Pure Paradise by Allison Hobbs Page A

particularly alone and abandoned when she reached over and patted Hilton’s side of the bed, finding it empty. There’d been no kiss on the cheek, no “Thank you, ma’am, for a fantastic fuck,” no hastily scrawled, “See ya later,” no nothing. He’d vanished at dawn, presumably to get in hisdaily workout. The twenty-nine-year-old ex-football star still had dreams of getting back into the game. He still envisioned himself taking his team to the Super Bowl.
    Ha! Keep dreamin’, Hilton!
    Milan felt violated and angry. As usual, Hilton had fucked her and discarded her like he’d dispose of a used condom. Someone would have to pay for her bruised ego. In search of a victim, her mind did a quick scan. Maxwell? No, he was too easy a target and, quite frankly, she was beyond bored with the billionaire.
    Royce? Ugh! She scrunched up her lips in revulsion. What a crude pig! She really had to be in a severe state of horniness to ride his gross, bumpy tongue.
    Sumi? No way! Her assistant was lovesick, moping around the salon wearing her heart on her sleeve. Milan had no choice; it was for her own good that she wean herself off Sumi’s snapping pussy. She recalled that crazed look that had briefly appeared in Sumi’s eyes. Who knew what harm a hot-headed, love-obsessed martial arts expert was capable of inflicting? Milan flinched, unwilling to allow herself to even ponder the dire possibilities. Yes, Sumi would be handled with kid gloves from now on. Good thing she had new assistants to keep her busy. Milan hoped she fell in love with one of the girls because she was weary of being the object of Sumi’s love.

CHAPTER 11
    A t precisely ten o’clock in the morning, Hilton called to let Milan know he was outside. Making him wait, she stepped outdoors a half-hour later.
    Appropriately attired in his chauffeur’s uniform, Hilton tipped the brim of his cap and gave her a broad smile, showing no sign that he was miffed at having to wait.
    “Good morning, Ms. Walden,” he greeted in an affected professional voice.
    Milan sucked her teeth, looking as offended as if he’d just said, “’Sup, bitch!” Frowning excessively, she slid into the back of the car. “Where’s Maxwell? Did his car pick him up this morning?” she asked, her voice sullen.
    “Yes, the security team confirmed that he was picked up at seven a.m., on schedule.”
    “Where is he now?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    Leaning forward, Milan released a derisive grunt. “You’re not sure? What the hell does that mean?”
    “You didn’t ask the security team to tail Mr. Torrance. The detail was complete after he safely entered his car.”
    A horrible bout of panic made further inquiries catch in herthroat. She coughed as if to clear it. “Did you call his driver?” she asked, finally finding her voice.
    “Yes, Ms. Walden. I called his driver. No answer. In fact, I made numerous calls. Mr. Torrance is not at his estate and he’s not at his office.”
    “Maybe he’s out on the golf course.”
    “No. I contacted his country club. He’s not expected there until Thursday.”
    Losing her patience, she blurted, “Hilton, did you speak directly to his secretary? Surely she knows his whereabouts; she schedules his appointments.”
    “I couldn’t get through. I spoke to his secretary’s assistant, and she acted real secretive, like she knew something but wasn’t telling.” Hilton looked at Milan in the rearview mirror. “What do you think Mr. Torrance is up to?” He waited for Milan to respond. She didn’t. She sat in silent contemplation. “He probably has a major come-up for you…like a shopping spree in Paris,” Hilton ventured optimistically.
    Milan gave him a weak smile, but she was perplexed. Obviously, something had gone wrong. She’d pushed Maxwell too far, forcing him to spend the night in that squalid rooming house. Where is he? She shook her head, convinced Maxwell had finally had enough of her abuse and was now out for revenge. A terrible