Maybe Dante was still upset about the time I’d roped Luca into hosting a Vegas penthouse party that ended with the cops shoving us into jail for the night. If so, that didn’t bode well for a favorable vote during my first evaluation, but I’d worry about that later.

I had more pressing matters at hand.

“Our Void system is perfect for this space,” my newest contractor said. “It doesn’t hit the market until late next year, but I’m happy to give you early access.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart, I assume.”

Killian Katrakis gave me an enigmatic smile. Name number seven.

Half-Irish and half-Greek, Killian was the CEO of the Katrakis Group Corporation, an international electronics, technology, and telecommunications conglomerate. They sold everything from cell phones and computers to TVs and commercial sound systems, the latter of which was the reason for his visit today.

Normally, this type of meeting was reserved for the account executives, not the CEO of the entire company. However, Kai had given me a direct line to Killian’s office, and Killian had been surprisingly intrigued when I mentioned where the club was located. He’d insisted on seeing the space and matching it with one of his systems himself.

“I’m a businessman, Xavier,” he said. “I don’t do anything out of the goodness of my heart.” He nodded around us. “The grand opening for this will make headlines around the world because it’s attached to your name. Every club owner out there will take notice and try to compete.”

“That includes buying the same sound system we used on opening night.” I cocked an eyebrow. “You have a lot of faith in my ability to pull this off.”

The reasoning he offered for granting me early access to the Void was a simple one, but I didn’t buy Killian’s concern over publicity for his company’s latest sound system. The entire product vertical made up a fraction of the Katrakis Group’s revenue compared to phones and laptops, but perhaps it was a passion project or a pride thing.

Billionaires were eccentric, and if the rumors were true, the notorious bachelor was eccentric in many ways.

“I have faith because I recognize the same quality in you that I’ve seen in every successful entrepreneur,” Killian said. “Hunger. You don’t want this to work; you need this to work because the club is a reflection of you. If it fails, you fail, and you would do anything not to fail.”

Unease crawled over the back of my neck.

Killian had me pegged to a tee, and we’d met less than an hour ago. Was I really that transparent, or was he really that good?

We finished our walkthrough of the vault. It needed work, but the bones were there—stone floors, original crown moldings, teller enclosures that could be transformed into bottle displays. Once I cleaned it up and installed my design elements, it was going to be a hell of a space.

“Who’s in charge of the design?” Killian asked, savvy enough to steer the conversation toward safer waters after his uncanny psychoanalysis.

“Farrah Lin-Ryan from F&J Creative.” Name number eight. She was the city’s premier interior designer for dining and hospitality spaces.

“Good choice,” Killian said with an approving rumble. “We’ve worked together on a number of projects.”

I knew Farrah was good, but it was reassuring to hear it from someone else.

After a few more questions about the design and a handshake deal, Killian promised to send a contract over and left for another meeting.

I stayed, soaking it all in.

It was my second time in the vault after Alex had handed over the keys, and I was still wrapping my head around the fact that it was mine. My place to shape, mold, and design as I saw fit (with some professional input). It was my responsibility, which was both thrilling and terrifying.

A familiar chime reverberated through the empty space.

I glanced down, my high melting into concern when I saw who was calling. I had a lunch date with Sloane soon, but I was too anxious to let the call roll to voicemail.

“Is everything okay?” I asked without preamble after picking up. Eduardo wouldn’t call me in the middle of the day unless something was wrong. Then again, it wasn’t like I had any more parents left to lose.

A brief, humorless smile flicked into existence at my dark humor. Coping mechanisms were coping mechanisms, no matter how morbid.

“I wanted to see how you were holding up and how the nightclub is going,” Eduardo said. “I’ve heard good things from Sloane, though she may be a bit biased considering the, ah, recent developments.”

So news of our relationship had made its way to Bogotá. I wasn’t surprised. I bet the inheritance committee was watching me like a hawk.

“We didn’t start dating until after I came up with the idea,” I said. “If you’re worried about it compromising Sloane’s judgment, don’t be. She’s not that type of person. She’ll be honest regardless of our relationship status.”

Even if she were the type to go easy on me because we were dating—which she wasn’t—I wouldn’t want her to. I’d succeed on my own merit or not at all.

“I know that, mijo, but not everyone does. There are growing whispers of her conflict of interest. She’s your publicist, and she’s one of your evaluators come May, yet you two are…involved,” Eduardo said delicately. “It doesn’t look good.”

“I don’t care how it looks.” Stubbornness set into my jaw. “We’re consenting adults. What we do in our free time is our business, and my father’s will didn’t say a thing about conflicts of interest, nor did it forbid me from dating a committee member. If anyone has a problem with us dating, they can take it up with the executor of his will. Sloane is one judge out of five, Eduardo. She won’t make or break the decision.”

“Unless there’s a tie, but I see your point.” A long pause preceded his next words. “I’ve never heard you so fired up over a woman.”

“She’s not just any woman. She’s…” Everything.

I almost said it. The word came so easily, it would’ve slipped right off my tongue had its potential implications not hit me at the same time like a hollow-point bullet.

Sloane couldn’t be my everything.

Yes, I cared about her deeply, and no, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. She set my blood on fire whenever she was near and when she hurt, I hurt. She was the only person with whom I felt comfortable enough to share the secrets I’d shared, and if a genie popped out of a bottle this very second and asked me to change something about her, I wouldn’t change a single thing.

But all that wasn’t the same as her being everything, because if she were everything, then that meant she…that meant I…

“Ah.” Eduardo’s voice softened. “I see.”

I didn’t know what he heard in my silence, but I wasn’t ready to face it. Not yet.

“How’s the CEO search going on your end?” I asked, abruptly switching subjects. I needed something to take my mind off my Sloane spiral, and the Castillo Group’s seemingly eternal CEO search was as good a distraction as any.

“It’s fine. The board probably won’t make a final decision until the New Year. There’s strong contention over which of the candidates is better suited for the role.”

“They should choose you.” I meant it as a quip because Eduardo had never wanted to be CEO, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. He was included on the shortlist as a courtesy, but why wouldn’t they choose him? I’d seen the other names; he could run circles around them. Plus, he wasn’t an asshole like ninety percent of the list.

His shocked laugh rolled over the line. “Xavier, you know this was always supposed to be a temporary arrangement. My wife would kill me if I took it on permanently.”

“She might be more open to it than you think.” Eduardo’s wife was unyielding when it came to family time, but she was also a lawyer. She understood how to balance work and her personal life, and I bet Eduardo did too. “You care about the company, you have the institutional knowledge, and you’re good at the job. You helped my father build it into what it is today. What external candidate could possibly beat that?”

Silence reigned for several beats. “I don’t know. It’s a big decision. Even if I want it, I can’t guarantee the board will go for it.”

“Just think about it. I bet the board isn’t pushing it because they think you don’t want it.”

“Maybe.” He sighed, the sound edged with sadness and frustration. “Alberto had to go and leave us with this mess, didn’t he?”

“He always did like fucking people over.” I leaned against a pillar and stared at the wall of old safe-deposit boxes across from me. The sight transported me back to Colombia—my father’s room, my mother’s letter, the scent of old books and leather during the reading of the will. “You know what I don’t understand? How and why my father failed to catch the loophole in his will. He didn’t stipulate the company I should be CEO of, Eduardo. Does that sound like Alberto Castillo to you?”

“No. At least not the Alberto Castillo I knew before his diagnosis. But impending death changes people, mijo. It forces us to confront our mortality and reevaluate what’s important.”