He Bought His Mistress A Penthouse In The Building I Own Chapter 08

He Bought His Mistress A Penthouse In The Building I Own Chapter 08: The Tow Truck

The roar of a diesel engine shattered the morning quiet.

I stepped onto the second-floor balcony. The morning wind whipped across the terrace, blowing my hair into my face. I didn’t bother brushing the strands out of my eyes.

Down in the circular driveway, a heavy flatbed tow truck idled. Its amber lights painted the manicured hedges in harsh, flashing strokes.

A man in a neon safety vest hopped out of the cab. He dragged thick steel chains toward the red Ferrari parked near the fountain.

I crossed my arms over my chest. My fingernails dug deep into the soft material of my leather robe. The pressure grounded me.

The front door of the villa banged open.

Julian sprinted onto the pavement. He wore his silk pajamas. He hadn’t even stopped to put on shoes.

“Hey! Get your hands off that!” Julian screamed.

The worker did not look up. He slid under the front bumper, securing the first hook to the chassis. Metal clanked against metal.

“Did you hear me?” Julian yelled, closing the distance. “Drop the chains! Right now!”

The worker rolled out from under the frame. He stood up and wiped grease on his jeans.

“Step back from the vehicle, sir,” the worker instructed.

“I will not step back! You are trespassing on private property!”

“I have a work order.” The man reached for the winch control strapped to his belt.

Julian lunged forward. He grabbed the driver’s side door handle of the Ferrari. He yanked it, but the doors were locked.

“You are making a massive mistake,” Julian threatened. “Do you know who I am?”

“No idea,” the worker replied.

He pressed a button. The winch whirred to life. The heavy steel cable snapped taut.

The Ferrari groaned as its front tires lifted an inch off the asphalt.

“Stop the machine!” Julian ordered. He banged his fist against the red hood. “I am calling the police! I will have you arrested for grand theft auto!”

“Call them. They will tell you the same thing I will.”

“I own this car!”

“Not according to my dispatch.”

Julian dug his hands into his empty pajama pockets. “I will give you a thousand dollars cash right now. Just lower the ramp.”

“I don’t take bribes, buddy.”

“Two thousand! I have it upstairs in my safe.”

“Get out of my way.”

Julian spun around, scanning the property for the estate security. His frantic gaze swept upward. He found me standing on the balcony.

“Sera!” he shouted.

I looked down at him. I did not move.

“Sera, tell this idiot to drop my car!”

“He is just doing his job, Julian,” I said. My voice carried easily in the crisp morning air.

“His job is stealing my Ferrari!”

“It is a repossession.”

Julian stared at me, his mouth opening and closing. The color drained from his face.

“Repossession?” he echoed. “What are you talking about?”

“The lease payments bounced,” I explained. “The direct debit failed.”

“Then write him a check! Go to your desk and bring down some cash!”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because it is my car! I need it for work!”

“You don’t have a job, Julian. You manage my charity fund.”

“I am building a business!” he argued.

“Reyes Interiors?” I asked.

Julian choked on his next word. He stared up at me, true panic finally breaking through his anger.

“Reyes Interiors is a shell company,” I stated. “You tried to fund it with fifty thousand dollars from our wedding reserve.”

“That was an investment!”

“It was theft.”

“Sera, please. Stop playing games.” He took a step toward the balcony. “They kicked me out of the restaurant last night. I had to walk three miles to find a cab that took cash. My cards are entirely frozen.”

“I severed the lines.”

“You have no right to do that!”

“I have every right to protect my assets.”

“We are getting married!” Julian yelled. He pointed a shaking finger at me. “My money is your money! Your money is mine!”

“You spent my money on another woman.”

“That is insane! Who fed you these lies?”

“I saw the watch, Julian.”

He froze. His hand dropped to his side.

“The Patek Philippe,” I continued. “The one you claimed was at the repair shop. Chloe posted a photo of it on her wrist last night.”

“It is a misunderstanding,” he stammered. “I let her try it on. It was a business meeting.”

“A business meeting at a romantic French restaurant.”

“She is my interior designer! She was having a panic attack about a supplier. I took her to dinner to calm her down!”

“You bought her a tasting menu on my dime.”

“We were discussing the new loft!”

“The loft you are being evicted from this afternoon?”

Julian took a step back. His bare foot hit the wet grass at the edge of the driveway.

“Evicted?”

“You violated the lease terms. You lack the minimum liquid assets.”

“You own the building!”

“And I enforce the rules.”

The winch whined louder. The Ferrari’s front wheels cleared the flatbed ramp.

Julian whipped his head toward the tow truck. He abandoned our argument and rushed the worker again.

“Put it down!” Julian demanded, shoving the man’s shoulder. “I will pay the balance right now! Just give me twenty-four hours!”

The worker shoved him back, much harder. Julian stumbled, barely keeping his balance on the pavement.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” the worker growled.

“I am not letting you take my property!”

“It is not your property.”

“I am the primary driver! I picked out the custom leather! My name is on the registration!”

“I don’t care if your name is on the license plate.”

The worker hit another button. The car slid further up the ramp, the rear tires leaving the ground.

Julian lunged for the winch control.

The worker sidestepped. He grabbed Julian by the collar of his silk pajamas. He yanked him back and slammed him against the side of the truck bed.

“I said back off,” the worker warned.

“Call the police!” Julian screamed up at the balcony. “Sera, call the cops! He assaulted me!”

I uncrossed my arms. I leaned against the stone railing.

“You assaulted him first,” I pointed out.

“Are you crazy? He is stealing my car!”

The worker released Julian’s collar. He pulled a yellow clipboard from the front seat of his cab. He flipped past two pages and unclipped a thick document.

“Read it,” the worker ordered.

He shoved the paperwork directly into Julian’s face.

Julian swatted the paper away, but the man held it firm. Julian’s eyes darted across the bold print.

“This is a mistake,” Julian whispered.

“No mistake.”

“It says the guarantor revoked authorization.”

“Exactly.”

“But I am the owner! I ordered this custom from Italy!”

The worker tapped a thick, calloused finger against the bottom line of the contract.

“The owner’s signature is Seraphina,” the worker sneered. “Who the hell are you?”