Chapter 1
Harlan
I watch the waitress across the room, standing at the bar, her back to me. Her turquoise hair dusts her shoulder blades in soft waves.
That color should look ridiculous on a grown woman.
But so should those tiny black shorts showing a quarter of her ass cheeks.
She turns her head, and I study the architecture of her nose in profile, perfectly proportioned on her pretty face.
Her eyes meet mine and I look down at my phone.
I thumb a text to my brother consisting of two words. Fuck this.
He doesn’t answer.
I tell myself he’s just in the elevator, coming down. He’s almost here. I’ll wait just ten more minutes.
Maybe thirty.
I never step foot in this place. I was just going to dip in for a minute. And now this. Damian has been pressing me for days to meet up; I know he wants to know how I’m doing with my challenge. When he texted me that he was in the office, I told him to meet me here at Velvet Lounge half an hour ago, and now he’s left me waiting.
He must be loving this. Me, wasting my time for him. Waiting on him. Here, of all places. Yes, my family owns Vance Tower and everything in it, including Velvet, the lounge on the mezzanine level. But it’s Damian who oversees our hospitality assets, and I’m not comfortable in Damian’s playgrounds. The posh bars in our luxury hotels, the trendy hotspots, the private clubs. It’s all the same to me.
A nightmare.
The cocktail waitresses wandering by in their skimpy black come-ons.
The wealthy elite who care more about what others think of them than what they think of themselves. The boasting of acquisitions, returns on investment, conquests. All of them desperate for attention, chasing it down with the perfect outfit, the perfect watch, the perfect business deal.
It’s early evening and already the lounge is buzzing, three-quarters full.
Even the music oozes desperation.
I like music.
I don’t like people who try too hard. And this place has the vibe of all my brother’s bars, no matter the range of the patrons’ ages and genders. It’s the sticky, thick-liquid tension of older men with money chasing younger women with beauty, and those women so eager to be chased.
Damian has a habit of humblebragging about how “tiresome” it is that the waitresses here are always flirting with him. It’s such a strenuous life he leads, spending most of his days fending off the advances of beautiful young women.
He’d probably literally die of loneliness if he spent one week in my life.
By the time he finally arrives, the whole place is giving me a headache.
Damian, on the other hand, looks totally at ease as he strolls through the room; the master of his domain. Fine Brioni suit, thick head of dark hair, perfect Patek Philippe watch. He loves this place and everything in it.
Especially the beautiful young women and the money that flows through them.
“I’ve been waiting for almost a fucking hour,” I grouch at him, as soon as he reaches our table. “You’ve been hounding me all week, so here I fucking am.”
“Lucky me,” he says pleasantly.
He’s barely sat down when our waitress is on top of us. Of course, she knows who he is.
“What can I bring you tonight, Mr. Vance?” Her voice is saccharine, eager. She has thick blonde curls and big, pouty lips. Her hip grazes the sleeve of my jacket, leaving floral perfume, as she reaches to set a cocktail napkin in front of my brother, offering him the obnoxious view down her cleavage.
I inch away.
“The bar knows what I like, sweetheart,” he tells her.
“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?” she asks me. It’s the fifth time she’s offered me a drink.
“Just leave us.”
Damian chuckles as soon as she struts away. “Oh, she likes you.”
I can’t even tell if that’s sarcasm or not.
“So, what brings you up from your subterranean lair?” he inquires, referring to my office on the lower level of the tower. “If not the view…?” His eyes follow the ass of a passing waitress. He’d be courting a harem in this booth in minutes if I weren’t here. Damian Vance is a social creature.
Not like me.
I’m a lone wolf by design. But if I fail this challenge, I’ll be alone in a way that terrifies me to the depths of my obsidian soul.
For the last sixteen days, it’s been all I can think about.
I don’t even want to do the math, yet the numbers are there in my head, all damn day and night. I’m past the halfway point now.
I have fourteen more days to introduce my siblings to Darla, or I fucking fail.
“You know what,” I grit out. “I want to know who chose my challenge.”
“Ah. So that’s what the dark storm gathering in your atmosphere is about.”
“Was it you?”
“Maybe you should ask yourself, if I did know, would I tell you?”
“Then it wasn’t you.”
“Time is ticking, Harlan,” he says seriously. “Don’t tell me you’re still spinning. Trying to find some way out of this…”
Oh, I’m spinning.
I’m wound up so tight, I yelled at my assistant today, for no damn reason, and everyone on the floor heard me. I’ve never yelled at him before. I don’t even raise my voice at work.
I literally try not to talk to anyone in person in the office, at any volume.
The best leaders listen more than they talk.
Gather data.
Review information.
Make decisions.
That’s what I do all day, every day, as CFO of one of the largest privately held companies in the country. And I’m not used to problems I can’t solve.
I’ve tried solving this challenge problem the way I always do—with data.
For sixteen days, I’ve had the one man on my team who I truly trust to protect me and my privacy—my head of security—work the data for me, and he’s come up with an answer.
