CHAPTER ONE SEBASTIAN
Ripping off my tie, I toss it on the hotel bed and walk over to the bar.
London.
I am eager to get home to Manhattan even though I love this city. My grandparents brought me here on vacation when I was a young boy, so it’s always had a special spot in my heart. I still have the little red toy bus Grandad bought me.
Right now, it’s fucking cold. Then again, so is NYC. The holidays are over and spring feels like it’s far away.
Perhaps that’s because I’ve been in Dubai when it’s a million degrees warmer. Approximately.
I tug the top off the crystal decanter and pour myself a finger of whisky. Taking a sip, I let out a sigh.
Things are going well.
The Crown Plaza development is on track and Sheikh Kalid Al-Mansour, our biggest investor, is pleased.
I think. Spending a few days with him in the United Emirates was a smart move.
Not that I could afford the time, but as CEO of Remington Obsidian Holdings—the leading luxury real estate development firm in the United States—networking is part of the job.
It's how I became so successful so quickly.
At thirty-four, I’m worth billions and have very happy shareholders.
Some of them are the team who started with me from day one over twelve years ago. A couple were Harvard classmates. I couldn’t pay them the salary they were worth at the time, so they accepted the shares offered and took a chance on me.
Now, those that didn’t sell their shares early on are sitting pretty. Along with their healthy multi-six-figure salaries, they have holiday homes and boats and all that shit.
The Remington name is now synonymous with luxury and success and more importantly, profit. Which brings higher quality partners, easy financing of projects and...women.
A lot of women.
This is the part where you expect me to sit down with my whisky, lift my feet onto the coffee table, light a cigar, and smirk. Right? After all, I’m rich, I can fuck whoever I choose, and money is dripping from my Armani suits and Tom Ford shoes.
All of which is true.
I’ve also got two loving parents, who for the most part didn’t fuck me up too badly; a sister who isn’t all that annoying; and I’m six foot three, broad chested and have a six pack.
So, life doesn’t suck.
But I haven’t told you my entire story.
Let’s rewind to my Harvard college days. It was there I met Maison, Drew, Colt, and Zander.
And...Jack.
I walk to the window of my hotel and stare out at the London skyline. Fucking Jack. I shake my head and toss back the whisky.
I should’ve poured two fingers if I was going to go down this memory lane.
Jack fell in love.
Sandy and Jack.
I never liked Sandy, and she knew it. From the moment I met her I knew she was a snake. Her attraction to my friend felt fake, and the sideways glances she’d send my way threatening me to say something grated at my nerves.
I wanted to shake Jack and tell him to open his eyes, but he never did.
The moment they graduated the two of them married.
Three months later he was dead.
The clincher? Jack was the heir to a multi-seven figure fortune. Money that Sandy is now rolling around in, chuckling. Actually, I don’t know what she’s doing, and I don’t fucking care. What’s done is done and it left a mark on all of us.
As far as I’m concerned, it’s not a fucking coincidence that he inherited it just months before Sandy showed interest in him.
At first Maison and Drew pulled me aside.
“He loves her man, give Sandy a break,” Maison said, cornering me at our favorite bar.
“Loves her tits.” I sneered over at them, watching him hang on her every word.
“Well”—Maison rubbed his jaw—“they are nice tits. But she’s okay.”
“Come on. Drew, back me up here.”
“Oh man. He’s happy. Look at him.” Drew shrugged, using his glass to point their way.
“That’s called cunt-struck.” I shook my head. “Sandy never even looked at him until recently. Am I the only one who sees through her bullshit?”
“So, you don’t think Jack can pull a girl like Sandy?” Colt asked, joining us.
Asshole.
He put me on the spot.
Jack wasn’t in the same league as the rest of us and we all knew it. Fuck, even Jack knew it. But that wasn’t what this was about. My instincts were screaming that Sandy was only in it for the money.
Six months later when we graduated and she held up her hand showing us her diamond ring, Zander glanced my way, and I knew he was thinking the same thing.
“There’s no hurry,” I said to Jack a week later.
“Life is short, Seb.” Jack slapped me on the back. “When you find the one, why wait. I want to live. Sandy is the woman I love.”
God those words haunt me.
“So why not just take your time?”
“Marriage is important to Sandy.”
I bet it is, I’d thought.
“Come on, she’s not a virgin,” I’d said before catching myself.
I still don’t know if that comment cost me my place as his best man, but Drew ended up with that honor. It was probably for the best, I wouldn’t have kept my thoughts to myself on the day if I’d had to stand beside him.
They then had a long honeymoon in the Seychelles and three months into the marriage we get a call saying Jack was dead.
