Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
dom
Present Day
“Run that back again,” Vik says with amusement written on his face, shit-eating grin and all.
It’s well after office hours. Each guy has a drink of their choice—Vik his preferred Vodka, Rafe opts for a beer over his usual whisky and probably won’t stay here much longer since Seraphina left the building hours ago.
Dante is the Tequila drinker of the group.
And me, I’m not particular. Tonight, I’m going for rum.
I lean back in my custom leather chair and look at the time on my brushed steel casing of my Patek Phillipe watch, a masterpiece of engineering serving as a daily reminder of exactly why the board at Sterling Capital looks at me like I’m a virus in their perfectly curated faulty system.
I’m the wild card. The black sheep. The guy who prefers the sun-drenched coast of whatever island I can get away to, to a windowless boardroom.
I spend my hard-earned money on custom-tailored suits, high-end watches, and a garage with three cars that costs more than I care to admit.
For some godawful reason, they think a venture capitalist should be miserable, gray, stressed, and have a paunched stomach, and even more than that, they hate my bloodline tied to me.
Before I finished college, dear old Dad made a string of terrible, reckless investments that nearly tanked our family name into absolute oblivion.
I did what Dad couldn’t, took what we had left, gambled on a few high-risk options, and won.
What I didn’t do was continue gambling. I took my winnings, left the table, channeled the funds into smarter, airtight investments, tripled our money, and kept the board members off our backs.
I rebuilt an empire from the ashes of the fire my father lit with kerosine and a match before he walked away, watching it burn to the ground.
Needless to say, our relationship is still rocky at best, and the old stuffy bastards that have sat on the board all this time still think of me as a reckless gambler’s son.
“This guy called me while he was in a coat closet, hiding from the board members. Told him I’d give him the money.” Rafe gives out a short, sharp laugh.
“It was the closet or contemplating life with some kind of monitoring device on my ankle, permanent bracelets, or wearing orange for the rest of eternity. What it’s not about is the money, I have that.
It’s about the goddamn principal. It’s been years since everything went down and still, they won’t back me.
Fuckers.” I tighten my jaw, unable to see the humor in the situation.
“That leaves two options: pony up the money yourself, which you’ve expressed isn’t happening, or take a corporate loan.
It’s either that or finally get serious about playing for keeps.
It’s an optics game, Dom, and you’re nigh on losing,” Dante states, ever the realist. He adjusts the cuffs of his shirt, his expression cool and calculating as he looks across the desk at me.
“Yeah, like marrying someone. Nothing says I’m a stable, boring, dependable billionaire business man like a diamond ring and a marriage license,” Rafe says with a smirk.
The words marrying, marriage, and marry hang in the air like a lead weight, dropping heavily to the pit of my stomach.
The guys staying quiet doesn’t help matters, either.
They’re studying me, gauging if I’d laugh it off or throw my glass at the wall.
To the board, marriage is the ultimate contract.
It’s stability, longevity, and a public declaration that a man is putting aside his need for toys and adventure.
A traditional move that would muzzle the board at Sterling Capital once and for all, a perfect chess move, one that will end in checkmate.
Christ, this is a lot. I stand up from my seat, grab the cut glass crystal filled with rum, and move to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the sprawling city.
My reflection stares back at me, familiar—sharp jawline, perfectly tailored suit that screams wealth, and eyes that usually hold a glint of mischief.
Except, that’s not what I see right now.
Dead serious is the only way to catalogue them.
I don’t want a fake arrangement with some socialite who only cares about the name that comes with the man or the size of my penthouse. If I’m going to play this game, I want someone real. And as I stare out at the city, a very specific beautiful face flashes through my mind.
“You know,” I murmur, my voice low as I watch the traffic crawl along the streets below, “there is one woman I’ve had my eye on.”
“Just promise me you won’t screw things up with Alex.
” Vik snorts, a sharp sound that shatters the quietness in the room.
“She’s the first assistant I’ve actually been able to stand having in my office for more than a month without firing her or making her cry.
She keeps my entire chaotic-as-fuck life running.
” I turn around, and he continues after a brief pause, “And besides, we all know it’s not Alex you want, it’s her friend you were making googly eyes across the bar a couple of weeks ago.
Don’t think for a second the three of us didn’t notice that little performance. ”
I don’t deny the allegation, just lean my shoulder against the window, taking a slow, deliberate sip of my rum on the rocks.
Vik’s right, as are the rest of them. Alex is indispensable, a brilliant force of nature who takes no shit when it comes to Vik.
It’s her friend, who walked into the nightclub wearing a dress that should have been illegal, looking entirely unimpressed with the high-rollers and billionaires buying up the VIP section.
“This is going to be good.” Dante settles back in his chair, waiting for a response from me.
“I have no intention of screwing anything up, Vik,” I reply, the wheels already turning my head as I formulate a plan to not only solve my board member problem but to also go after the woman who’s kept my dick in a constant state of hard.
“In fact, I think I’m about get very, very serious.
” She completely ruined me in the span of a single evening with her effortless beauty that made my flashy cars and high-end watch collection feel entirely trivial.
She’s exactly what I need to upend the board’s expectations.
And more importantly, she’s exactly who I want.
“That settles it. I’m out of here.” Rafe stands up, announcing he’s done with the conversation and being at the office without his woman.
“Later,” I respond, walking back to my desk.
“Let me know if you need anything.” Vik raps his knuckles on my desk, setting his drink down, ready to leave.
“I’m not leaving for a while. You know where to find me.” Dante takes his glass with him, which means he’ll be back in less than an hour.
“Sounds good.” We all say our goodbyes, and my friends and colleagues head out the door as I take a seat behind my desk. I’ve got a plan to formulate and a woman to make mine.