Constantijin gave his friends a middle-finger salute. “Fuck all of you.”
But his friends only laughed. Collectively, the three gentlemen were known asThe Three Pussketeers, and Jaak could still recall how there was one instance many summers ago he, together with his brother Nic and their Greek friends Stavros Manolis and Damen Leventis, had been wide-eyed with wonder and admiration when they attended a party hosted by the three.
It still ranked as one of the wildest nights in Jaak’s life, and yet here were the three now, all properly domesticated.
“I cannot be faulted for being too careful,” Constantijin said defensively as they walked out of the boardroom and headed to the private lift that would take them straight to the penthouse ballroom. “Yanna is a beautiful woman, and Jaak’s known to fuck anyone in a skirt—-”
Jaak, who had been arranging his cuffs, looked up in sham protest at Constantijin’s words, saying, “At least give me some credit for having some standards.”
Constantijin only grunted as he and the others entered the lift. “Well, anyway, you’ll understand soon enough, I think.”
Jaak raised a brow. “Am I supposed to infer something from that too-cryptic remark?”
“Come on, man, no need to be shy,” Staffan interjected with a smirk. “We already met her last night.”
The elevator doors slid open, and Jaak was prevented from answering. When the others saw that Jaak appeared to be staying put, Staffan asked in surprise, “You’re not attending tonight’s party?”
“I am,” he assured them swiftly. “I just have something to do first.” He uttered a lie, hoping it would effectively address the other gentlemen’s worries, but instead he saw the three men exchange looks at his reply.
“I hope everything’s alright with the two of you,” Constantijin said finally.
The English duke nodded. “She seems the nice sort.”
The doors slid close before Jaak could ask any of them what the hell they were talking about. Had another wild rumor started about him and some random celebrity? He knew he should probably give more thought to it, but right now, all he wanted was to drink.
The unusually dark expression on the billionaire’s face had everyone steering clear of him as he headed to the lounge at the hotel’s lobby. His phone buzzed in his pocket as he reached the bar, and he answered the call, seeing that it was from Willem.
“Where are you?”
“Relax, big brother,” Jaak said lightly. “I know better than to skip this one.” Willem let a lot of things slide when it came to his presence in family gatherings, but tonight’s celebration was definitely an exception. “I’ll be right up soon. I just have something to work out here.”
“Make sure you’re here before the ball officially starts,” were the final clipped words Jaak received before the head of the de Konigh clan hung up.
So that would give him, what, fifteen minutes?
Fifteen goddamn minutes.
He might as well give up.
But he couldn’t.
He speed-dialed the number he had been calling for the past three days, and the phone on the other end of the line started to ring. It rang and rang until the call was automatically redirected to a voice mailbox, the way it had done so in the past three days.
Where the hell are you, Ilse?
The billionaire ordered a glass of scotch and downed it in one gulp as Ilse’s phone started to ring for the second time. And so it went on, and by the fifth unsuccessful try, he would have laughed if he didn’t feel so damn bleak.
If this was all because he hadn’t fucked her—-
His fingers clenched around the empty glass.
God.The rare time he tried to act like a knight in shining armor, and the princess just had to want him to act like a villain.
His glance slanted towards the digital clock next to the wall-mounted TV behind the bar, and Jaak estimated that he only had ten minutes left.
Ten minutes.
If he had any doubt that Ilse Muir had him by the balls—-
