Chapter 4
FOUR
Jim
The crash of waves below the cliffside blended with the sharp clang of steel beams locking into place. Pacific Palisades didn’t do anything small, not the ocean views, not the price tags, and certainly not the development project Titus Hawk and I were standing in the middle of.
I adjusted my cufflinks as I listened to the foreman lay out the day’s work.
Behind him, crews moved like a well-oiled machine framed against the Pacific horizon.
Glass towers and sleek villas would rise here, an empire of concrete and steel.
The Hawk brothers didn’t fuck around, and Titus had roped me into co-developing this site as if he knew I couldn’t resist a challenge this big.
“You’re still thinking hotel plus residences?” I asked, my gaze scanning the blueprint Titus had unrolled on a makeshift table.
He smirked, his eyes flicking up from the plans. “Hotel, residences, and a private club. Something exclusive. Something the billionaires’ billionaires will beg to get into.”
Of course, he said it like that. Hawk had never played it safe a day in his life.
I ran a hand down my jaw, considering the numbers. “It’ll sell. You know that, but don’t underestimate the politics of a build this size. Neighbors will fight. The city council will drag their feet.”
Titus leaned back against the table, arms crossed, watching me with that predator’s grin he always wore when he smelled blood. “Which is why I want Mitchell and Associates on this. You know how to close, no matter the opposition.”
I sighed. “You are already aware of the conditions I placed on my company whilst doing any work with Hawk Global on the West Coast. This is my world and my empire. My vision was not to cater only to the wealthy. Our agreement was that if I went into any hotel business with your prestigious builds, it would be wealth and luxury at the middleman price tag.”
Hawk smirked. “Of course,” he answered. “No one will be turned away.”
I folded my arms, studying my sly business partner. “In the end, will the price tag be the thing that makes them turn up their noses?”
“I’ll make sure it doesn’t, my friend.” He pushed off the table he’d been leaning against. “I just need you focused on yourself and on your bulldog of a VP who’s handling the petty shit that could slow this down.”
One of the workers hammered in a beam too close to where we stood, the clang reverberating up the frame. Instinctively, I glanced at the nail gun in his hands, and Avery’s laugh from last night past through my mind…You literally nailed my ass.
The image of her still-glossy eyes, ecstasy building before the nail seemed to get her, replayed in my mind, and I ached to be with her, to make up for everything going to shit. Even so, I smirked despite myself.
“All good?” Hawk asked, arching a brow. “That nail gun seems to have triggered some kind of response, and by the looks of it, I think it’s not a bad memory.”
“No. It’s nothing,” I said, straightening my tie. “It just reminded me I need to have my contractors triple-check every damn nail in my house.”
“Oh?” Titus chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve heard some shit in my life, Mitch, but lovers and nail guns? That’s a new one.”
I rolled my eyes and pulled my sunglasses back on, “Nah, man. I will say, though, my wife does keep my life interesting.”
“I can only imagine, brother,” he said, before the foreman returned after being pulled away earlier on an urgent build matter.
My mind drifted back to my lady while Titus entertained the man.
I loved how she kept me on my toes, how there could never be a dull moment if we tried.
The truth was, Avery kept me grounded. Even standing here, surrounded by millions of dollars’ worth of steel and men who followed my orders without hesitation, it was Avery’s laugh that anchored me.
The thought of her softening my edges after a day like this reminded me why I did it all.
The foreman called out numbers, and Titus’s attention snapped back to the plans. I let mine drift toward the horizon, where the ocean stretched endlessly blue. Business was good. Power was addictive. But what waited for me at home tonight was all that mattered and everything that kept me going.
After wrapping the morning business meeting with Titus over lunch, I headed back to the office to catch up on any business I hadn’t been able to handle over the phone.
We had three acquisitions on the table, each worth over four million—companies that should’ve been begging for our attention.
Easy deals, in theory. But, of course, these bastards all loved to act as if we needed them, not the other way around, which turned everything into a string of meetings and a goddamn hassle.
“Mr. Mitchell,” Brooke looked up from her computer.
“It’s going to have to wait,” I said, breezing by her computer after having read another needy text from Bronson on this fucking hassle of an acquisition.
“It can’t,” she said.
“Do you have an emergency?” I said, confused.
“Marco D’Amico is here. He—Ah…he’s already in your office.”
I turned from her and walked toward my office, jaw tightening. No one walked into my office without being invited or having an appointment scheduled.
Marco stood there in a rumpled linen suit, gold cufflinks flashing like he’d dressed for nostalgia instead of business. He didn’t move to shake my hand, and I didn’t offer one.
“Most people wait to be scheduled,” I said flatly.
He smiled, as if he thought he was charming. “My father never waited for invitations, Mitchell. Neither do I, especially when it’s about my family’s legacy.”
There it was. Legacy. I gestured toward the chair opposite my desk. “Sit.”
He did and leaned forward as if the office were his. “Four point three million is an insult for D’Amico’s Fine Provisions. You’ve seen the crowds. You know the Beverly Hills and Malibu stores—”
“Are bleeding cash,” I interrupted, voice cutting in like steel.
I slid a file across the desk. “Your net margins are at twelve percent. The Malibu location loses money three months of the year. And your E-commerce is a goddamn joke. The only thing keeping your valuation above four million is the Beverly Hills lease and your name recognition due to a TikTok viral video from a muck bang influencer.”
His jaw clenched. “You talk numbers, Mr. Mitchell. I talk history. Fifty years of family craft. Imported meats, olive oil from Umbria. You think people come to us for spreadsheets?”
“No. They come for nostalgia,” I said. “And nostalgia doesn’t pay the bills.”
I watched him huff and strain not to roll his eyes in frustration at me.
