Brett's POV
It's a beautiful evening. A warm honeysuckle scented breeze wafts through my open French doors that lead to the balcony that faces the street lined with oak trees. Sipping my finest cognac in a heavy crystal glass, with Veronica on my mind, it takes several minutes of focused thought before she finally materializes, and my phone buzzes.
Veronica: What are you doing, baby?
Brett: I am waiting for you, of course. Hurry.
Only fifteen short minutes later, she has made her way through the grassy yard below, heels sinking into the soil as she lets herself in using the key I gave her to the servant's entrance.
Caked dirt falls off the heels of her studded Louboutin pumps with their red bottoms. A gift from me in exchange for attending that “boring conference," as she refers
