“Wilder” doesn’t even begin to cover it. The man totally ruined me for anyone else. How’s a girl supposed to recover from that? You broke my heart, Dallas Wilder! Come back to me!
I didn’t even know it was possible to have that many Os. Holy moly, I want to have your babies, Dallas Wilder. Call me!!!
It was by far the best night of my life. The man is a beastly, well-hung dream come true.
Or something along those lines. Which amuses Todd to no end.
“You killed it, Einstein.” It’s a nickname he gave me a long time ago. Todd and I met at Harvard when I was in my last year of my MBA and he was a sophomore. We became unlikely friends. He’s smart and has the kind of cool head it takes to be an effective investor. When I offered him a job, he jumped the Harvard ship to come work for me. “Standing ovation, bro.”
Aside from my brothers, Todd is the one person on the planet I genuinely trust. And he’s good at PR, which I need. If it wasn’t for Todd, I’d be content to hibernate in my own numbers vortex.
He forces me out of my own head. I’m a better leader withhim around and, with his help, I now run several multi-billion dollar funds that everyone from Wall Street to Main Street wants a slice of.
He’s also a blackbelt in karate, which means no one’s getting past him.
Literally everyone I’ve ever met has wanted a piece of me. What that piece is depends on who they are and whatever shape their desperation takes. I’ve had women assistants, but whatever professionalism they possess seems to get overridden by fantasies of sex with their boss. With Todd I don’t have to worry about that. He’s blond and athletic and has his own entourage. I’ve occasionally wondered if he swings both ways but I’ve never asked him. I’m more interested in the fact that he’s a good friend and an even better assistant. He acts as a kind of gatekeeper between me and the crowds.
The two of us hit it off because I have things to teach him and he’s fucking good at what he does. Organizing schedules. Making sure emails are answered. Checking notifications. All the shit I’m too busy or distracted to notice. We’re a good team.
“You practically started a religion out there,” he tells me.
“Sure.”
“For more than one reason.” He winks.
“Whatever,” I growl. I’m too pent-up to feel anything except a feral kind of rage that can only be relieved by one thing.
“You promised you’d stop in at the cocktail party they’re having in the main lobby,” he reminds me.
“Did I?”
“They wanted you to attend the formal dinner and after-party too, but I managed to get you out of those. There was,however, no dissuading them from making mepromiseyou’d show your face—briefly—at the cocktail party.”
“Fucking hell.”
“It’sNewOrleans, Dallas. They always have good parties. Who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone interesting. It won’t kill you to mingle for ten minutes.”
“It might,” I grumble.
“Okay, nine then. But no less. The driver will be waiting for you outside.” He pauses, looking almost guilty for a split second.
This gets me curious. “What?”
“In a white stretch limo.” Predicting my disgust, Todd gushes, “I’m sorry! I know you hate anything that obvious but it’s all I could get. They don’tdoMaybachs in NOLA, apparently. The driver will drop you at the rear private door of your hotel in the French Quarter where security will be waiting for you. It’ll be fine.”
This does nothing to calm me.
“You can survive nine minutes,” Todd assures me, leading me through door that leads into a crowded foyer. “Starting now.”
2
This is basicallymy idea of hell.
I grew up around A-list movie stars, directors that shaped and inspired generations, powerful studio moguls and every kind of celebrity. I was famous by proxy, first, and now I’m famous for my own reasons. I look like a movie star—I’ve been told this all my life and get offered roles and cameos at least once a month. I’m 6’3’’ and work out for ninety minutes a day because it’s the only way I know to release the stress of my job, which means I’m built as fuck. And I have more money than I could spend in several lifetimes.
All of the above tends to separate you from regular society.
Because of this, mingling with total strangers happens to be pure torture. “Regular” people who have never been close to money or fame have only two things to talk about: money and fame. Specifically,mymoney and fame.
