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)
“Way to help calm my nerves.” I bury my face in a throw pillow. “He spent an exorbitant amount of money for me? God, will he expect more? And why were Nolan and Vik with him?”
“Excuse me, what? Vik and Nolan? And he better not expect more unless you’re willing to give it to him, or else my size-eight Doc Marten boot will be shoved up his ass so fast, he won’t see what’s coming.” She absolutely would do all that and more.
“Yep, those two. They were one thousand percent for sure in cahoots.” I toss the pillow to the side.
“Okay, please tell me you got his name,” Jett all but demands.
“I did,” I mumble. “The emcee said his name when he won. The charity also sent over the confirmation details for the reservation tonight. His name is Gavin Rhodes.”
“Okay, pulling up the results now…” Jett says, her voice dropping into her focused investigative tone. I can only imagine the search engines, background databases, and social media networks she’s pilfering through. “Holy shit.”
“What? What is it? Is he a mob boss? White-collar criminal? The suspense is killing me.” I hold my breath, clutching the phone tightly against my ear.
“Gennie.” A low whistles echoes through the speaker. “Gavin Rhodes is a hotel empire billionaire—luxury resorts, five-star properties all over the globe. He’s worth thirty billion dollars, and he rarely—and by that, I mean never—attends public charity galas. There isn’t a single piece of tabloid gossip on him. No high-profile exes, no public scandals.” She pauses for a moment, and I can hear the rustle of her moving closer to the screen. “And, sweetie? The photos must not do him justice, but wow. He looks like he was carved out of marble by a sculptor who has a severe fixation on ridiculously handsome men. Look at your texts right now. I just sent you his Forbes profile photo.”
My phone buzzes in my hand. With trembling fingers, I tap the screen, putting Jett on speaker before opening my messages. The high high-resolution photo expands on my screen. Piercing gray eyes. A shadow of dark stubble tracing a razor-sharp jawline. An expression that’s cold, calculated, and utterly dominant on his face. Yet even in a polished corporate portrait, there’s an edge to him, a dangerous intensity that matches the exact look he gave me from the back of the ballroom. And there in bold letters is his name listed as CEO of The Summit House.
“He bought you for one hundred grand, Gennie.” A mischievous spark is in her voice. “You are not canceling this date.”
“Jett, I’m a marketing coordinator who wears oversized clothes, hides behind the computer screen, and prefers a good book over nights out,” I squeak, staring at his photo. “Look at him. He probably eats people like me for breakfast!”
“Then you better dress like a snack,” Jett shoots back without missing a beat. “Listen to me, you are going on this date. You are going to wear that killer little black dress that’s been hanging in the back of your closet from when you dumped the douche canoe. You are going to hold your head high, and you are going to let a gorgeous billionaire buy you the most expensive steak in the city.”
“And if he looks at me like he wants to devour me whole?” I ask.
“Then let him.” I can practically see her grin through the phone. “Now get some sleep. You have a hot date to prepare for, and I’ve got reinforcements to call. I might not be able to be there, but our girls will.” We hang up a few minutes later, and the silence of my apartment returns. I set my phone on the coffee table, the image of Gavin Rhodes seared in my mind.
My stomach flutters with a wild, terrifying mix of anxiety. I’m not going to cancel only because I know Jett and the girls will hold me accountable. I couldn’t.
Because deep down, beneath all of the panic, I want to know what this gorgeous man sees in me.
CHAPTER TWO
gavin
The ice in my tumbler has long since melted into the lukewarm scotch, but I have zero intention of ordering another drink to pass the time. I’m sitting at the far edge of the bar, angled with a deliberate precision so I can keep my eyes glued to the entrance without looking like a fucking predator lying in wait.
Though that’s exactly what this is.
God knows I would have picked her up at her apartment. I even offered a car and a private driver once they shot down the idea of me picking her up at her apartment. The charity coordinator was adamant about ground rules, and more importantly, I knew pushing the subject would only make Gennie skittish. She was visibly shaken after the spectacle I created at the auction. She looked like a terrified doe caught in the high beams on a dark, desolate night. So, I played the patient, civilized gentleman adhering to the protocol and let her arrive on her own terms.