prologue
CORINNE
Two Weeks Earlier
“Thank you,” I tell the driver as I step out of the hired car at the entrance of Aura. The little satin black dress I’m wearing hugs my waist before drifting over my hips and outline every curve of my body. The fine lace-edged sweetheart neckline adds a touch of softness to the otherwise slip of material. My shoulders are bare save for the thin spaghetti straps, and the hem brushing the tops of my thighs makes the dress feel less like clothing and more like temptation wrapped in silk. It’s effortless in looks and style.
“Have a good night,” he responds as I close the door. With my purse in one hand and my phone in the other, I make my way toward the entrance, where people are waiting in line to get in, along with a hefty cover charge. If it weren’t for Alex and Jett and their infinite connections, I’d have to fork out more money than I care to spend on a girls’ night out.
While Alex works at Sterling Capital with Seraphina, the same can’t be said for myself. Oh no, sitting behind a computer isn’t my idea of fun. I’d much rather be on my feet all day,wearing compression socks beneath my scrubs and a surgical cap on my head. I once had big aspirations to be a head chef in a five-star Michelin restaurant. Went through the first six months of school and absolutely hated it. My love of cooking wasn’t enough to deal with the grueling screaming non-stop when you so much as make the slightest mistake in the kitchen. A million times worse than nursing school and dealing with hothead doctors.
I avoid the line and head straight for the bouncer. A couple of people make comments, and while I feel slightly bad, you couldn’t pay me to be in their shoes on a Wednesday night.
“Name?” a big beefy guy asks when he notices me.
“Cory Pierson.” He doesn’t look up from his clipboard, only gives me a quick nod, then another bouncer opens the door to allow me inside the ultra-luxurious, uber-classy nightclub. Three floors of a glass and steel tower overlooking the glittering Seattle skyline. The man floor pulses with energy. Music thrums through the hidden speakers, and the bass vibrates under my bright red stilettos as I walk further in.
Alex and Jett worked their magic once again, I think to myself as I walk along the perimeter. Velvet booths are housed by socialites, athletes, aspiring influencers, and everyday people. Yet the true elite never stays downstairs. Hidden behind a wall of smoked glass is an elevator, which will take me upstairs, and once I step inside, the atmosphere changes completely. The music softens, the pulse isn’t as jarring, and the crowd disappears.
“Cory!” Jett exclaims when the doors open what seems like a nanosecond later. The breathtaking views of Elliot Bay along with the city lights stretching into the darkness are elegant and seductive all at once.
“Hey, Jett, Alex, where’s everyone else?” The plush ivory sofa in a private alcove is one of many in the room, each designed toshield conversations from others. Rare artwork hangs along the walls with soft golden lighting that is used as a spotlight. And on the marble table where the girls are sitting are two silver buckets filled with a chilling champagne bottle each.
“Romy is late, per usual,” Alex says when I give her a hug.
“Mischa can’t make it, something about her sister needing help with babysitting,” Jett takes account for our other friend.
“And Genny, along with Seraphina, should be here shortly. Though our girl Sera will probably be over there with all of the head honchos.” Alex nods her head to the other end of the room. That’s when I see him, and not through a boardroom window or on the cover of a magazine at a newsstand. Dominic “Dom” Mercer in the flesh is a whole different story entirely.
The suit doesn’t make the man, the man makes the suit.
A five-figure Brioni suit, black and sharply tailored, hugs his frame to perfection. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned at the neck, exposing a peek of his chest. I somehow manage to plant my ass in the sumptuous seating without making a total mockery of myself.
I continue my perusal of the devastatingly handsome man, and when his gaze shifts and his multi-faceted blend of hazel and ember eyes meet mine, a sudden jolt slides down my spine. Dom is all broad shoulders, powerful athletic frame, and sculpted chest. His dark, short, neatly cropped hair, an effortlessly faded style, matches the man. Then there’s his chiseled jaw, clean shaven cheeks, and a mole that makes him all the hotter on the left side of his cheek.
“Oh no, girl, do not go there.” Genny slides in beside me.
“What? I am not,” I say with mock indignation.
“Girl, you are. And while I can understand the appeal to him, try working with him, then you’ll see things differently.” She goes about pouring herself a glass of champagne, then nodsat me to ask if I want one. My response is obvious, and she proceeds to top the others off while she’s at it.
“Well, I can’t say that I agree. After all, I got the man I get to call mine,” Seraphina chimes in. Her eyes are locked on Rafe’s and his are much the same. When I look back at Dom Mercer while taking a sip of the delicious bubbly, the intensity in his eyes magnifies with a raw edge around him. He doesn’t smile, but the deliberate way he’s tracking each and every movement with a different kind of interest has my thighs clenching and my core aching.
“Come on, let’s go dance before Rafe hauls Seraphina over his shoulder and takes off with her.” Jett guzzles her champagne, tossing it back like it’s a shot of vodka. That girl is going to feel it come tomorrow morning. I take a few sips of my own before I stand up, smoothing down the skirt of my dress, and as soon as Alex loops her arm through mine, we’re heading out to the VIP dance area, all while I can feel a certain billionaire’s gaze searing my back.
CHAPTER ONE
dom
Present Day
“Run that back again,” Vik says with amusement written on his face, shit-eating grin and all. It’s well after office hours. Each guy has a drink of their choice—Vik his preferred Vodka, Rafe opts for a beer over his usual whisky and probably won’t stay here much longer since Seraphina left the building hours ago. Dante is the Tequila drinker of the group. And me, I’m not particular. Tonight, I’m going for rum. I lean back in my custom leather chair and look at the time on my brushed steel casing of my Patek Phillipe watch, a masterpiece of engineering serving as a daily reminder of exactly why the board at Sterling Capital looks at me like I’m a virus in their perfectly curated faulty system.
I’m the wild card. The black sheep. The guy who prefers the sun-drenched coast of whatever island I can get away to, to a windowless boardroom. I spend my hard-earned money on custom-tailored suits, high-end watches, and a garage with three cars that costs more than I care to admit. For some godawful reason, they think a venture capitalist should be miserable, gray,stressed, and have a paunched stomach, and even more than that, they hate my bloodline tied to me. Before I finished college, dear old Dad made a string of terrible, reckless investments that nearly tanked our family name into absolute oblivion. I did what Dad couldn’t, took what we had left, gambled on a few high-risk options, and won. What I didn’t do was continue gambling. I took my winnings, left the table, channeled the funds into smarter, airtight investments, tripled our money, and kept the board members off our backs. I rebuilt an empire from the ashes of the fire my father lit with kerosine and a match before he walked away, watching it burn to the ground. Needless to say, our relationship is still rocky at best, and the old stuffy bastards that have sat on the board all this time still think of me as a reckless gambler’s son.
“This guy called me while he was in a coat closet, hiding from the board members. Told him I’d give him the money.” Rafe gives out a short, sharp laugh.
“It was the closet or contemplating life with some kind of monitoring device on my ankle, permanent bracelets, or wearing orange for the rest of eternity. What it’s not about is the money, I have that. It’s about the goddamn principal. It’s been years since everything went down and still, they won’t back me. Fuckers.” I tighten my jaw, unable to see the humor in the situation.
