He spared me a brief glance before turning back to Kai.
Dark gold hair, navy eyes, the bone structure of a Calvin Klein model, and the warmth of the iceberg from Titanic. Dominic Davenport, the reigning king of Wall Street.
I recognized him on sight. It was hard to forget that face, even if his social skills could use improvement.
Relief and an annoying niggle of disappointment swept through me at the interruption, but I didn’t wait for Kai’s response. I booked it to the other side of the bar, hating the way his soft spot comment lingered like it was anything but a throwaway remark.
If he wasn’t my type, I definitely wasn’t his. He dated the kind of woman who sat on charity boards, summered in the Hamptons, and matched their pearls to their Chanel suits. There was nothing wrong with any of those things, but they weren’t me.
I blamed my outsize reaction to his words on my self-imposed dry spell. I was so starved for touch and affection I’d probably get giddy off a wink from that half-naked cowboy always roaming Times Square. It had nothing to do with Kai himself.
I didn’t return to his side of the bar again for the rest of the night.
Luckily, working a half shift meant I could clock out early. At five to ten, I transferred my remaining tabs to Tessa, said my goodbyes, and grabbed my bag from the back room, all without looking at a certain billionaire with a penchant for Hemingway.
I could’ve sworn I felt the heated touch of dark eyes on my back when I left, but I didn’t turn to confirm. It was better I didn’t know.
The hall was hushed and empty this late at night. Exhaustion tugged at my eyelids, but instead of bolting for the exit and the comfort of my bed, I made a left toward the main staircase.
I should go home so I could hit my daily word count goal, but I needed inspiration first. I couldn’t concentrate with the stress of facing a blank page clouding my head.
The words used to flow freely; I wrote three-quarters of my erotic thriller in less than six months.
Then I read it over, hated it, and scrapped it in favor of a fresh project. Unfortunately, the creativity that’d fueled my first draft had vanished alongside it. I was lucky if I wrote more than two hundred words a day these days.
I took the stairs to the second floor.
The club’s amenities were off-limits to employees during working hours, but while the bar was open until three in the morning, the rest of the building closed at eight. I wasn’t breaking any rules by visiting my favorite room for some decompression.
Still, my feet tread lightly against the thick Persian carpet. Down, down, all the way past the billiards room, the beauty room, and the Parisian-style lounge until I reached a familiar oak door. The brass knob was cool and smooth as I twisted it open.
Fifteen minutes. That was all I needed. Then I’d go home, wash the day off, and write.
But as always, time fell away when I sat down. Fifteen minutes turned into thirty, which turned into forty-five, and I became so immersed in what I was doing I didn’t notice the door creak open behind me.
Not until it was too late.
CHAPTER 2
Kai
“Don’t tell me you invited me here to watch you read Hemingway for the dozenth time.” Dominic cast an unimpressed look at my book.
“You’ve never seen me read Hemingway.” I glanced at the bar, but Isabella had already moved on to another customer, leaving the gin and tonic in her stead.
Strawberries floated lazily in the drink, their vibrant red hue a shocking contrast to the bar’s dignified earth tones. I typically avoided sweet drinks; the harsh burn and subdued amber of scotch was much more to my taste. But like I said, I had a soft spot for this particular flavor.
Fine, but if you change your mind, I have strawberry-flavored condoms. Magnum-size, ribbed for your— Apologies for interrupting, but I’d like to order another drink.
Gin and tonic. Strawberry flavored.
Reluctant amusement drifted through me at the memory of Isabella’s horrified expression. I’d interrupted her and her friend Vivian’s condom conversation at last year’s fall gala, and I still remembered the interaction in vivid detail.
I remembered all our interactions in vivid detail, whether I wanted to or not. She’d touched down in my life like a tornado, gotten my drink wrong during her first shift at Valhalla, and hadn’t left my thoughts since.
It was aggravating.
“I haven’t seen you read him in person.” Dominic flicked his lighter on and off, drawing my attention back to him. He didn’t smoke, yet he carried that lighter around the way a more superstitious person would cling to a lucky charm. “But I imagine that’s what you do when you’re holed up in your library every night.”
A smile pushed through my turbulent mood. “Spend a lot of time imagining me in the library, do you?”
“Only to contemplate how sad your existence is.”
“Says the workaholic who spends most of his nights in his office.” It was a miracle his wife tolerated him as long as she had. Alessandra was a saint.
“It’s a nice office.” On. Off. A tiny flame burst into life only to die a quick death at his hand. “I’d be there right now if it weren’t for your call. What’s so urgent you demanded I rush here on a Monday, of all nights?”
I’d requested, not demanded, but I didn’t bother correcting him. Instead, I tucked my pen, paperback, and notebook in my coat pocket and cut straight to the point. “I got the call today.”
Dominic’s bored impatience fell away, revealing a spark of intrigue. “This early?”
“Yes. Five candidates, including myself. The vote is in four months.”
“You always knew it wouldn’t be a coronation.” Dominic tapped his lighter’s spark wheel. “But the vote is a formality. Of course you’ll win.”
I offered a noncommittal noise in response.
As the eldest child and presumptive heir to the Young Corporation, I’d lived with the expectation of becoming CEO all my life. But I was supposed to take over in five to ten years, not in four months.
A fresh wave of apprehension swept through my chest.
Leonora Young would never willingly cede power this early. She was only fifty-eight years old.
Sharp, healthy, beloved by the board. Her life revolved around work and hounding me about marriage, yet it’d undeniably been her on the video call that afternoon, informing me and four other executives that we were in the running for the CEO position.
No warning, no details other than the date and time of the vote.
I ran a distracted hand over the gin and tonic glass, taking strange solace in its smooth curves.
“When’s the news going public?” Dominic asked.
“Tomorrow.” Which meant for the next four months, all eyes would be on me, waiting for me to fuck up. Which I never would. I had too much control for that.
Though there were technically five candidates, the position was mine to lose. Not only because I was a Young, but because I was the best. My record as president of the North America division spoke for itself. It had the highest profits, the fewest losses, and the best innovations, even if certain board members didn’t always agree with my decisions.
I wasn’t worried about the vote’s outcome, but its timing nagged at me, twisting what should’ve been a career highlight into a muddied pool of unease.