Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 26892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 134(@200wpm)___ 108(@250wpm)___ 90(@300wpm)
I’ve built my empire on knowing when to take risks—and when to walk away.
Until I raise my paddle at a charity auction and win a date with Genevieve.
Gennie is picking up the pieces after being made to feel like she wasn’t enough. But I see what no one else does.
The beauty.
The strength.
The woman she truly is.
One date turns into something I never expected. Something I can’t walk away from.
There’s just one problem…I’m not supposed to want her.
She’s my son’s ex-girlfriend.
And I’ve never wanted anything more
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
prologue
GAVIN
A Few Days Earlier
The air inside the grand ballroom at The Whitmore is thick with the cloying scent of expensive perfume, alcohol, and desperate social climbing. Crystal chandeliers hang low from the ceiling, swags of fabric line the walls, and the floral arrangements are on the verge of ostentatious. Millions of dollars are floating around the room in the form of designer clothing, expensive diamonds, and whoever can outbid the other.
I’d be concerned about this being a guise for childhood cancer research, except I’ve worked with the family who holds this event. It’s rooted deeply in them to help others when their own child couldn’t be helped. They’re good people, and it’s a good cause, even if the event costs a ten grand, not including your bids during the auction.
I lean against the high-top table near the back of the room, adjusting my cufflinks in my Tom Ford tuxedo. I already wrote a check for half a million dollars before I even stepped through the doors tonight. I don’t need to be here. In fact, I hate these events—the fake smiles, the surface-level conversations, the endless parade of people trying to talk business.
Yet here I fucking am.
In my left hand, I hold a lowball crystal-cut glass filled with two fingers of Macallan 25, the amber liquid swirling lazily against the ice. In my right hand, I loosely grip an auction paddle with the number 15 in bold black color.
“You look like you’re about to execute someone, Gavin,” Nolan mutters, coming up beside me, a drink of his own in his hand. His eyes scan the crowd with practiced detachment of a man who deals in high-stakes corporate takeovers for a living. I would know considering we’re one and the same.
“I’d rather be executing a deal,” I grunt, taking a slow sip. The smooth burn of the alcohol hits the back of my throat. “Or sleeping.”
“Relax. It’s for the kids. Plus, my wife promised me if I stayed until the live auction, I’d be well rewarded,” Vik chimes in from the other side, crossing his arms over his chest barely contained by his massive size.
“And that’s a conversation I don’t want to hear about,” Nolan mumbles, tossing back the rest of his drink.
“You’ll get it. One day.” Vik is completely unbothered. “And right now, she’s helping direct the production on the stage.”
My eyes drift toward the elevated velvet-draped stage at the front of the ballroom. The first event the charity is running is an auction with a date for which men and women volunteer, a meeting of sorts type of package to raise funds. It’s frivolous, absurd, and entirely not for me. I have zero intention of participating. I’m just waiting for the main event to wrap up so I can take my private car back to my place and lose myself in work.
“Next up, ladies and gentlemen, we have package number seven!” The emcee’s voice booms over the speakers. Around us, people applaud, and I nearly scoff. Jesus, I’m a bear tonight. “Featuring a date with one of our very own volunteers.”
The curtains part, and she steps out on the raised polished wooden dais. The temperature in the room seems to drop by ten degrees, or maybe all the air is suddenly vacuumed out of my lungs. There stands a woman in a floor-length emerald-green silk gown that clings to every single curve of her body like a secret. The deep jewel tone makes her honey-bronzed skin practically glow beneath the stage lights. Her neckline dips tantalizingly low, revealing the elegant slope of her collarbones and the swells of her breasts. The damn dress has a thigh-high slit on the left side, teasing the length of a smooth, curvy thigh every time she takes a small, hesitant step forward. Her chestnut curls are swept up, leaving the long, delicate line of her neck completely exposed.
She looks breathless. Nervous. Stunning in every way possible.
“Ah,” Vik says, his tone shifting, noticing my intrigue. “That’s Gennie. Sweet girl. Busts her ass for this foundation. She worked for hours setting up the décor along with working at Sterling Capital.
“She works on another floor, not for him,” Nolan adds, his voice low, masculine, and approving as his eyes trace the line of her dress. “Focused. Doesn’t play the socialite games. Good girl.”