“Scotty.”
He shivered. Fuck, he really wanted to drag Cam through the screen into his room and kiss him. Why wasn’t it invented yet?
“It’s fine. When are you coming back from Brazil, then?”
Cam didn’t reply at once, still studying him. “Probably on Wednesday.”
Scott immediately started mentally reviewing his schedule to see if he could fly to Monaco on Wednesday—and hated himself for it. God, this was horrible.He was behaving no better than his former boyfriends—the boyfriends that he’d dropped for being too clingy. And he and Cam weren’t even together! He needed to get a fucking grip, or Cam would start thinking that Scott had, like, feelings for him. Which he didn’t. Obviously.
“Okay,” Scott said. “I probably won’t see you next week, then. I’ll be very busy with the branch opening and everything.”
A wrinkle appeared between Cam’s brows.
Ask me to come to see you anyway,ask me, ask me, ask me.
Scott bit his tongue to stop himself from saying that, more than a little freaked out by the neediness of his thoughts.
What the fuck, seriously? He actually did have responsibilities andcouldn’tdrop everything and go to Monaco next week, even if Cam asked him.
“Okay,” Cam said.
Scott’s stomach knotted up.Feeling disappointment was irrational.But this confirmed that Cam was totally fine with seeing him once in a while. It was—fine. It was. They were just friends.Friends who kissed and fucked sometimes.
The problem was, thesometimespart was quickly becoming an issue.
But clearly it was just a Scott problem. Cam was clearly fine with the way things were.
And it was fine.
Totally fine.
Absolutelyfine.
Chapter 18
Cam resisted the urge to loosen his tie as he entered the lavish reception room.
He was no stranger to fancy parties and events, to making nice with people he didn’t care for, but it was the first time he was invited to a fancy party where people didn’t care who he was and wouldn’t be at all impressed by his racing record.
Frankly, if Scott hadn’t looked so disappointed when he said he couldn’t come, Cam would never have voluntarily stepped foot into a high-society gathering like this—one full of old money that wore tuxes like a second skin and casually talked about well-known U.S. politicians as if they were old golf buddies.
The reception room itself looked less like a ballroom and more like a museum that had decided to throw a party. Crystal chandeliers hung in careful symmetry overhead, scattering warm light across polished marble floors that reflected every movement. Along the walls stood towering arrangements of white flowers. A string quartet played near the far windows, the music soft enough to blend into conversation.
Servers in black vests moved with choreographed precision through clusters of guests, balancing trays of champagne flutes and impossibly delicate canapés Cam couldn’t name. He caught fragments of conversation as he passed—investment portfolios, overseas estates, foundation boards, a senator’s upcoming fundraiser.
Cam was acutely aware of the way his shoes sounded against the marble, louder than everyone else’s somehow, as though the floor knew he didn’t belong. No matter how rich and successful he was, he didn’t belong in this world.
His gaze searched for the reason he was here until it finally found Scott on the opposite side of the vast room. Scott was engaged in a conversation with a group of elegantly dressed older men.
Watching from a distance, Cam saw a version of Scott he hadn’t met before—confident in a way that wasn’t about charm or bravado, but inheritance. The easy handshakes, the nods of recognition, the quiet respect offered without question. Scott wasn’t just comfortable here. He was part of this world.
So many things about Scott and his relationship with his family suddenly clicked into place.
“You’re Cameron Richter.”
Flinching, Cam dragged his gaze away from Scott and looked toward the sound of an unfamiliar voice.
It belonged to a tall man about his height and age. He looked a lot like Scott, his features maybe a little harder and sharper where Scott was more classically handsome.
