Don't you dare steal my story or copy any portion of it. If you do, I'll hunt you down and have your head chopped off (and I don't just mean the head on your shoulders, for all you male type people out there… ;) (I bet you're grimacing) (how many men read romance novels anyway?)). Moving on, I hope you enjoy this little piece of work that I'm in the midst of creating. Oh yeah, I own the characters, plot and everything else this story has to offer. If you absolutely have to communicate with me, other than through reviews (which is a definite must, by the way!), you can email me at: [email protected]

P.S: The first two chapters are kind of long and well, not my best work, but they're just introductions, which I hope you will bear with. The story will definitely pick up in the chapters that follow.

Holier than Thou

Chapter 1: Under the microscope [Jason]

My name is Krentz; Jason Krentz. I'm fucking brilliant, if you must know. I mean how many people do you come across that studied Quantum Physics at MIT and finished two years earlier than normal? Heh, I kind of like to use that little piece of information a lot, since it makes me seem so superior- which I obviously am, anyways. Alright, alright, you've pulled it out of me: Dr. Jason Krentz. Yup. That's me.

I became Dr. Krentz only last week. Really proud of myself, although I must admit, it wasn't exactly super difficult to achieve or anything. I got this kickass job in New York City about a year before I finished my PhD. The agreement was that as soon as I was out of MIT, I'd have to move to NYC, which was no problem with me, really. Manhattan's where I've always wanted to live, what with the whole 'no shit' attitude that every New- Yorker harbours. Very cool. My natural habitat for sure.

See, I grew up in New Haven, Connecticut, with overly rich parents and a neighbourhood in which every rich family knew every other rich family. So walking down the street, minding your own damn business and all was next to impossible because you'd bound to be stopped by some old lady with copious amounts of jewellery and at least four face-lifts and you'd have to make conversation with her! I know! You must be aghast. Look, it's just not my thing to associate with people. No, I'm not some hermit type person that shies away from people at first sight, but honestly, talking to people, especially rich, lonely, old ladies involves too much effort and a whole lotta emotional junk, which frankly does not bode well with me. "Aww, would you look at how tall and handsome you've grown… I remember when you were barely the size of a loaf of bread…here's a hundred, go buy yourself a nice little watch" is just one tiny example. It's the kind of thing that repulses you to the point where you're just about ready to barf all over her excessively made-up face. I mean, didn't they have anything better to do than to ooh and aah at young people and then give them money for being young? Maybe it was just me who was unhappy. All the other kids seemed to enjoy that sort of attention.

I know what you're thinking: "Oh, poor little rich boy isn't satisfied with his childhood" and you're not exactly far from the truth. Well, you're dead right, if you absolutely must know. Although the benefits of coming from a well-to-do family were countless, my parents never had any time for me. That's right, I was one of those kids who got to see his mommy and daddy every other weekend if he was lucky. I grew up with nannies who treated me as if I were some fragile piece of china, and servants who saw to my every need, even if I didn't always know what I needed. I guess I've never really loved anyone, as a result. Sure, I love my parents…but that's just a phrase that is universally used. I don't really know my parents. They were too busy being lawyers and hence neglected being my parents.

I had friends of course, but none I could actually relate to. When I was in grade four, they gave me some sort of screening test and decided that I was a genius. They put me two grades ahead of my right one, without even realising that they had effectively ruined my life from that moment on. Nobody ever spoke to me in my new class, because I was 'the little ten-year-old' and they were all 'grown-up twelve-year-olds'. Great. And even then, being two grades ahead of my own, I was bored of the slow pace and felt that everyone was beneath me intellectually. My old friends decided that I was a loser for being placed two years above them, and besides, I always thought of them as retards.

 With unhappiness looming from home, what with not having parents around, and the anti-social corner I had planted myself in at school, I decided that I needed to let it all out. I became 'The Notorious Krentz'. I was every teacher's nightmare, leaving stink bombs in their drawers and putting lizards in their coffee. The students of my private school were afraid to go near me because I was always by myself, plotting my next prank, and if anyone dared to make contact with me, I'd shove them out of my life with insults so strong they'd cry, with overwhelming hatred for me, and rush off. I didn't care. I just wanted to get out of rich-ville as soon as possible.

They never expelled me, but they came pretty close to it on more than one occasion. At the end of my senior year, I didn't bother to stick around for the whole graduation crap. Instead, I left a note for my parents saying that I was going to be studying in Harvard and that I'd appreciate it greatly if they would foot the bill. In their eyes, I was some hard-working, determined young man with a very bright future ahead of him. I was so isolated from them that they didn't even know about the whole 'Notorious Krentz' thing, which is surprising, since gossip was the town's forte. Well anyway, I took off for Boston, having already received my acceptance into old Harvard.

