Page 5 of Diego

“What?”

“If the boys throw a party while you’re there, make sure you take pictures.”

I stare at him.

“A lot of them.”

My middle finger follows him into the hallway. I hear his laugh all the way down the hall.

I leave the conference room and head in the direction opposite him toward my office.

A fresh coffee is waiting on my desk when I walk into my office, which immediately improves my mood. I close the door behind me, take off my jacket, and drape it over the back of my chair before sitting down. The files for my 9:00 meeting are already arranged across the desk, but before I can reach for them, my phone vibrates against my palm.

There are seventeen new messages waiting for me, three of them related to the move and one is a group message from the boys. Against my better judgment, I open that first and see a message from Matteo.

He has sent me a photograph of a bedroom containing a bed, a nightstand, and absolutely nothing else, followed by a message welcoming me to my palace.

I stare at the screen long enough for another message to arrive, this one from Tomasso informing me that they took a vote and decided to give me the room farthest from the kitchen because I am old and apparently require more exercise than the rest of them.

I type a response telling both of them to go fuck themselves and hit send.

I receive several laughing emojis in response.

I set the phone face down on my desk and reach for the coffee. Living with them is going to be unbearable, but at least I will not be bored.

I take a drink and pull the meeting file toward me, forcing my attention back onto work. Conti Enterprises has grown aggressively over the past two years, and each of my brothers has had a hand in that growth. Mario sees opportunity early and has the patience to wait until moving becomes worthwhile. Ricardo can negotiate almost anyone into giving him what he wants, and Lorenzo understands operations well enough to make complicated things run with far less friction than they typically would.

I have my own strengths, and most of them begin with understanding people.

There is value in being liked, especially because people tend to underestimate how much they reveal when they are comfortable. A man will tell you across a dinner table what he would never say in a conference room. Give him enough time to talk, and he will eventually show you what he wants, what he fears, what matters to him, and what he only pretends matters because he thinks it gives him leverage.

The legitimate side of our business and the other side are not as different as respectable people would like to believe. In the end, both rely on understanding exactly what the person across from you wants badly enough to trade for.

I settle in and try to put my mind on this upcoming meeting. Once I get through it and the work waiting on my desk, I will be on my way to Meridian.

For the first time since 6:14 this morning, that last part makes the situation seem marginally less irritating.

Someone there will find me another place to live.

They had better.

Chapter Two

Blair

By 8:25, I am through the front doors of The Meridian Group with coffee in one hand, my bag over my shoulder, and exactly five minutes to spare before anyone can accuse me of arriving merely on time.

The office is already alive around me. Phones ring from the reception desk, heels strike the polished floor, and two brokers are standing beside one of the glass conference rooms having an intensely serious conversation over what looks like a floor plan.

Meridian represents luxury real estate the way people with wealth expect it to be represented: expensive without being gaudy, polished without looking sterile, every surface chosen to remind clients they deserve and can afford the very best.

I have been here long enough to stop noticing most of it every morning, but nowhere near long enough to forget that I am still the newest broker on the floor.

“Morning, rookie.”

I turn toward the voice and find Carter Pierce leaning against the edge of the reception desk with a paper cup in one hand. His tie is already loosened despite the fact that the workday has barely started, which seems to be less a wardrobe failure than a permanent feature of his personality.

“I’ve told you to stop calling me that,” I say as I walk toward him.