Putting Dallas aside—all the way on another continent, if possible—I focused on Farrow’s touch.
It scorched a path through my flesh and bones.
I suppressed a hiss, jerking my hand away and fixing her with a glare. “What are you doing?”
“I don’t know.” She toyed with a small smile. “Pushing you out of your comfort zone, maybe?”
“Well, don’t. I fucking like it there.”
But the bite in my voice wasn’t there.
Nor was my knee-jerk reaction to rush into the bathroom and scrub my skin clean until I peeled off the infected layer.
A flash of Dad, dead and stiff above me, still zapped through my head, except it didn’t linger. And I didn’t have the same horrible reaction I normally had to people touching me.
All I felt was… buzzed.
And a little seasick.
Farrow backed away, blowing a loose strand of hair out of her eye as she made her exit.
Dallas leaned in to give me air kisses. “Look at all this food.”
Her big, pregnant belly poked into my personal space. A dire reminder of the thing my mother expected of me. An heir. Someone to continue the Sun bloodline.
Romeo endured Brett Junior’s bro-hug, steering him away with a finger to his forehead.
“Check that your wallet is still in your back pocket,” I hissed to Rom, shooing away a busser when he tried to collect the knife speared in front of Junior’s plate.
Let it serve as a warning for the—hopefully brief—remainder of the night.
“Everything looks so good.” Dallas clapped, bouncing on her feet as much as she could with that thing cooking in her stomach. “Other than the company, I hear.”
She was a lovely creature, Dallas Costa. With lush chestnut curls tumbling past her shoulders. Emerald doe eyes, wide smile, and a figure most men would go to World War III for.
And yet, she stirred nothing in me.
Too loud, happy, and simple for my taste.
“White truffles.” She plucked a cavatappi noodle from a shared plate with her bare hand, catapulting it past her lips. “You got this for me, didn’t you?”
“All yours, now.” I gestured for a server to fetch me another steak knife, though my appetite had already shriveled into nothing.
Dallas slapped her Birkin to Romeo’s chest and hauled the entire oblong plate off the table, rushing to dump it on her placemat.
Within the chaos, Senior and Jasper remained silent. Too starstruck by the man in front of them to worry about our meeting being interrupted.
I supposed my guests required an explanation.
With Farrow gone, I relaxed, snapping my napkin open over my lap. “Rom and Oliver consult me off the books.”
A lie, of course.
I wouldn’t take Oliver to a brothel without worrying about his conduct, let alone a business meeting. But Ollie and Rom kept me in check.
For the most part.
“Oliver von Bismarck, I assume?” Senior—who did not come from money and never ceased to be enthralled by anyone born into it—leaned forward on his elbows and ogled me. “The duke?”
“Prussian nobility.” Oliver swept into the room, clad in a pale gray three-piece suit, swiping a hand over his golden curls. Considering he did not have a job, I had no idea where he’d come from looking like this. “Quite a useless title, once you’ve gone through most willing women in the world, if I’m honest.” He stole Jasper’s untouched wine glass on his journey to his seat, placing a kiss on the crown of Dallas’ head along the way. “Looking fabulous, Mrs. Costa. How’s my goddaughter doing in there?”
“Coming along nicely,” Dallas replied, chewing on a Boudin Blanc sausage at the same time.
The girl had less class than a cum stain.
“You’re high if you think I’ll put my trust in you with any female, let alone my own daughter.” Romeo claimed the seat next to his wife, while Oliver slopped beside Junior on the other end of the table. “Zach’s the godfather.”
“Get your head out of the gutter.” Oliver feigned disgust, glowering at Rom. “I would never try anything with the daughter of my own best friend.”
Romeo raised a brow. “Really?”
“Yes, really. That would be bad manners, seeing as I fully intend on seducing his sister-in-law.” Ollie tipped his glass, snapping his fingers in a server’s direction. “Grey Goose martini. Three olives. Actually, make it two. I’m drinking for Daytona Beach, as well.”
“It’s Dallas.” She pried a grape off the centerpiece and popped it into her mouth before discovering the hard way that it was decorative. “And please don’t make me your enabler.”
I steered the conversation to familiar territory. Sex—and everything that came with it—was not my area of expertise.
My attention settled on Senior, the least infuriating of my three guests. “I trust you received my official proposal.”
“We did.” He sliced into the buttery wagyu, scooping a dash of potato espuma and shiso chimichurri. “While it’s an interesting offer and we’re flattered, we do believe you undervalued our company by a billion dollars.”
Actually, I’d undervalued it by two billion, but he wanted to meet me in the middle.
“I did no such thing, Mr. Conner.” I reclined against the upholstery, ignoring my food. I didn’t do fine dining. I ate to survive. “In fact, all I’ve done was deduct my liability fee, which is sure to come.”
