meeting, I had no fucking clue what we had talked about; all I knew was that it lasted way too long and that I could have done a lot of better things with my time.

But Mike was important. His family had been doing business with my family for a while, and although the guy was kind of boring, he usually had some great ideas.

Mike walked off, and my eyes followed him to his car. The fucker had the newest Bentley. It was gold. I mean, a little on the nose. I get that he has money, but to buy a 1.8 million-dollar car—that's gold—is just showing off.

Maybe I’m the odd one out. It’s not like I have a problem spending money, but those sports cars are so fucking impractical. First of all, you’re so damn low. Getting in and out looks ridiculous when you’re my size. And then you have to break at every speedbump, or you’ll have to buy a new bumper every damn week.

What’s the point in having a car that’s so damn fast, yet you can’t ride around in it? If I want to ride around on a track, yeah, then they’re perfect. But in the city, I’d rather be comfortable than fashionable.

I’m already forced to wear a suit every fucking day. I will not push myself into a low and tiny car just because it looks cool from the outside. So, I drive an SUV. One that could crush Mike’s little million-dollar toy car.

I scoffed when I heard the engine roar. Go, Mike, go. I thought to myself. Go show everyone how fast you can go, until you hit a curve or a speedbump. Idiot.

“Mommy. Gold Caw!” A tiny voice spoke near me.

“It’s so loud!” Another tiny voice sounding similar to the first said.

“Yeah, it’s a big flashy. Isn’t it, girls?” Their mom replied.

The girls giggled.

“So, ice cream?” the mom said, which earned her squeals from her girls.

I looked over to see two girls with big heads of curls jumping for joy. I couldn’t make out the mom, but I didn’t have time to watch the happy family anyway. I needed to go back to work.

Besides, what was the point?

Watching some kids have what I never had was only a distraction I couldn’t afford. Who the fuck cares that this mother takes her girls out for ice cream and mine shipped me off to boarding school?

It doesn't matter anyway; I am a billionaire, and that mom can probably barely make ends meet.

After finishing up some work, I poured myself some scotch while I watched the city lights go on around me.

What would be the best way to make Riley's life harder?

And then it came to me....

I should make sure she's assigned to the penthouse. Let's see how long she lasts, catering to my every demand, before she snaps.

It would mean having a less-than-perfect room for a few days, but it would be nice to have a little fun while I'm here.

Just like with all my nannies, let's see how far I can push Ripley.