University was great. I finally experienced shit that I never could in New Haven. Drugs, alcohol, women… of course, there was an appearance to maintain. No Ivy League college kid could be seen doing anything other than studying. That was just unheard of. So I made sure my grades were kept up, by reading the textbooks and attending a few lectures here and there, and in the interim, I frequented Boston's underworld. I'm not some conformist who keeps up appearances just because. No, I had a reason. See, even though my parents were never there for me, they were decent folk and deserved the respect they were given. Both my parents went to Harvard, so everyone sort of knew me as their son. I couldn't really be my bad-boy self and ruin everything that they had worked so hard to achieve. I mean I at least owed them that much.

Alright, come post graduate, I decided that the stellar fields fascinated me more than anything else, so I went to the hub of Quantum Physics- MIT. I didn't have to maintain any appearances there, so I was pretty much myself. I was messy, always late for class, if I were to show up at class at all, never studied, rude to the professors, cheated on my girlfriends, etc. I know, I'm an awfully bad guy, if what I just described to you is my true self. But what can I say? I'm as screwed up as they come.

Through it all though, I found that no matter how many classes I skipped or rude I was to my professors, I always performed well in exams and stuff and got along with the profs eventually, and I was never short of girlfriends either. So I came to the conclusion that I must be one hell of a charismatic person, despite my gross narcissistic nature and my tendency to revolve around all things evil. I figured I was uncontrollably desirable to not only women, but people in general. No, I don't mean that I was voted #1 Eligible Bachelor in the Gay Times or anything. I could get away with almost anything at all, with a mere a crooked smile and a glint in my eye.

So anyway, that's the brief history of my life there (not so brief for those of you yawning). I turned twenty-six two days after graduating from MIT, and decided to go home for the weekend to visit my folks, who were apparently 'dying' to see me. Yeah, right. As I drove up the meandering road to rich-ville, I wondered what on earth would possess my parents to actually want to see me, since they hardly knew I existed while I was growing up.

To cut a freaking long weekend short, let's just say they had found a 'nice and pleasant' girl from a well-known family for me to marry, and they tried everything within their powers that weekend to get me to propose to her and effectively make my life a living hell. Needless to say, I got out of rich-ville as soon as I could and went straight to Manhattan, leaving only my email address with the 'nice and pleasant' girl, who was pretty hot, so I thought: what the hell? No harm in leaving my email with her...

Right, so I got to New York, checked into a motel, logged on to the Net, and scrolled through Manhattan's saturated real estate pages. Now when I say saturated, I mean saturated. I couldn't believe it. Not a single apartment to be found anywhere. And just as I was about to give up, praying that the new job I was supposed to begin in two days would provide housing, I came across a tiny posting at the bottom of the page, which said, "11th floor studio apartment. Uptown. Near hospital. Rent: $6,000/month. Call Dave @ 3165203". Pricey. But hey, I was desperate, not having made any arrangements prior to getting here, and I did have that kickass job, which would solve the high rent issue, and it is near a hospital, which means hot nurses. I mean, good health care facilities at fingertips…

Unable to contain my excitement, I called Dave, who was kind of pissed since it was two in the morning, but I couldn't afford to risk losing the place to someone else. He gave me the address and told me to drop in at around noon the next day. All good. Satisfied, I shut down and fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up courtesy of the bloody rush hour traffic, stumbled into the bathroom, cut myself shaving, put on the t-shirt I was wearing the day before, ran my fingers through my hair, and wham, I was ready to explore my much dreamed of natural habitat. I went downstairs, ordered a huge breakfast, stuffed myself, and started walking down the street. I spent the rest of the morning going into old, hidden bookstores, having my second and third breakfasts at Soho Cafes, and then an early lunch (what? I'm a growing man…) at a petite Italian restaurant, conveniently located next to the Hudson.

I was at peace. I had not made any sort of redundant conversation with any stranger. Hell, it was dangerous to even look at people while walking, but I was fine with that, since I like looking at my shoes while I walk anyways (little idiosyncrasy of mine: I have an obsession with shoes). I was at peace in MIT as well, but this was a different feeling. For the first time, I was out on my own (parents not paying for me) and in a city that seemed to have been constructed to suit me in every way.

At noon, I went to the apartment. Seemed really uptown, if you know what I mean. There was a bellboy and everything. Can't really say I was star-struck or anything by it, but I liked the feel of the place and knew I'd be terribly disappointed if someone else had already taken it. With worry clutching me like never before, I made my way out of the elevator on the 11th floor and into the apartment.

Dave was already there, and rather annoyed that he had had to wait. He was a stumpy man who was sweating profusely. The apartment was full of windows, overlooking a fabulous view, and the moment I saw it, I exclaimed that I'd take it. Dave seemed less than thrilled and he made me sign a bunch of papers. I told him I'd have a cheque sent to him a.s.a.p. to cover the deposit (an alarming $3,000), and the first month's rent two weeks after. After being given a quick tour of my palace (just the right size, big kitchen- good because I like to cook, no holes in walls, clean bathrooms, etc) and of the laundry room downstairs, I was given the keys to the castle and I went back to the motel as quick as the taxi driver would take me, to get all my stuff and move into my new pad.

A/N: Chapter 2 will be up in a couple of hours. I figured that I should at least get to an exciting part before this becomes a full-blown story. Hope you've liked it so far. -Wicked