CHAPTER 1
FINN
"Iswear to God, if I have to hear about one more of us finding true love, I'm buying a small island just to get away from you all." I toss more chips into the pot and survey my fellow billionaires around the table at The Retreat, where the light is amber, the scotch is older than my youngest brother, and the company has been going soft on me one wedding announcement at a time.
"Careful, Bardot." Damien Langley's pressed suit and cold smile still terrify most of Manhattan, even if he does keep checking his phone like a teenager. "That's exactly the kind of arrogant bullshit I used to say. Right before fate knocked me on my ass."
Wyatt Reed's eyebrows shoot up. Brad Hayes actually sets down his scotch. Even Gabe Sinclair's unreadable expression shifts a degree. Because Damien Langley, the ruthless bastard who used to schedule his entire life in fifteen-minute increments, just admitted out loud that fate played him.
"Christ." I make a show of studying my cards. "First, Mason the Machine goes native in paradise with Lucy, then Alec starts building love nests with Ella in Sedona. Now you're getting philosophical about fate. I need stronger scotch for this."
"Don't worry." Damien's smile holds a challenge as he feeds the pot. "I'm sure your immunity to love will hold up much better than ours did."
"No doubt." Gabe's wry gaze finds me across the table. "Hard to fall in love when he's never had a relationship outlast his extreme sports equipment."
Wyatt chuckles. "Finn doesn't stay still long enough to meet anyone."
"Not a bad tactic, come to think of it," Brad says, moving a stack of chips to the center. "I might be more like Finn here, if I didn't have my daughter to think about."
Damien's phone pings. He glances down and smiles, an actual smile, on that face. "Sorry, gentlemen. I need a minute."
"Let me guess. Willow again? What does that make, the third time tonight?" While he types, I top off Brad's glass from the decanter at my elbow, since the man's been nursing fumes for ten minutes and somebody at this table has to have manners.
Damien flips me off without looking up, grinning at whatever his fiancée wrote back.
Wyatt shakes his head at me. "Pathetic. Sooner or later, it's going to be one of you three taking the fall."
And here's where I mention the part I never get tired of mentioning, ladies and gentlemen: The game inside the game. TheLast Billionaire Standingwager is my invention. My title. I built it out of a stray remark of Gabe's the night Mason brought Lucy by to show off his post-elopement tan, then I named it, set the stakes, and shook six hands on it. A million per man. Last single man to avoid the trap of falling in love takes the kitty, and if more than one of us survives the decade, the holdouts split the pot. With Damien's and Alec's generous donations, the fund sits at a gorgeous two million and climbing.
The bookmaker does not lose his own book. That isn't arrogance on my part. That's just how good bookmakers work.
"Hell, no. Not me. Which is why I'm not taking any chances now." I raise the last bet, just to prove I can. "Gentlemen, I don't fall. Falling is for people who didn't plan the descent. I jump. There's a difference, and the difference is the parachute."
"The parachute being what," Wyatt says. "Your charm?"
"My exit strategy. I've never met a woman I couldn't leave by Tuesday." The table boos as one man, and I accept it with a bow from the neck up, because a good emcee never argues with the crowd. "Besides, the only commitment in my future is a date with fresh powder in Colorado next week. Breaking my own speed record down the slopes, right after I scope out that beautiful piece of land in Breckenridge I've got my eye on."
"You still thinking about adding a chain of resorts to the Bardot Adventures brand?" Gabe tosses his chips onto the pile.
"More than thinking about it. I've been looking for the right opportunity to expand for a couple of years now. This Colorado property could be it."
"The resort market is saturated." Wyatt leans back in his chair, dark eyes glinting. "Though I suppose if anyone could make extreme sports luxury retreats work, it would be the guy who tests all his own death-defying equipment."
"Death-defying is a bit dramatic." I check my watch, running the time difference. My development team should be wrapping up their site survey about now. "Just because you prefer your adrenaline rushes in the boardroom doesn't mean the rest of us can't have a little fun."
"Fun." Brad snorts into his scotch. "Is that what you call jumping out of perfectly good helicopters?"
"Better than sitting in endless custody hearings." I toss back the rest of my drink. "No offense."
"None taken." Brad's ice-blue eyes narrow as he studies his cards. "Though I notice you didn't deny the helicopter thing."
"The prototype needed testing. What kind of CEO would I be if I didn't stand behind my products?"
"A sane one?" Gabe suggests dryly.
"Where's the fun in that?" I arrange my chips, enjoying the familiar rhythm of the table. "Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"
"Death?" Wyatt offers helpfully.
