I want to believe the future I have with Ben could be real. I want to trust the warmth in his eyes and the steadiness in his voice are more than just a beautiful pause in a difficult life. But this is utterly humiliating. Starting my married life with this accomplished olderman who could have anyone, knowing I seem to bring nothing but chaos and complication at every turn.
I didn’t want a fairy tale. I meant that when I said it. I wanted something real.
But this feels a little too real. Painfully real. And a small, frightened part of me worries it’s more than even this amazing man is willing to take on.
30
BEN
The Devil’sPlayground hasn’t changed. But apparently, I have. The low lights, leather, whiskey, and cigar smoke curling lazily toward a ceiling that’s seen more bad decisions than I care to count should bring a familiar comfort. Yet the bass humming through my bones while confident, rich laughter rolls from every corner feels akin to nails on a chalkboard.
I spot Max already seated in our usual VIP area, scrolling through something on his phone. He looks up as I approach and lifts his glass in greeting.
“You look like hell.”
“Thanks.” I take another sip of my drink. “Feel worse,” I mutter, dropping into the seat across from him.
Last night at Shagbark won’t leave my head. Grace’s hurt. Her quiet disappointment at being taken advantage of. Figuring out it had all been an elaborate ruse. She’d been targeted. Brad took everything from her, pushing her to the very edge so that Victor could swoop in and make his move.
I didn’t know how to fix it. I haven’t slept. Haven’t eaten. Haven’t stopped replaying it. Because I’m regretting that I didn’t kill that asshole the first time. But the very last thing I need to do is go off half-cocked and get arrested, leaving her all alone.
Add to that the financial stress I’m under, making the biggest financial gamble of my life. It feels as if the walls are caving in on me. “I’m worried I’m going to lose a fortune if I’m not careful,” I admit. “And I’m not made of billions like you are.” I finish off my second bourbon of the night and wave over to where Cassidy stands, holding a silver tray.
Max shrugs easily. “It’s only money.” His eyes predictably take her in as she seductively comes closer.
Easy for him to say.
Yet before I can respond, movement catches my eye. The rest of the Billionaire Boys Club strolls toward us. Our ridiculous nickname, but one that stuck.
Gianni leads the way in a sharp suit, and a sharper grin. He always looks the part of the club owner in his three-piece black Armani.
Gianni Black is an enigma. I’m not sure anyone truly knows where Black’s money comes from. He’s probably richer than all of us. I have my suspicions that he could somehow be tied to some underground family crime organization, but I don’t want to let my mind wander to things I have no control over. And as much as I’d like to pump Max for intel, out of respect, I’m not going there. This man has my allegiance until someone convinces me there’s a reason he shouldn’t.
My stepbrother Dev is beside him, gregarious as ever. Broadie Weston follows, cigar already lit, with Ryan Becket and Bedrock flanking him, the doctors who somehow manage to save lives by day and behave like degenerates by night.
Derek Hart, or Bedrock, as we refer to him, is a cardiologist. He attended Stanford and Johns Hopkins for his residency and fellowship programs. I believe he may have been introduced to the Devil’s Playground while he lived in the D.C. area. He hasn’t worked in Hanover for very long, and I probably know less about him than any of the guys here. From what I gather, I’m pretty sure he was looking for a fresh start after his wife’s death when he moved to Virginia.
“Hell.” I chuckle, standing as they reach us. “I can’t remember the last time we were all in the same room.”
We trade bro hugs and back slaps before everyone settles into their leather seats. It’s muscle memory more than affection at this point.
“Yes,” Gianni says with a grin. “We try to commit to meeting. But work keeps getting in the way.” He jerks his thumb at Broadie. “Except for this guy. Life’s all work-life-balance and some shit.”
Broadie smirks around his cigar. “Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”
I sink back into the buttery-soft leather chair, watching them laugh. The men I’ve built half my adult life around. I’ve listened to their deals. The many risks they’ve taken. All of the power plays. The rush of winning. Wondering when I might be brave enough to go out on a limb. And now that I have, I want to puke under the stress of it all. Maybe I’m just not built like these guys.
Max studies me. “You’re distracted.”
“Yeah,” I admit. “Because this deal isn’t just about money.”
They all go quiet.
“This is my shot at building a brand that actually means something,” I continue. “Not another glass tower for people who don’t know my name. I want a business with purpose.”
Gianni lifts a brow. “You going soft on us, Banks?”
“No,” I say quietly. “I’m going after something that’s important to me.”