Junior frowned, angling his body forward. “Liability fee?”
His sunglasses perched on top of his nose.
Indoors.
Had Oliver arrived in his wife pleaser, he still wouldn’t be the worst dressed in the room.
“Yes, liability. I’m sure you’re familiar with the word, seeing as your existence sums it up.” Reluctantly, I turned to look at Junior. “Your company serves people who let others watch them suck toes and grind against public subway seats. This whole operation is a lawsuit waiting to happen. Therefore, I reserved the money I calculated I’ll need to hose the legal fecal matter off Dot Cum when shit hits the fan.”
Jasper tilted his head, reaching for his wine before remembering Ollie had stolen it. “You deducted one billion dollars because of an imaginary lawsuit?”
“It’s not imaginary.” Oliver cut into his steak. “People sue companies every day. If they can find a reason to sue a diaper company, what makes you think they can’t find a good reason to piss on a site where anyone can say they’re over eighteen and create pornographic content?”
“Not to mention, ad revenue for social media companies runs in the high nineties.” I fixed the utensils arrangement Farrow had screwed with until they aligned parallel to one another. “And about eighty percent of family-friendly corporations would never consider advertising on your platform.”
“It’ll be a bitch to bring the boys to your milkshake yard.” Romeo, who’d lost his mind almost two years ago, finished cutting his wife’s entire steak. “You can’t treat your estimated market value as a true and tested number.”
“Exactly.” Ollie snapped his fingers, receiving his martini and tipping my server a hundred bucks like he was at a restaurant. The man was as in touch with reality as a space cowboy. “Nobody wants to advertise their product next to a dick pic.”
Dallas grinned at Ollie. “Speaking of, wasn’t yours splayed on the cover of the New Yorker?”
The little troll.
“Well, yeah, but that is one photogenic penis.” Ollie popped a tiger prawn into his mouth. “It deserves an Esquire cover, leaning over a horse in cowboy gear.”
“I see you’ve given it some thought.”
He nodded. “Even hired an art director to give me pointers in case my beautiful penis is ever invited for a photoshoot.”
Dallas tipped a shoulder up. “Seen better.”
“You’re biased.” Ollie yawned, taking a swig of his martini like it was beer. “Another penis impregnated you. You have skin in the game.”
She patted her husband’s lap. “Rom actually has the most beautiful circumcision.”
Why were these people my friends?
Why had I not opted to live in a cave in the Alps?
I had zero desire to discuss other people’s genitalia.
“Dad.” Junior finally ripped the sunglasses off his face, stomping his gold Versace sneakers. “You can’t sell it at a bill under the market value. That’s crazy.”
Senior glanced Jasper’s way. The latter rolled his tongue along his teeth, rearranging his new glass of wine by its stem without a word.
His gaze shifted back to me. “Is one billion your best and final offer?”
“While I’m still in the race.” I laced my fingers together. “I have a terrible attention span when it comes to acquiring new companies. The industry is ever-changing. So is my mind.”
“Dad, no,” Junior pleaded, his eyes clinging to his father’s face. “They’re pressuring you, so they can rip you off. Let’s not sell. I’ll pull some more hours. This time, I’ll even come to the office every day. I swear—”
“Shut up and let me think,” Senior barked, smacking the table.
Utensils and plates clattered. Some food rolled off the edge.
Dallas groaned. “Not the stuffed cherries.”
The catering staff burst into the room, collecting the plates from our second entrée and replacing them with fresh ones for the next round.
An outstretched hand grabbed my untouched food. I eased in my seat a little, knowing it was Farrow near me.
That, even if our elbows brushed, I wouldn’t keel over.
She bent over the table next to my right arm, trying to reach a side dish. Her short dress rode up her smooth thighs, revealing the curve of her flawless round ass.
Miraculously, my fingers itched to claw onto the back of her knee. To ride up north along her inner thigh. To cup her pussy through her underwear from behind and slide a pinky into her panties, rubbing the seam of her tight, little pussy.
Desire singed my neck, coiling in tight ribbons down my body, sliding past my chest and stomach to my dick.
I was hard.
For the first time in my life, I was hard because of a woman.
A woman with flesh and blood.
In theory, I’d always appreciated women sexually, but never up-close. The realization that I actively wanted to touch Farrow Ballantine floored me.
I wasn’t merely not-disgusted anymore.
I was actively yearning.
“Excuse me, Mrs. Costa, gentlemen.” Senior stood. “I’m going to need a minute with Jasper.”
Junior jerked to his feet, running his tongue along his teeth.
His father shook his head. “Alone.”
Junior blinked in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”
I gestured toward the door, voice thick with the pain of untapped desire. “There’s a drawing room to your left.”