An answer I can’t seem to fully swallow.
It’s just too much of a risk.
Isn’t it?
The turquoise hair across the room catches my eye. She stands at a table, smiling brightly at the male patrons who are probably flirting with her, directly in my line of vision over Damian’s shoulder. I lean back in my seat so I can’t see her, trying to focus.
I can’t tell my siblings the truth.
I can’t give them some bullshit story to try to explain why I can’t introduce them to Darla, either.
Because either of those options will yield the same result: I fail to complete my challenge.
I’ve come to the horrifying conclusion that unless I find some perfect decoy Darla, I’m fucked.
I’ve lost endless hours to obsessing over this shit, and come up with nothing better.
I’m on the verge of completely losing my shit here.
Unless.
Unless Damian, the only person in my family besides myself who’s more than willing to bend some rules, can help me with finding a loophole or something. “Do you think it was Jamie?”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You are spinning. This is your challenge, Harlan, not mine,” he reminds me. “And not Jameson’s.”
“It had to be Jamie.” Though the more I think about it, maybe it was Savi, and she’s just a better actress than I thought. What made me so sure it wasn’t her in the first place? Just because she said the challenge she chose would last for exactly six months?
Okay, so she had no reason to make that up.
But still.
“What the hell does it even matter who chose it?” Damian says. “You’re not going to convince Jamie, or whoever, to change the challenge. And even if you could, that’s not how the game is played. Granddad had the challenges sealed in the envelopes, and those are the challenges we have to complete. Quit spinning your wheels, face reality, and save yourself the anxiety, Harlan.”
While he speaks, my hand squeezes my thigh under the table. I rub my fingertip obsessively over the seam on the side of my pant leg, drawing small, quick letters, over and over.
The blonde waitress delivers Damian’s drink, and he takes a long sip, assessing me with cunning eyes. Normally I’d appreciate that Damian is such a sealed vault. That brain of his is filled with the secrets of many a powerful man, and woman, in this city and beyond; pretty much goes with the territory when you host the rich and powerful at your exclusive private clubs—including a sex club.
But he didn’t choose this challenge for me. I see it in his eyes.
At least I think I do.
“Do you recall when Graysen read us Granddad’s letter?” he asks me. “The point of each challenge is personal growth.”
“Fuck that. Granddad was a player. He’s amusing himself with this shit.”
“May I remind you that Granddad is dead.”
That jagged shard materializes in my throat, sharp and bitter. “There has to be some kind of loophole. Or… what do they call it in gaming? Like a cheat code or something.”
“May I also remind you that Granddad wasn’t a cheat.”
“Tell that to Grandma.”
Damian doesn’t exactly sigh, but he glances at his watch. Of course, he has beautiful women to entertain, somewhere. “Let me ask you. Why are you so upset about your challenge?”
“Do I look upset?”
“You look vaguely like a vampire who hasn’t fed in weeks.”
I scoff.
“Have you seen any sun this summer?”
“Not if I can help it.”
“What’s the big deal here? All you have to do is introduce a woman to the family. While that may seem unreasonable to you, I’m pretty sure Jameson’s sex ban was much more uncomfortable.”
“Why the hell does anyone want to meet her? It’s not even serious.”
Damian’s dark eyebrow quirks. “Well, let’s see. Maybe because she’s the only woman you’ve mentioned to the family in years. Ever since what’s-her-name? The one who ran off with her tennis instructor.”
It was golf, but I don’t correct him. I’d rather we all forget the details.
“All we’re doing is fucking,” I grit out. “It’s hardly meet-the-family worthy. I haven’t even seen her much lately.”
Damian sits back, studying me with that annoying twinkle in his eyes. “You do realize that on several occasions, when one of us has asked you if you’re seeing anyone, you’ve told us that you’ve been, and I quote, ‘holding out for Darla.’”
“I recall,” I mutter.
“It was quite a catchphrase for a while there. I considered putting it on a T-shirt for you, so you wouldn’t have to keep repeating it.”
“How thoughtful.”
My brother chuckles. This must be amusing to him.
“Anyway, that was months ago,” I mutter.
“Right. I believe the last time you mentioned her name was around the time that we all met with Granddad, and chose our challenges for one another, without realizing that’s what we were doing.”
Fuck . I really want to be pissed at Granddad. But I know he had no idea how this would come back to fuck me. My siblings wanting to meet the woman I implied I was interested in, possibly seeing, but refused to introduce them to probably seemed like an incredibly reasonable challenge.
“So, what is it between you and her, really?” Damian presses.
“Nothing. We had a thing, it didn’t work out. The end.”
“So, are you fucking her, or is it over? You’re contradicting yourself.”
“Can’t it be both?”
He sits back and studies me in a way I don’t like. I’m sure he’s miles better at reading people than I am. ”Harlan Vance. Are you in love?”
The way he says “in love,” he makes it sound like some rare and curious disease.
Maybe to him, it is.
