“Just bad timing,” I mutter dismissively.
“Maybe you should lay low until these scandals blow over. Take a vacation.”
“I’m not getting shipped off to dry out, Killian. This isn’t like last time.”
He exhales heavily. “I didn’t mean it like that. I was thinking more along the lines of an actual vacation. Maybe even take Willow with you and try to make something real with her. Forget about Vegas or any wild spots. Go do some yoga and find some inner peace.” He grins like he’s just invented the concept of relaxation. “What about one of JP’s wellness retreats?”
JP, our third business partner, used to head up our casinos. But he got tired of the game and decided to jump on the wellness bandwagon by opening up Quinn & Wolfe retreats. Apparently downward dogs hold more appeal than blackjack for him these days.
And it’s working. Those retreats are raking in the dough. Turns out, wealthy burnouts are a lucrative market.
“Yeah. Maybe.” I force a smile, the muscles in my face straining with the effort. “I’ll think about it.”
I can’t be completely outraged that Killian is suspicious. Back in my twenties I was that guy who snorted coke off a supermodel’s butt. Your classic playboy asshole. I overindulged in every vice imaginable, consequences be damned.
It was all fun and games until Quinn & Wolfe really took off and suddenly, people were relying on me. I couldn’t afford to be a hungover mess when an empire was on the line.
When the money started pouring in, I could’ve gotten coached on anything—public speaking, business acumen, finance, racing million-dollar cars.
But there’s no training for being filthy rich and having people crawling out of the woodwork to love you. Unless you were born with a silver spoon up your ass, it’s a mindfuck.
Thank Christ for Killian keeping it straight, even when I fought him kicking and screaming.
He served up the tough love I desperately needed, threatening to boot me from the board if I didn’t get my shit together. He wasn’t about to watch our hard-earned success go down the toilet with my reckless behavior. I got serious, thanks to him. A real come-to-Jesus moment behind closed doors, courtesy of my big brother.
Now of course, everyone thinks this is round two. Killian, the staff, the media . . . they all think I’m back to my old party ways.
Murphy’s Law at its finest.
I’m doing daily two-hour workouts, saunas, ice baths—you name it, I do it. My metrics are off the charts, my diet is as strict as ever. Is there even a point to all this hard work if I’m still going to be damned in the end?
TWENTY-EIGHT
Lexi
Tonight, I’m in dire need of some liquid courage and a hottie on my arm. I’ve said yes to Kayla’s double-date plan for an immersive cinema experience with her beau, Justin, and Brad—the guy I previously grabbed a couple of drinks with.
It’s a hell of a lot better than brooding at home about Connor’s crap—how he screwed me over, not once but twice. I’m done renting him space in my mind free of charge. It’s been a few days since that interview went south, and thankfully, there’s been zero reason for us to cross paths—fine by me. I did the professional thing and smoothed it over with Willow after he stormed off—probably to sulk or put his fist through something. Who knows with that guy.
And if he thinks a lame “I’m sorry” text is going to fix things, he’s sorely mistaken.
Brad slings his muscular arm around me as we weave our way to the immersive theater, laughing like idiots.He’s a doctor, and you don’t get much sexier than that.The guy’s straight out of a prime-time medical show—tall, built, dripping with charm. A real head-turner, and he’s got the gift of the gab too.
I’m out to have a good time tonight, feel appreciated, not discarded like trash. A night of drinks and laughs is just what the doctor ordered . . . and maybe a little groping, depending on how things go.
Though, in hindsight, chugging wine on an empty stomach might not have been my brightest idea.
“What’s with all the mystery around this immersive theater thing?” I ask Brad. Up ahead, Kayla glances back at us, clearly buzzed. “Is it thatBack to the Futureshow? I’ve been seeing ads for it all over.” Honestly, I’d rather just hole up in some dive bar with a bottle of bottom-shelf bourbon, but hey, I’m game for whatever.
Brad stops dead in his tracks, giving me a look like I just grew a second head. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Nooo?” It comes out sounding more like I’m double-checking with him. We’re heading to some horror show, aren’t we? Kayla’s been too giddy. Too weird.
“Jesus Christ,” Brad stutters, looking horrified. “I thought Kayla told you. Lexi, we’re going to akinkclub. This is it.”
My mouth hangs open in shock.
We come to a stop outside a club called the Velvet Whip, the neon sign giving us all a nice pink hue.