Cardiac arrest.
“He just collapsed!” Sandy sobbed against Drew’s chest when we all raced to the hospital that night, while her parents hovered nearby. “My Jack. My darling Jack.”
Oh please.
Drew patted her back and caught my eye, his unsaid words screamed, you were right.
Sandy might have fooled Jack, but her acting that night was terrible.
When the coroner said he found a small needle-like mark behind his ear, we pushed for an investigation while Sandy’s drama continued.
“It was his grooming tool. How dare you! Jack was the love of my life.”
“You mean the guy who left all his money to you and never asked you to sign a prenup?”
“Fuck you, Sebastian.”
“No. You won’t.” I’d ground out, wishing I was the sort of man who could punch a woman, just once. Just for one fucking second.
But I wasn’t.
A few days later the five of us stood around Jack’s grave as he was lowered into the ground, grinding our teeth while Sandy wailed. She wore a black pant suit and stood clutching a black rose.
Then, tossed it onto his coffin.
When her eyes lifted they locked with mine and I saw the glint within them as her lips curled up, knowing she’d gotten away with murder. From that moment on, we referred to her as the Obsidian Viper.
Unable to prove that Sandy killed Jack, we made a pact to never forget our friend nor be blind to women sinking their claws into our fortune.
We all come from wealthy families and are now billionaires in our own rights. None of us have married and I’m almost certain we all won’t.
The thought is terrifying—not surprising after what we witnessed.
My phone buzzes and I reach into my Armani pocket to pull it out.
“Hello,” I answer roughly.
“Mr. Remington, I have bad news.” My temporary PA, Jeremy, says nervously.
He’s been working for me for three months and thank fuck he finishes up today. If the guy could kiss my asshole I’m pretty sure he would. It drives me crazy.
Whether he swings that way, I haven’t asked.
I know he’s trying to be efficient but he’s not. I need someone who can get the job done and has a few more brain cells than the average person.
Apparently, HR has found someone.
We will see.
“What is it?”
If this is about the fucking photocopier again...
“Your jet is broken,” Jeremy tells me.
I freeze, except my eyebrows which shoot up, unable to process what he’s saying.
“What do you mean it’s broken?” My voice a little pitchier than I’m comfortable with.
“Something about fuel pump. I pushed to get a time frame on it, but the parts won’t be in England for forty-eight hours.”
Fuck.
I need to get home.
I was planning to leave London around mid-morning and fly to New York, then have Sunday to get my body back to local time. I have a busy week ahead and need to be at the office early Monday morning.
“So,” Jeremy continues. “I booked you a first-class ticket on the red-eye to JFK, arriving tomorrow morning.”
My brows furrow this time.
“What?”
Commercial.
I don’t fucking fly commercial.
I don’t do people and need to make some phone calls while I am flying over nine hours.
“I hope that’s okay. I was going to book both seats in the aisle, but I didn’t know if you’d think that was going overboard.”
No.
But I can see why he would. Proving he was never the right assistant.
Goddamn it. I need to get home. I can’t afford another day away from the office, despite being able to work anywhere in the world. I need to connect with my team and ensure the Crown Plaza project is moving forward.
Attending the gala in Dubai that Kalid held in my honor on the last night of my visit was supposed to solidify our contract and all the concerns he’d been voicing.
He disappeared halfway through the evening and while his brother, Rashid—his close adviser—told me to enjoy my night and that they would be in contact, something has been bothering me.
I might not be an expert on their culture but suddenly disappearing likely isn’t a good sign.
Then again, neither is the fact his daughter slid her hand over my thigh during dinner and got a handful of my cock.
My soft cock, for the record.
I grabbed her hand, turned to her with a stern glare, and slowly moved her hand away.
I could only see her eyes, but they were full of the kind of mischief most men dreamed of.
Jesus fuck.
Did she have no idea what she was playing at?
She could have gotten me killed.
No fucking thanks.
“Are you there, sir?”
“Yes.” I turned and strode back to the whisky, pouring two fingers this time.
Taking a large sip, I let out a noisy gasp. “Red- eye. Arrive tomorrow. Got it. Send me the flight details. And Jeremy?”
“Yes Mr. Remington.”
“Make sure you clear out your desk and leave instructions for your replacement before you leave tonight.”
Silence.
Then, “Yes sir. Um, thank you. It’s been a really great experience work—”
Jesus.
I press end, toss back the last of the whisky and head into the bathroom for a shower.
At best, I’ll get five hours’ sleep.
Commercial, Jesus.
What did I do to deserve this hell?
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