CHAPTER SIXTEEN
1351 Words
By the time Wes got home, he was exhausted beyond belief.
He barely had the energy to toss his keys onto the counter before collapsing onto the couch, groaning into the cushions. His entire body ached. Spending the day running around after that guy was worse than any job he’d ever done. He wasn’t even sure what exhausted him more—Nathaniel’s constant demands or the fact that he had to pretend he didn’t know exactly where his boss’s missing money had gone.
Wes shut his eyes, ready to pass out right there, when his phone vibrated.
Then again.
And again.
And again.
With a deep sigh, he pulled it out of his pocket and stared at the screen.
His boss.
Blowing up his phone.
For the past few hours.
Shit.
He knew he couldn’t ignore it forever. Might as well get it over with.
Wes answered, barely getting out a “What?” before his boss’s voice exploded through the speaker.
“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?!”
Wes winced, holding the phone away from his ear. “Relax, old man. I didn’t skip. I was doing my damn hours at some fancy hospice.”
“I know that. I checked.”
That made Wes sit up. “…You checked?”
“Of course, I checked! You think I’d just take your word for it?”
Wes clicked his tongue. “So if you already knew I was doing my hours, why are you blowing up my phone?”
His boss didn’t answer right away.
Then, his tone dropped. “It’s not about that. It’s about the vault.”
Wes’s blood ran cold.
“Vault?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, Pierce. Some money is missing.”
Wes forced himself to keep his voice even. “What do you mean missing?”
“It’s all been accounted for. I know how much is in every vault. And the one in your office? Half of it is gone.”
Wes’s pulse kicked up.
He already knew.
He knew that money was gone. He’d lost it to that goddamn scam, and now it was coming back to bite him.
But he couldn’t let his boss figure that out.
His voice hardened. “There must be some mistake.”
“Oh, really? Then explain it to me. Where the hell did all that money go?”
Wes racked his brain, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, but I’ll find out.”
“You better. Because if you don’t, I’m gonna have to assume you took it.”
Wes gritted his teeth. “I didn’t take your damn money.”
“Then find out who did.”
The call cut off.
Wes let out a slow breath.
He was too tired for this s**t.
The next day, Wes got up with barely any sleep. Between racking his brain over the missing money and dealing with the constant exhaustion from running around all day, he felt like hell.
And today? He had to do it all over again.
The moment he stepped into the VIP lounge, Nathaniel took one look at him and smirked. “Wow. Did someone beat you up, or is that just your face?”
Wes exhaled through his nose. “Not today, wheelchair.”
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. “Someone’s in a mood.”
Wes ignored him, flopping onto the chair beside the bed. He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the growing headache.
Nathaniel studied him for a moment. “…You look like shit.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Nathaniel didn’t push. For once, he didn’t throw another sarcastic comment. He just leaned back against his pillows, watching him.
After a long silence, he asked, “You gonna tell me what’s got you all tense, or should I just assume you killed a guy?”
Wes snorted. “If I killed someone, I wouldn’t be this stressed.”
Nathaniel hummed. “So? What is it?”
Wes hesitated.
He wasn’t about to tell him about the missing money. Not when he didn’t even have answers yet.
So he settled for a half-truth. “Work bullshit.”
Nathaniel tilted his head slightly. “Hm. I assumed you didn’t do much actual work.”
Wes shot him a glare. “You’re not exactly one to talk.”
Nathaniel smirked. “Fair.”
They fell into silence again.
For some reason, Nathaniel didn’t seem as annoying today. Maybe because Wes was too damn tired to react to his usual antics. Or maybe, just maybe, Nathaniel could actually read a room when he wanted to.
Then—
BEEP.
Wes groaned. “Oh, for the love of—what now?”
Nathaniel barely held back a grin. “Relax, I just need a drink.”
Wes muttered under his breath but got up anyway, pouring him a glass of water. He handed it over with a little more force than necessary. “Here. Try not to choke on it.”
Nathaniel took it, amused. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”
Wes rolled his eyes. “Drama queen.”
Nathaniel just hummed, taking slow sips, like he was enjoying watching Wes suffer.
Then—
BEEP.
Wes’s eye twitched.
He turned, slowly. “You better have a damn good reason—”
Nathaniel looked completely unbothered. “I need my pillows fluffed.”
Wes inhaled deeply. “…You can’t be serious.”
Nathaniel’s smirk widened. “Dead serious.”
For a solid three seconds, Wes considered suffocating him with the pillow instead.
But instead, he stomped over, yanked the pillow from behind Nathaniel’s head, fluffed it with enough force to kill a lesser man, and slammed it back down.
Nathaniel chuckled. “Perfect.”
Wes was already walking toward the door when—
BEEP.
Wes froze.
He turned back slowly, expression blank. “What. Now.”
Nathaniel tilted his head, completely unfazed. “You didn’t tuck me in.”
Wes clenched his fists. “I’m gonna throw you out that window.”
Nathaniel just smirked. “You keep saying that. Yet here I am.”
Wes shut his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose.
Then, wordlessly, he stomped back over, yanked the blanket up, and roughly tucked Nathaniel in.
Nathaniel hummed, content. “Nice and cozy.”
Wes turned on his heel and walked out, muttering every curse word he knew under his breath.
Nathaniel just chuckled to himself, watching him go.
This was going to be fun.
By the time Wes finally made it back to the lounge, he collapsed onto the nearest chair and let his head fall back with a groan.
He had dealt with a lot of annoying people in his life—his boss, loan sharks, the occasional i***t who thought they could cheat him out of money—but Nathaniel Hawthorne? That man was a different breed of insufferable.
And the worst part? Wes couldn’t just walk away.
He had to be here. He had to serve this rich bastard his damn drinks, fluff his damn pillows, tuck him in like a child, because if he didn’t? He’d end up right back in a jail cell.
Maybe even worse, if his boss decided he was responsible for the missing money.
Wes ran a hand down his face, staring up at the ceiling. He needed to figure something out. Fast.
But before he could dwell on it any longer, his phone vibrated in his pocket.
He pulled it out, frowning.
His boss. Again.
Wes hesitated for only a second before answering. “Didn’t I already tell you I don’t know what happened?”
“And I told you that I don’t believe in coincidences, Wes.” His boss’s voice was low, dangerous. “You’ve got until tomorrow to find out what happened to that money. Or you’re gonna be real sorry.”
The line went dead.
Wes’s grip tightened around his phone.
Tomorrow.
He had until tomorrow to fix this.
And the only thing worse than being stuck running around after Nathaniel Hawthorne all day?
Having a goddamn deadline hanging over his head.
- Writer
