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If I’m being honest, curiosity hooked me right from the moment Grandfather showed me that first picture of the goddess, then it took me straight to the doorstep of No. 11 to find her.
In my world, it’s common practice to meet your opponents before you face off on the battlefield. But my meeting with Aurora Wright was anything other and didn’t feel like war.
Maybe that was because she was so much different from what I expected to find in William Wright’s daughter.
Although the man doesn’t hold a candle to my family’s wealth, his status is close enough, so I expected Aurora to be a daddy’s little princess. Or at least like one of the typical high-society women who flock around me every chance they get in an attempt to better their lives and status with a billionaire husband.
But Aurora Wright was…normal.
Normal, with real dreams she wanted to work hard to achieve.
I’ve lived this life for so long that I’ve forgotten what normal feels like.
As she spoke about her aspirations to write for a lifestyle magazine, I wanted to bottle the passion lacing through her voice and store it away as a reminder of what it feels like to have dreams you wish for with your heart.
It’s a contradictory thing for me to want, given the fact we met tonight because of my own career desires. But the difference between us is she’ll do everything by the book to achieve what she wants, whereas I’ll take it, sparing no thought for what I have to do to reach my goals.
And the goddess just happens to own the thing I want.
Miss Aurora Wright became the proud owner of Sunset Cove after her mother died two years ago. The resort, a highly sought-after idyllic getaway destination that has been favored by celebs from as far back as the 1940s, was willed to her.
It’s currently on a lease, which runs out next week. It was supposed to be renewed, but Aurora’s mother decided against it because she wanted to run the place herself. Which is why Aurora is currently managing the resort.
That’s as much as I know. The termination of the lease is what attracted my grandfather to the place, but I don’t know what we’ll do with it once it’s ours.
I’m still in the early stages of my master plan, but I think it’s safe to say that tonight, I stepped over the first hurdle.
Everything else should come together over the next few days.
Or sooner.
As I approach the study, the crackling sound of paper catches my attention.
The sound is faint but there, and I know—at this hour—it can only have come from one person.
I make my way into the study, where I find Jericho sitting in one of the leather chairs. He has a Cohiba cigar slinked to the side of his mouth while he flicks through a copy ofThe Economist.
He’s got his feet up on the stained-glass coffee table Mom bought me in China when I first bought this house. Right next to his feet is a bottle of thirty-year-old scotch, which is nearly finished. That, too, was a present. Grandfather gave it to me months ago for my birthday. I was saving it for a special occasion, like when I originally planned to leave Grayson Inc., but it’s just like Jericho to dive in headfirst.
The fact that he’s here isn’t the thing that’s piqued my interest. We often spend most of our days floating back and forth between each other’s homes. But I know he wouldn’t have come by in the breadth between night and day if he didn’t have something important to give me. Or tell me. Or both.
Jericho lifts his head when I stop by the wall of bookshelves and gives me a Cheshire cat smile. “About damn time, brother. I’ve been waiting here for hours.” He emphasizes every syllable of those last words and taps his wristwatch like the impatient father waiting for his daughter to come home from a party.
“Hours?” Now I believe even more that he’s here for all the reasons I want. “Don’t tell me all the women of New York got the memo that you’re an asshole.”
People call me one of the most sought-after in New York, but it’s a well-known fact that when my brother isn’t working, he spends his spare time switching women faster than people breathe air.
Jericho chuckles off key then sneers at me. “Very funny. So, tell me, did you wine and bed the princess? Because that would be very unbecoming of you, Knight Grayson. More than what you’ve already done.”
He’s talking about my decision to go to No. 11.
I won’t argue with him. We both know it was an unnecessary task, and that I was only there because I was thinking with my dick. The picture I got of Aurora would have sufficed. I didn’t actuallyhave tomeet her.
“Not yet,” I say that as if I plan to bed the goddess, but I don’t.
As badly as I would love to plunge my cock into that decadent body of hers, I know I shouldn’t.
Shouldn’t—there’s that asshole word again, but it’s the best word choice to explain my situation.