“Fuck love.”
“She’s important to you,” he concludes. “More than you’re letting on.”
“What’s important to me,” I hiss, “is maintaining my privacy. You know I abhor anyone in my personal business. Including you.”
“Oh, I know. You’re extremely secretive. And yet here you are, looking awfully desperate for my help.” He leans in with interest. “Who is Darla?”
I get the sense that it’s actually starting to allure him that he doesn’t know.
“The answer to that would fall under personal business.”
“But I thought you hated everyone, little brother.” His eyes narrow. “Or maybe you only hate what you can’t have.”
“Poetic.”
He lounges back again, sipping his drink. “Has it occurred to you that if you keep hating on everyone, you’ll end up alone? Forever. Is that what you really want?”
“Sounds like bliss.”
He chuckles. Of course, that’s the name of his private sex club. Bliss .
“Hate is just a front for fear,” he says dismissively.
“More poetry. I didn’t tell you to meet me here so I could watch you jack off to your own cleverness. I’ve actually got a fucking problem.”
“What problem, exactly, do you have?”
“Well, let’s see.” I throw it back to him, playing to his ego, because I can’t exactly tell him the truth. “Other than Savannah, you know me best, so you tell me. What problem would you have if you were me right now?”
He laughs a little. “Okay. If I’m you… I have literal OCD-level control over every detail of my life. And that control would evaporate if I lost my inheritance and my place in the family business. The news would go public, and I suppose I’d have some sort of nuclear-level meltdown.”
Irritatingly accurate.
“And maybe,” he probes, “I don’t trust that if that happens, my siblings would protect me.”
Maybe he’s right.
I definitely don’t trust them not to abandon me.
When I neither confirm nor deny, he says, “You don’t give us enough credit. Just bring her around to a family dinner or something, and be done with it. You know Savannah would love to host.” He holds up his hands in surrender. “We’ll be on our best behavior.”
“No.”
“Then you do have a problem.”
The blonde waitress drifts by to check on us, and Damian indulges her, flirting. I tune out, rubbing my fingertip over my pant seam, forming the letters. Performing the compulsive ritual, chasing the soothing that never quite comes. B-E-A-U ?—
“The poor girl,” Damian says when the blonde leaves. “You won’t even look at her.”
I finish the word, because I can’t not. T-I-F-U-L. “Can you take this seriously and forget about your cock for two seconds?”
“I’m not thinking with my cock. I’m thinking with my bank. She’d be good for Bliss, no? Those lips…”
I grunt with annoyance. “Maybe you’re conveniently forgetting our fraternization policy.”
“Oh, I don’t forget.”
“Then you know the full-blown fit Graysen would have if you got caught fondling the company goods. He’d never climb down out of your ass after an infraction like that.”
Damian just chuckles. Of course, he’s the sole owner of Bliss. He doesn’t have to follow Graysen’s rules for how he conducts business there. But he’d be stupid not to.
“How would he know, though?” he says. “Wouldn’t it be my little secret? You know… like you and your Darla.”
“And what if we forced you to tell us all your little secrets?” I growl back. Surely he can understand how fucked this position is I’ve been put in.
“I wish you luck with that,” he says, eyes twinkling, “but I’d love to see you try.”
“Not interested.” I keep rubbing my fingertip over my pant seam, making sure to complete the word. BEAUTIFUL . “Keep your secrets. And I’ll keep mine.”
Damian studies me with open interest now. “Does Darla even exist? Is she a ghoul?” He leans in again. “Better question… Does she know you exist? You know, the way you’d talk about her, about ‘holding out’ for her, I halfway thought you were stalking her.”
I laugh humorlessly, then realize he’s not kidding.
“You have to admit, you do obsess.”
I scowl. “About women?”
“How would I know? You never talk to me about women.”
We stare at each other for as long as I can stand, before I start rubbing my fingertip on my pant seam again.
I don’t like being out of control. Who does?
I tell myself this is a normal way to feel.
But there’s nothing normal about the way I feel most of the time.
“I can’t lose my inheritance, Damian,” I growl.
“Then don’t,” he says. “Complete the challenge. By any means necessary.”
I consider his words carefully. And I have to ask myself if Damian plans to use any means necessary—even cheat—when the time to complete his challenge comes.
I know he’s right. That I have to do whatever it takes.
Even if it includes deceit.
Because what I’ve been asked to do is impossible. Even if I wanted to introduce my family to Darla, I couldn’t.
“Good luck. Seems like you’ll need it,” he says. “And I look forward to meeting Darla.” He gets up to leave, and the turquoise hair across the room catches my eye.
She’s at the bar again, her back to me. My gaze instantly drops to her ass.
The blonde waitress blocks my view as she hurries to assist Damian. As he flatters her with a probably exorbitant tip, I check my phone.
I have a new text message from my head of security, and I open it immediately.
For sixteen days, I’ve been pressing him for a solution to my problem.
And for sixteen days, he’s given me one answer.
Quinn Monroe.