“Did you bring any of our little brothers?” I change the subject to something safer, happier. “Don’t you have some of them interning?”
“This is an extremely prestigious event, even though it was your brainchild.” He’s acerbic. “So I brought the A-team.”
“Oh.”
I suddenly want my family there with me. Well, the cute small members of my family, anyway.
Crawford ruffles my hair like he can read my mind. “Faulkner’s down there somewhere.”
“You let him in?” I scoff. “I put him on the banned list.”
Crawford smirks at my scowl. “Of course. He’s family.”
I see it as I head down the stairs to go find Faulkner and toss him out in the alley—the pinprick of red in the sea of suits and slinky black dresses.
She’s surrounded by men. Wealthy, powerful men.
I have more money than all of them,I think petulantly.Who the fuck do they think they are, talking to my girl at my own fucking party?
The crowd parts. I feel the hands of the hundreds of eligible women invited as the evening’s entertainment pull at my clothes.
“Mr. Svensson,” they croon.
I ignore them. My attention’s honed on her. I want to pull back the shaggy bob that brushes her shoulders, kiss her neck, untie the simple velvet choker with my teeth.
Unlike the other women dripping in diamonds, extensions down their backs, who simper at the rich men, talking softly, demurely, like how my father always liked his women, Winnie is balanced on one heel, the other foot tapping asshe loudly and energetically talks to a group of corporate developers hanging on her every word.
More crowd around her.
“…course, you’re conservative with your finances,” she’s telling one idiot who’s got three brain cells and all of his daddy’s money.
“Yeah, I mean, my investment guru says I need to have, like, amenities, you know?”
“Like a coffee shop or cupcake shop, but, like, unless it’s Starbucks, they all fail, right?” she pitches. “Not mine. But I come from the business world—ten years in investment at Rainer.”
They all make appreciative noises. I wait like a predator in the shadows, watching her.
The dress she’s wearing is sinful. The little straps holding up either side of the scrap of fabric stretched over her tits look like they could give any minute. The back of the dress dips low. Someone just has to pull it down half an inch—a quarter of an inch—to have a face full of her ass.
She’s not wearing any underwear under that dress.The thought’s a baseball bat to the head.
“We’re introducing evening activities—sip and color, book clubs, that sort of thing. We want to be open and busy from five till ten p.m. since we have an alcohol license,” she explains.
“Do you run bars?” another guy asks.
“Definitely. We can talk about pop-up wine bars, and book-and-wine pairings.”
“Hey, we wouldn’t have to provide those types of community activities!” The developers are excited since they found a woman to do what they are too lazy and stupid to do.
“Could we work out a partnership?” one begs.
I see her about to do it. I know her, know her better than any of them, know her better than she knows herself.
I snatch the wrist of her fluttering hand before she can lay it on the suit jacket of the billionaire next to her who reeks of flavored vape smoke. The wine in her glass sloshes.
“Uh, Mr. Svensson,” he stammers then corrects himself. “Fantastic party! You’d think with all these pretty girls, you wouldn’t be able to do business,” he brays, “but looks like I’m about to make the bank happy.”
“Do business with each other. Not with her. Cupcake tycoon? Let’s go.”
