Page 1 of Gavin's Greed (Sinful 3)

Chapter 1

(Gavin Lester)

Sitting at his kitchen table, Gavin Lester counted his money, laying it all out in nice, neat piles on the dark, polished, walnut tabletop. He smiled. The stacks had grown phenomenally over the years. He’d never trusted banks much and had put very little into them—his 401K was there, of course and the five thousand he’d stuck in the savings account to shut Linda up a few years ago. The rest was sitting on his table in front of him just where he liked it.

He had worked for the same construction company for ten years—then he became supervisor over a crew. Now, Gavin was a partner in the company. One day, he hoped to own that company. He’d been saving his money since he was six—still had the first dollar he’d earned at the age of six, too. His father had been adamant about framing it for posterity. In doing so, it had set off a fire in his life to collect all the money and goods that he possibly could—he’d been called an asshole and greedy for most of his life but that didn’t bother him; he still had more than most people and he would have even more as time went by.

His home was paid for, as was his work truck. All three Harleys, the 1969 Super Sport Chevelle, the 1965 Mustang, and the 1969 Camaro were all paid for, too. He owed money on nothing except utilities.

Linda, on the other hand, still owed three years’ worth of payments on her little Corolla. He loved her, but she wasn’t very frugal sometimes. She worked two jobs and poured most of her money into the house, so he couldn’t complain much. It made her happy and kept her loyal to him. The only time she’d nagged him much was the months preceding his five grand deposit into the savings account. She’d been hospitalized with pneumonia and said that it had opened her eyes to the possibility of him being hospitalized. Without his money coming in, how would they survive on her paltry check alone?

Linda had no idea how much money sat in the safe under the floorboards of the bedroom closet—and he intended to keep it that way. He’d told her he had ten grand in the safe and she’d ragged him about putting half in the bank in case of some disaster that destroyed the safe and its contents.

Would she completely flip out if she discovered he was actually a millionaire?

Laughing at the thought of her reaction, Gavin gathered the stacks of money, banding them carefully and lovingly, and carried them back to the safe. Where exactly did she think his money was going? She knew his position as a partner at the company. She also knew his vehicles were paid for. He shook his head, smiling. She was a bit flaky, but he loved her.

It was Sunday morning and Linda had gone early to her waitressing job; later she would go to her retail job and work in the ladies’ clothing and shoe department at the local Save-A-Dollar super mart until dinner time. Gavin didn’t have work on Sundays, but it was his day to play in the pool tournament—nothing huge, just a local tourney happening at one of his favorite pool halls. He always made a few hundred dollars in that tournament and never missed a chance to play in it.

Patty would go with him, be his lady for the evening, his little good luck charm so to speak—she was a real beauty and had that sultry look that the men enjoyed. It put them off their game a bit when she was around, so it was good for him. Little Patty the pool hall doll was a friend with benefits, many benefits. She was loyal to Gavin, too. They all were. He demanded it.

Rita was his choice for the long haul trips when he had to go out of town for his job. She was adaptable and quick-witted; she could easily fit in with any crowd, anywhere, anytime.

Tara was for quick and kinky times.

And Linda, well, she was his domesticated little house cat. She was the glue that held it all together for him. She knew nothing of the other women. If she ever suspected, she never questioned him, but he thought she never even considered it a possibility.

Locking the safe and shutting the little trapdoor that concealed it, Gavin backed out of the closet and stretched. Catching his reflection in the full length mirror by the bedroom door, he examined his many tattoos. Most were black outlines, but some had color—mostly reds, turquoises, deep greens—what he considered manly colors. He’d collected tattoos like he’d collected muscle cars, money, job titles, and women over the years. And, as with everything else, he would acquire more ink, too. Every design was unique and some were his artistic creations.

Satisfied with what he saw for the moment, Gavin moved to the den and called Patty to see that she was still on for tonight. Of course, she would be; what other plans would she have? She was, like the others, at his beck and call twenty-four, seven.

Just the way he liked it; just the way he demanded it.

Chapter 2

(Linda Statham)

The early shift on Sundays at Friendly’s was busy, hectic, chaotic, and tiring. Linda was fond of her job there as a waitress, but she wasn’t so fond of having to work nearly every Sunday. Breakfast wasn’t so bad, but after lunch, when the churches let out their congregations…that was a totally different story. Some Sundays, they had to go on an hour wait just to seat the patrons.

Joan Friendly had hired Linda when she’d first graduated high school ten years prior. The women had forged a friendship through the years and amid the rotating doors of waiters, bussers, cooks, prep cooks, and dishwashers. Linda felt a loyalty to Joan for hiring her at such a young age. And, Linda had been able to pay off one car, buy another, which she almost had paid off, and helped pay off the house she and Gavin shared—thanks mostly to her job at Friendly’s Restaurant.

Making another double-batch of sweet tea during the after-lunch slump in business, Linda smiled at Joan as she rounded the corner and walked toward her.

“Hey, Joan. Are you surviving?” Linda chuckled and added sugar to the first batch of tea.

Blowing her bangs off her forehead, the older woman grinned. “Barely. I’m getting too old to work this hard!”

Joan’s cheeks were a ruddy red color and beads of sweat stood out on her forehead and temples. Linda worried about her friend; she was no spring chicken anymore. At fifty-four, Joan could still work circles around the rash of teenage waitresses that seemed to appear every year just as school was finished. Mostly graduates looking to make some quick cash, drawn to the restaurant for the cash tips.