Chapter 1
BEN
Six Months Earlier
“Cygnature Blooms, Hanover Square. This is Tuesday. How can I help you today?”
“Hi, Tuesday.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, staring at the polished wood surface of my desk like it might give me answers. “I hope you can. I need an apology bouquet. Do you think you can help me with that?”
“Certainly,” she says warmly. “I’d be happy to assist you. Can I ask a few questions so I can put together the perfect arrangement?”
I tap my pen against my lower lip, mind racing. The perfect arrangement? My head falls forward, already feeling defeated and this conversation has barely begun. How exactly do you say, Sorry I gave you an STD but please don’t leave me because I love you? Fuck my life. “Can I be blunt, Tuesday?”
“Yes, of course. I’m here to help.”
“I royally screwed up,” I say quietly. “And I need to make a grand gesture if I stand a chance in hell of getting my girlfriend to forgive me.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. I’m sure we can find something worthy of the occasion.”
“I doubt that,” I mutter. “It might take enough flowers to supply the Rose Bowl Parade.”
“That is a lot of flowers,” she mutters. “Is your girlfriend located in the Hanover delivery area?”
“Yes. We live together. Or we did. I think we still do.” Oh, I don’t even know anymore.
There’s the faintest little squeak on the other end of the line. Is she trying to gather her professionalism so she doesn’t lose a sale? “May I get your name and number in case we get disconnected?”
“Ben. Ben Banks.” I give her my address and number, trying not to sound like I’m hanging onto the call for emotional life support.
“Well, Ben,” she says, “there are flowers that symbolize regret and sorrow. Purple hyacinth, asphodel, white poppy, scarlet geranium… each expresses consolation.”
“I’ll probably need all of them.” I push aside a stack of papers, suddenly suffocated by the office that normally feels like home.
My entire life has been quietly orbiting Chanel’s for the last year.
I’d grown up in the UK after my mother remarried.
Had lived there since I was seven. But after meeting Chanel online, we’d hit it off and developed a completely unexpected relationship.
It was time for me to grow up and settle down.
So I moved across an ocean for this girl.
Decided to start my business in the United States with her in mind. “Tuesday?”
“Yes?”
“They sound beautiful. But I need over the top.” My voice drops. “She means the world to me. I didn’t realize how much until she left.”
There’s a pause. “She left you?” she asks gently.
“She decided she didn’t want a committed relationship anymore. Said she needed to focus on her career. Didn’t want distractions.” I swallow. “So I let her go. Pride and all that. Even though it damn near broke me.”
She’s quiet, letting me speak.
“She came back,” I continue. “But only after I made a mistake.”
Another pause. “I was hurt. And drank. A lot. Then I slept with someone else,” I say. “And now my girlfriend has an infection and thinks I gave it to her. She stormed into my office this morning after she left her doctor’s office like she was ready to kill me.”
“Oh, Ben.”
“Yeah.” This is demoralizing. I feel so defeated. How had I let my life implode? Not to sound like Ross and Rachel from Friends, but we were on a break. I look down at my lap, dread curling through my stomach.
I’ve had no symptoms. I get tested regularly. I haven’t slept with anyone else since moving to the States. Only that one stupid, drunken night. I’ve never gone without protection. Not even in my reckless Uni days. Well, with anyone but Chanel. So how the hell could this have happened?
“I just want to do the mature thing,” I press on. “Make things right between us and admit to my mistakes until I can get this sorted.”
Can you give someone something without having it yourself? None of this makes sense to me. But she was adamant it had to have come from me.
I wanted to be up front about it when we got back together.
She’d asked if I’d been with anyone else and I didn’t want to lie.
I explained it was a drunken mistake, but things haven’t been the same since admitting it to her.
They haven’t been good for long before that, if I’m being honest. But that’s likely because I’ve been so focused on my career.
What did I think was going to happen after telling her something like that? She was already questioning a future together. Yet lying didn’t make sense if I wanted to build a future with her.
So trying to calm her down is the first thing on the agenda. I’ll go get retested next. Fuck me.
Tuesday exhales softly. “This might take more than flowers. Perhaps, instead of focusing on forgiveness, show her love. Show her effort. Make romance a way of life, not merely a onetime get out of jail card.”
I sit up taller in my chair. “What do you mean?”
“Like, up your game. You said you love her. Show her.” Tuesday lays out a plan of dinners, flowers, letters, baths, rituals. And with every word, hope slowly creeps back into my chest.
“You’re right. I like that.”
“It takes the focus off of what happened and puts the concentration on the two of you. And if she still walks away,” she adds gently, “you’ll know you gave her everything.”
A chime tinkles across the phone, causing me to look down at my watch. I’m about to be late for a meeting. “Thank you, Tuesday. You’ve been incredible. And such a pretty name.” Scratching my chin, I consider it. Don’t think I’ve ever met a Tuesday before.
“Ben.”
“Yes?”
“Keep focused on your girl. I’m going to work on a few ideas and call you back to confirm. Does that sound okay?”
“Yes. Perfect. Thank you. I’m feeling more optimistic already.” As the line clicks dead, I lean back in my chair, heart pounding.
I’ve rebuilt my entire life around this woman. And for the first time since I landed in America, I’m terrified I might’ve made a huge mistake coming here. The very last thing I need is to go back home with my tail between my legs.
I can’t help wondering how a situation like this hadn’t happened to an egotistical rogue like my stepbrother instead of me.
William Devon Sly. Dev. Slick Willy, if you’re unfortunate enough to be amongst his close circle of friends.
Devon is what people imagine when they hear the words billionaire heir.
His money is both old and new. It’s a combination of generational wealth and modern branding genius.
His father, Charles, inherited a sprawling chain of grand boutique hotels across the UK, then promptly horrified the family by marrying an American girl.
My mother.
Dev took that empire and crafted it into something fresh and modern. He created The Provocateur, an edgy, ultra-luxury hotel brand built on privacy, indulgence, and exclusivity, and somehow made it even more profitable than the original. Whatever he’s doing, it’s working.
He keeps a carefully curated circle of friends in the States.
Men who call themselves the Billionaire Boys Club.
They meet at a members-only private club called the Devil’s Playground.
I’m technically a member too, though I’m fairly certain that invitation came courtesy of Dev’s last name rather than my comparatively modest net worth in the mid-nine figures.
Devon is a rake by design. He guards his professional image with surgical precision while treating his personal life like an unending bachelor party.
His nickname exists for a reason. And he’s never once pretended otherwise.
Sad, given he’s pushing forty. Unlike him, I want to settle down and start a family one day.
Knowing this, I’ve tried to rein myself in. I don’t want to be lumped in with the arrogant, self-indulgent trust-fund crowd I ran circles with growing up. Sure, I was a playboy while I attended University. I won’t pretend I didn’t enjoy the advantages my money and status brought me.
But novelty wears thin when attraction is transactional. When people want you for what you have instead of who you are. Especially the women. It’s lonely in a way you don’t expect. When they’re only after you for one thing. And it’s not your ability to give them multiple orgasms.
I exhale slowly, rubbing my jaw. Tuesday’s right. I need to do this differently.
I’m going to pull out every stop. I’m going to show Chanel, not beg her, that my devotion is real.
Maybe then I can finally get my life back on track.