He chuckles softly. “It’s basically the number or odds that define how you bet on a game. It can tell you how much a team needs to win by, or who is favored and by how much, that kind of thing. Basically, it’s a risk-management tool for the people running the bets—AKA a casino or a betting company or, in our case, me and my brothers.” He smiles. “Basically, we started using our degrees to predict sports outcomes and to avoid losing money every weekend while also giving the bettors decent odds they can’t get anywhere else.”
“And the Harden events?” I prod. “How do you use your degrees for those?”
“They’re trickier,” he admits.
“Why?”
The same divot between his brows forms as he spins me around while trying to figure out the easiest way to explain something that sounds pretty freaking complex. Pulling me into him again, he says, “Harden events are a lot less predictable because we hardly have any data, so we don’t make as much unless one of us is participating and we can cash in that way.”
“And if you aren’t participating?” I ask.
“We make sure to bake in a decent-enough cut to make hosting an event worth it.”
My eyes widen as I take in the genius behind his words. They’ve kind of thought of everything. This isn’t simply a side-gig. It's a full-blown business, albeit a shady one. The realization only makes memoreattracted to him. Jagger Harden. Evil genius. The man’s smarter than anyone gives him credit. So much so, I almost feel bad for assuming he’s only gotten as far as he has because of his last name. The truth is so much more interesting.
“What are you thinking?” he asks.
“Honestly?” Crinkles form around my eyes as I peek up at him. “How impressed I am.”
“Not exactly how my father hoped we’d use our degrees, but...” He dips me over his arm, kisses my throat, and tugs me back to our original position. And it’s funny. How effortless he makes it feel. Me. Him. The dance. Our conversation.
I twirl under Jagger’s arm, going right back to placing my hands on his neck as I digest his words. Not going to lie. It's a lot of information, but I’m grateful for his openness and willingness to let me into his world. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I tickle the back of his neck with my fingertips. “So, does this mean you have no intention of joining the family business?”
“I wouldn’t say no intention,” he clarifies. “But it is why Titas is always riding our asses. It’s what he expects…and what the board expects, which is another reason why he doesn’t like our…extra-curricular activities even though he says he really only cares about our safety and our future.” Jagger scoffs, as if the idea of his father caring about anyone other than himself is laughable at best. Then again, after meeting Titas Harden, I can’t help but agree with Jagger. He definitely makes a good point.
I glance over at his father at the bar. He’s talking to another gentleman now. This one is just as old as the last one. Gray hair, a solid comb-over, and a round belly to give Santa a run for his money. So much so, the button on his suit jacket looks like it’s two seconds from popping off altogether. Maybe if I’m lucky, it’ll hit Jagger’s father in the eye or something. “Do youlike it?” I ask, turning back to Jagger. “Economics with a minor in actuarial science.”
“I do.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” His smile turns boyish, almost. “I like the idea of raising the standards for insurance companies. Not to bore you, but one of our jobs is to allow insurance companies to function safely and profitably while still covering people who need it. Under my dad’s rule, the pendulum has swung a little too far in one direction.”
“And you want to swing it back?”
He nods. “Yeah, Vi. It’s why my mom started Mercer Consulting in the first place. She had the same vision.”
My heart pangs in my chest as I realize what he’s saying and how…honorable it really is. It’s an opportunity to help people on a huge scale. Knowing his mom felt the same way and had the same goal? It’s humbling in a way I never truly expected. No wonder each of her boys are such great guys when you really look at them. And I don’t mean surface level bullshit. I meanreallylook at them. Their goals. Their hopes and dreams and aspirations. I had no idea. “I think I would’ve liked your mom,” I tell him.
His smile softens. “I think she would’ve liked you, too.”
I look around the gorgeous ballroom, then back up at him, smoothing down the lapel along his chest. “Did I mention I like the tux?”
“Glad you approve,” he murmurs. “Have I thanked you yet for coming with me?”
“I’m just glad I’m not cramping your style,” I quip.
“Hardly.” He kisses my nose. “You’re blending in with the rest of us like you were made to be here.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“You questioning my judgement?” he retorts.
“More like taking your biases into consideration.”
Another laugh escapes him. “Bet Ford would agree with me, and he’s the furthest thing from biased.”
“I’m well aware,” I grumble. “Your brother hates me.”
