30 Days

I don’t always fuck up. But when I do, shit always hits the fan. This time? A sex tape. Shouldn’t be a big deal, right? But when your father owns a multi-billion dollar company and the shares start tanking, it makes things a little complicated. My punishment? Help convert a decrepit plantation manor into a community youth center for no-life-having, snot-nosed brats or be disinherited. Fine. I’d do my part to fix up this shanty home, but as soon as I returned to my former glory, I’d burn this bitch down and backstroke in its ashes. The issue? My father’s right hand man and acting overseer of this deranged, social experiment, Keegan fucking McCarthy. “Or what?” His cat green eyes patronized me. “You’ll tell your father? Sorry, baby, but Daddy doesn’t care. His days of bailing you out are over. And do you know why?” he asked, the rich, modulated pitch of his voice like chocolate-drizzled razorblades. I simmered in smothered rage. Keegan moved closer, and in a gesture that caught me completely off guard, nuzzled the sensitive skin below my left ear lobe. “Because you’re mine.” Houston, we have a problem. ***Due to Layla's potty mouth and alcoholic tendencies, a bit of drug abuse, and some sexual situations, definitely not intended for readers under the age of 18*** ****Part 1 of 2 in series****