After Jasper and Senior strolled out, Junior dragged his fingers through his hair, tugging hard as he glanced around.
He squinted at Oliver. “Hey, didn’t I have a threesome with you at some point?”
“Fivesome.” Oliver shook his head, checking his phone with a frown. “Though two backed out at the sight of your sword. Or should I say, your pocket knife.”
Dallas giggled.
Romeo sighed.
“Why, this is shocking,” Farrow whispered, her breath fanning my ear. She collected more dirty dishes from the table, tapping the knife. “I’d have never assumed.”
I didn’t know why, but there was something fundamentally wrong about seeing her serving us. Dallas, especially.
Farrow deserved to sit shoulder-to-shoulder with the Southern belle. To gossip and flaunt a designer frock. To have everyone’s attention and adoration.
She deserved the fucking world, and I hoped one day someone gave it to her. Even if the thought that it wouldn’t be from me made it hard to breathe.
Dallas beamed, erecting a hang-loose sign with a head bob. “Right on, sister.”
Junior sneered at Farrow. “Nobody asked your opinion, Cinderella.”
“Watch your mouth when you talk to her.” Yet again, I speared the table with a steak knife, eliciting intense reactions from everyone seated. “Or I’ll make sure you don’t have enough teeth to speak.”
“Oh.” Oliver plastered a hand over his forehead, slithering it down with a shake of his head. “Not the help, Zachary. Who would’ve thought you, of all people, would turn out just like Chris?”
Rom paused mid-slice. “Chris?”
“Christopher Marshall.”
“Never heard of him. Is he someone whose life we’ve ruined?”
“The Senatorial candidate,” Farrow provided, unfazed by it all. “In that J-Lo movie.”
“Finally.” Oliver stood, showering her with golf claps. “A woman of depth and culture. Maid in Manhattan. I tear up every time.” He scooped up an invisible tear with the back of his finger. “Though I’m sure Zachary over here is more about the Maid in Maryland life.”
It didn’t surprise me that Ollie knew all about Farrow and her cleaning company. Mom probably vented to him over almond cookies and freshly imported da hong pao before whining to Romeo.
“Shut up.” I pointed a fork at my two best friends—a reformed psychopath and a fuckboy with more mileage than a used car. “Both of you.”
Farrow turned to Dallas, ignoring me. “Hey, you should totally try the stuffed bone marrow elote we’re bringing in a sec. They’re to die for.” She jerked a thumb toward me. “I scarfed down all of this buzzkill’s portion in two seconds flat.”
Dallas drew a palm to her cleavage. “Did we just become best friends?”
“I believe so.”
Dal whipped her phone out. “I’ll get us T. Swift tickets.”
Farrow wiggled her brows. “I’ll make us friendship bracelets. Favorite colors?”
“Purple and green.”
Junior pinned Farrow with his dilated pupils, ready to launch into another tirade. “Speaking of being stuffed…”
He fought a bout of sniffles, coked out of his mind, nose snowed in more than a Syracuse Christmas.
But Farrow didn’t pay attention to him. She was already on her way out, balancing seven dirty plates in one palm.
Junior swiped his nose and stood, following Farrow. “I’m going to make a quick dash to the bathroom.”
Oliver pulled his chair back and heaved a sigh. “I’ll make sure he behaves.”
“No.” I got up, raising my palm. “He’s past a little spanking. Stay here.” I paused. “And maybe call my lawyer.”
Junior flattened out his tracksuit, muttering incomprehensible things. “Gotta teach this girl a lesson…”
My jaw locked. “Definitely call my lawyer.”
I stalked Brett as he traced Fae’s steps, cracking his neck and knuckles. She entered the main kitchen, oblivious to the men following her.
Brett and I filed inside, watching as she unloaded the plates into an already filled sink.
“Oof.” She planted a hand on the counter and wiped her brow. “What a piece of work.”
“What a piece of ass.” Junior advanced, stopping short of the counter, mere inches from her.
She didn’t look up from the dishes, flipping the faucet on to rinse the plates. “I wouldn’t try anything stupid if I were you.”
“Yeah?” He scooted closer, boiling the blood in my veins to a temperature more suitable for the sun. His sniffing was out of control. “Why’s that?”
“Because I can hit harder.”
“Oh, so you like it rough, do you?”
I watched with painstaking stillness as Junior raised his hands, wiggled those sticky fingers, and stretched them out, aiming for her ass.
He neared his destination, almost rounding the curve between the cheek and those toned legs that moved with graceful skill on the piste.
“Farrow.”
The strain in my own voice surprised me.
Junior’s hand froze midair.
Octi whipped her head around, blinking at me, surprised. “What?”
“Are you squeamish?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I slid my knife out and tossed it right into Brett Junior’s outstretched hand.
