What do you give a shit about? He could practically hear Hornsby’s voice.
Screw it, he thought, walking across the parking area to his Audi and opening his cell phone.
“Sabine?” he said when the woman picked up. He could hear a heavy bassline in the background. People yelling.
Puck Bunnies. Lord, he was too old for this.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“We’re celebrating,” she cried. “I got a promotion!”
“Congratulations,” he said. He had no idea what her job was, or where she worked. He didn’t care.
“Can you be at my place in fifteen minutes,” he said. She agreed, which he knew she would, celebration or not, and he hung up. His blood thickened as he thought about her body, of what she would let him do to her. How she wanted him to use her. And if he was bored and slightly sickened by it all—well, too bad.
He was Billy Wilkins and this was his life.
Can't Hurry Love Page 33
