“Fifty percent,” she counters, despite a less than quiet argument from her friend.
“Seventy.”
“Sixty.”
“Done. Have a better day, Hot Mess.” I end the call and stare at the group chat, chewing my lip as I reread Mina’s text. Who types something like that into a chat as a joke? And worse, who accidentally hits send while dropping a phone?
Sitting back, I stare at the ceiling while I think, then grin as I come up with the perfect response to earn the sixty percent discount I just negotiated on Miss Blake’s interior design services.
Dear Hot Mess Express… As I’ve mentioned before, discussing your lifelong crush on me is inappropriate, especially in group chats.
Let’s move this to a private thread.
Chuckling to myself, I close my laptop and head to bed, my mood inexplicably brighter than it was twenty minutes ago.
FIVE
Nathan
Muffled voices outside my office door drag my attention from the proposal I’ve been working on for the foundation’s upcoming charity gala. I need one more quiet hour to put the finishing touches on this thing, but the hubbub sounds like someone out there has big enough balls to go toe to toe with my assistant.
My intercom buzzes with her voice close behind. “I’m very sorry to bother you, Mr. West, especially after you specifically asked not to be disturbed.” There’s a long, passive aggressive pause and if I know Rita MacDonald, there’s a matching look shooting through her Elton John worthy glasses. “But I have a Mr. Dominick Taylor here for you,” she continues. “He claims it’s urgent.”
If anyone is a match for Rita, it’s Dom. He doesn’t believe the word “no” applies to him.
So much for finishing that proposal.
“Send him in.”
The door swings open and Dom steps in. He’s dressed in white slacks, a light blue button down with the top three buttons undone, and a dark gray blazer with loafers, no socks. Very trendy. Very expensive. He claims the look makes him ready for business or pleasure at a moment’s notice and so far, he’s been right. Dom never looks like he’s working but is always in the middle of seducing someone out of their money…or their clothes.
He closes the door and leans on the wall, hands shoved in pockets, dark eyebrows raised. “You spend too much time in this office.”
Great. It’s gonna be one of those days where I get lectured on my dedication to work.
“I can’t wish this expansion into existence.” I tear my focus from the screen and sit back. “The work has to get done.”
“The work can get done elsewhere. If you weren’t chained to your desk, I wouldn’t have to battle that walking spreadsheet you call an admin to tell you Frederick Chantal is hosting a reception tonight.” Dom pauses as if he’s relayed sufficient information for me to understand the reason behind his visit.
“Good for Frederick Chantal.” I highlight a worthless line in the proposal and smash the delete key. “And be nice to Rita. I’d be lost without her.”
“You’d be lost without me. Come on, Nathan. Leave the office for the worker bees and spend time with people who like spending money. That isn’t wishing the expansion into existence. That’s being smart enough to use the tools at your disposal.”
“Tell me why I care about Frederick Chantal?”
“Because he’s new money.” Dom quirks his lips in distaste. “He made his fortune in tech under some seriously shady circumstances. Now he’s looking to prove he isn’t the asshole the media’s making him out to be.”
“Good for him.” I type the beginning of a new line, hate it, delete it, and glare at the screen. “I love hearing these success stories. It’s inspiring to know humanity is so generous and altruistic.”
“Do I really need to spell it out for you?” Dom scoffs. “Don’t you think making a large donation to a well-known charity might be exactly the proof our friend Frederick is looking for?”
“He doesn’t sound like the kind of friend I’m looking for.” I get enough shit from the family for hanging out with Dom. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s not necessarily a good one either. That’s enough for the people in my life to write him off.
“Damn it, Nathan. I despise these moods of yours. If you really want to save the world, you’re gonna need money. And it’s time to face facts. Nothing is as perfect as you want it to be. People are people. We do shitty things from time to time, brother.” Dom pushes off the wall to lean on the desk. “Bring a date to Frederick’s thing. Might fix this permanently bitchy mood of yours.”
“Not gonna happen.”
After Blossom took advantage of me, I wrapped my bleeding heart in barbed wire. No one, and I mean no one, will mistake my kindness for weakness again. The first step to making sure that stays true is that healthy dose of self-imposed celibacy my dick didn’t seem so interested in last night.
Dom eyes me, then sighs in relief. “At least you didn’t give me the barbed wire speech again,” he says, then pauses, looking disappointed. “But you were thinking it, weren’t you? Come on, Nathan. You’re young. Rich. Attractive. You were dealt a winning hand. Play it, for fuck’s sake.” Dom straightens. “I’ll send you the details so we can talk about it when you’re not being a stubborn ass.”
“Gee, Dom. Love you too,” I say as he leaves, passing my cousin Nick Hutton on his way out.
On paper, they’re nearly identical. Both men come from wealthy families, both have personalities that demand respect and are driven to make their mark on the world. Both are tall, with dark hair and strong builds, but that’s where the similarities stop. Nick’s Marine training makes him more physically imposing, but only until you strike up a conversation and get a taste of Dom’s razor-sharp intellect. Nick sees the good in everyone he meets, while Dom can suss out an ulterior motive in seconds. They exchange a lukewarm greeting for my benefit.
“My God! He lives!” Nick gives Rita a knowing look before he steps into my office. He’s always felt more like a big brother than a cousin. Younger me looked up to him like the sun rose and set on his shoulders, and if I’m honest, older me still does. He’s just one of those guys you want in your corner.
I stand to offer a back thumping hug. “Was there any doubt?”
Nick runs a hand over freshly cropped dark hair—a clear sign he’s frustrated—then chews his bottom lip—a sign he’s trying to hide it. “Seeing as you only leave this room to give that journalist ammo for her articles, there’s been talk we might need to stage an intervention at your birthday party this Friday.”
With a deep sigh, I drop back into my chair. “Not funny.”
“I agree.” Nick swipes a hand over his mouth. “Self-destruction didn’t need a new poster child, man.”
I rest my ankle on my knee, arms crossed in defiance. This might be the first time I don’t want him in my corner, if that’s how he sees me.
“Self-destruction? Really?” I fire back. “I’m pouring myself into work—a charity, mind you—because I might be onto something that could make a difference for a lot of people. Gosh, Nick. I think you’re right. I do need an intervention instead of a birthday party.”
Currently, ROF’s focus is on supporting underprivileged children, but with the economy crushing the middle class there are more and more adults who need help too. People are sick and unable to afford care, even with medical insurance. People need jobs. Or education. Or hell, a roof over their head and food in the fridge. I want to expand the foundation’s scope to include anyone who needs a reversal of fortune—young, old, and in between.
Because Dom is right.
I was dealt a winning hand.
And this is how I intend to play it.
Nick pulls out his phone, unlocks the screen, and reads, “Nathan West’s fall from grace is punctuated by dazzling women decorating his arm, spectacular starlets whose fame insulates them from the dumpster fire that is the former philanthropist’s entrance into his villain era…” He glances up, one eyebrow arched. “Villain era, Nathan. This isn’t you.”
Fucking Fallon Mae. If I ever meet her, I’ll ruin her. And while I’m at it, I’ll take down anyone connected to her. Friends, family, even distant cousins will feel my wrath.
“This isn’t my villain era.”
Though Mina Blake would disagree. Only a villain would charge an obscene amount of money just to send a text.
Nick pulls out a chair and takes a seat. “You’re building some kind of lair—”
Fuck me. Apparently, my cousin disagrees as well.