I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “Here’s the difference between us.
I don’t need D’Amico’s. My empire runs just fine without artisanal mortadella.
But I see potential, and my wife loves your panini, which is the only reason you’re sitting here instead of on your way to bankruptcy court in two years, give or take. ”
His brows shot up, but I didn’t let him speak.
“I’ve already funneled nearly a million dollars’ worth of business your way personally.
Every charcuterie board at my headquarters, at my regional offices, at my retreats, at my events.
I’ve had you provide them. Mitchell & Associates alone represents eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars in annual contracts for you.
You know what that means? It means I’ve already made you relevant again.
I also planned to order more for the company for this year’s holiday season, unless I should take my business to someone else? ”
I let the words settle before driving the nail in.
“So here are your choices. Take my four point three million, keep the D’Amico name on every storefront, and watch your brand expand to Vegas, Aspen, and Miami under my umbrella.
Or walk out of here, lose the contracts I’ve handed you so far, and watch your numbers dry up until your daughter is forced to sell at half the price. ”
Marco’s eyes flicked to the file he hadn’t wanted to touch. He knew I was right. Pride had him straining against it, but pride didn’t pay rent in Beverly Hills.
“You need me more than I need you,” I said, leaning back calmly. “And I don’t make the same offer twice.”
Silence. Then, finally, in a voice tight with swallowed pride, “I’ll speak with Claudia.”
“Do that,” I said, rising and turning back toward the city view beneath my office. “And next time? Make an appointment.”
“Thank you for your time,” he said, voice strained as he rose and quickly let himself out of my office.
I’d texted Avery earlier that unexpected bullshit had slowed things down at work, and I’d be home late. By eight, I was finally sending my last email after being stuck at the office all night and wondering if I’d end up sleeping here at this fucking rate.
It was just part of the damn business sometimes, being on the top floors while everyone else was out to dinner or enjoying their families.
My door creaked open, and my heart nearly jumped into my throat when my wife’s leg was the only thing I saw. Her red heel was slowly gliding up the side of the door as my heart picked up pace. Goddamn, I loved when she did this, and especially after days like this.
“I know I didn’t schedule a meeting, Mr. Mitchell,” she said, walking in like a goddess.
She locked the door behind her, turned back to me, and pulled off the long black coat she’d worn with her heels. Fuck me—the only thing she’d worn with her red stilettos.
“You’re so gorgeous,” was the only response I had to this much-welcomed surprise.
“Does that mean I’m not wasting your time like Mr. D’Amico did today?”
Her lips were painted bright red, her makeup flawless and intentional, and I was already hard with desire.
“Should I punish you, lover?” I said, trying to play her game.
She pushed my computer screen to the side, slipped onto my desk in front of me, while I instinctively slid my hands up her thighs, pulling myself closer to all the beauty spread out before me.
Her hands gently ran through my hair, “Oh, you’re going to fully punish me tonight. No distractions. Smooth desk, and memories of one of our first enjoyable moments together in England when I woke up and caught you working late like this.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to drive down here at eight in the evening.”
She looked at me with sympathy, her fingernails tracing my forehead. “Baby, eight in the evening was three hours ago.”
“What?” I said, looking at my watch. “Fuck.”
“Fuck is exactly right, and that’s what we’re about to do.”
“God, I love you,” I said before she lay back on my desk and spread her legs, inviting me to take her any way I wanted.
She softly moaned when my hands gripped her hips with purpose, and my lips and tongue ran up the insides of her thighs, gently claiming and tasting my wife’s smooth and flawless body.
Her soft whimpers and fingernails swirled in my hair, bringing me closer to where her sex was already pulsing and glistening. My tongue swept through her folds as she moaned. Goddamn, she tasted like warm caramel melting across my tongue. I needed this. I fucking needed her.
My dick was aching for more, but until Avery was racked with cries of pleasure for surprising me like this, I would wait.
Her hands reached up to grip the edge of the desk while she quickly escalated into beautiful pleasure.
I slid my fingers into her slick entrance, moving and circling along the spot she loved to ride aggressively into ecstasy.
Her hips bucked and her full breasts bounced while she heaved, and everything began to tighten around me as I moved my fingers in her.
“God, yes. Oh, Jim,” she cried, her orgasm building.
She grew wetter, her hand reaching into my hair, pulling it, and guiding me to taste her pleasure. My hand slid out just as her body tensed, bucked, and my mouth went directly to where her delicious, slick sex was feeding me her orgasm. My tongue went into her, tasting and desiring more.
I wasn’t going to last if I wasn’t inside of her.
My pants were off while Avery was still squirming in ecstasy, and I pushed in to feel her squeezing and pulsing all around my hard cock. The look in Avery’s eyes told me exactly how she wanted this, and I answered.
I thrust hard and deep, driving us both toward the edge, and to my thrill, she rode it higher, another shattering orgasm building to join mine.
I climbed over her, pressing her back against my desk, pinching one hard nipple—but craving her mouth, her lips, even more. My body tensed, pleasure surging through me like electricity searching for a place to ground itself.
Avery’s legs wrapped around me, holding me tightly while I exploded into her, both of us coming undone in the most violent yet beautiful way.
“Fuck,” I said, breathlessly. “Damn, I love you.”
She kissed the top of my head where it rested in the center of her chest. “I missed you today,” she said. “And I wasn’t going to let work steal you away from me again.”
I kissed her dewy flesh. “I’m sorry, but hell, having sex like this might train me to start doing this more often.”
She laughed, “Baby, if you do this shit often, your hand will be what reminds you not to leave your wife wanting more at home.”
This was everything I loved about my wife. Life may have been hectic and busy, but Avery and I always found a way to give each other what we needed right when we needed it most.