I let the call go to voicemail and block her number before I can change my mind. I can’t move forward if I’m constantly revisiting the past.
I’m about to spend the night with another woman, for Christ’s sake. With Gemma.
Someone who wants exactly what I can give—nothing more, nothing less. No history, no promises. Just fun.
I’ve been waiting patiently for our designated evening together ever since she sauntered out of my apartment last Friday, and I won’t let anything spoil the mood.
After a punishing workout, I shower, steam billowing around me as I towel off. My phone sounds from my bedroom and I accept Grayson’s call, switching to speaker as I dress. While he updates me on everything back in New York, my mind keeps drifting to the impending nine o’clock appointment.
My cock reacts and I try to maintain control while talking to my best friend. Even talking to a man can’t turn me off depraved thoughts of what I want to do to Gemma Clarke.
I roll my shoulders as Grayson barks down the line. “Violet Ashwood will be the death of me,” he complains. “She’s putting me through the wringer with these depositions. Six hours yesterday, another four today. The woman doesn’t stop.”
Violet Ashwood has been hired as Grayson’s attorney, and by the sounds of it, is keeping Grayson in line. His father is waging a brutal battle over the brothers’ inheritance of the Livingstone empire.
I pull on a pair of gray joggers and a simple white t-shirt.
“She’s just doing her job,” I respond, knowing how high the stakes are. “Your father’s lawyers won’t hesitate to exploit any weakness. Violet’s preparing you for that.”
“I know, I know.” Grayson sighs. “But she talks to me as if I’m entirely unprepared. I’m the CEO of a multibillion-dollar company!”
“Just remember, Violet’s on your side. She’s the expert. I know this is personal, but you need to approach it like any other legal case,” I say.
I hear him take a deep breath on the other end.
“View Violet as your best asset and your father as any other competitor trying to take what belongs to you,” I continue—I know how Grayson works. “You’ve dealt with worse corporate takeover attempts and gotten through them. You’ll win this too. Do exactly what Violet asks of you and let her do her job. You and your brothers inherited everything fair and square.”
He grunts, which I’ve come to recognize as Grayson’s way of begrudgingly agreeing. Grumpy arsehole.
“Do you need anything from my end?” I ask, checking my watch. 8:30 p.m.
“No. I don’t mean to drag you into this. It’s just driving me insane. Dad’s being a total prick, Cole has a very obvious hard-on for his secretary, Noah has decided he wants to join the NHL instead of the family business, and Violet, while irritating, is proving to be the most difficult woman I’ve ever had to resist.”
“Ah. That explains why she’s a pain in your arse. Are you telling me someone has finally caught the interest of Grayson Livingstone?” I ask, my tone mocking.
“Piss off,” he shoots back, his voice light. “Speaking of women—how’s everything going with Prestige Partners and the firecracker who clocked me in the eye with her button? What was her name again?” The sound of him snapping his fingers comes through the phone. “Ah, Gemma. How’s it all going with her and Henry? Everything progressing as planned?”
“On schedule,” I reply coolly, not mentioning that Gemma will be coming all over my tongue within the hour.
“Excellent. I knew Gray Hotel was in good hands with you at the helm,” he says, and I hear a rustle of fabric. “What time is it there?”
“Half eight.”
“I’ll leave you to your night, I’m sure there’s a bottle of aged whisky somewhere waiting to be poured. If you need anything, just give me a call. Otherwise, I’ll be buried balls deep in legal paperwork.”
“And your attorney, by the sounds of it,” I say.
“Not if I can damn well help it,” he says.
I laugh. “Good luck, mate.”
I knock back the last of my whisky as the buzzer sounds, the amber liquid warming my throat. With a quick glance at the oven, I confirm what I already know.
Nine o’clock. Right on time. Good girl.
A satisfied smirk plays at my lips as I buzz her in.
I move around the kitchen unhurriedly, selecting two long-stemmed wine glasses from the cabinet. I swirl the decanter filled with Pinot Noir, which I left to breathe earlier, as footsteps sound from the hallway.
