Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“It was,” I admit, pleased with the effort she put into her report. “But now we need Raye to perform at the Vellum on Friday.”
Silence stretches, a rare crack in Athena’s composure.
“The Vellum Club, Sir?” she repeats.
“That’s the one.” The Vellum is a fortress of exclusivity—black marble, velvet ropes; a haunt for tycoon billionaires, European royalty, and the playboy sons of Arab princes.
I know it’s a tall order—Raye, last-minute, at a venue that books months out, but the delicious incredulity on Lauren’s face when I dropped Raye’s name makes the order non-negotiable. Until I dropped Raye into the mix, my willful neighbor had managed to dodge my pull, and had us both circling each other with excuses—invitations to tea, lamps, plumbers, but I can see now that a night out with Raye is my angle, a lure she can’t resist. I’ll use it to draw her closer, to crack that stubborn shell.
“I’ll get on it right away and make it happen,” Athena says.
“Thank you,” I say, hang up, and head to the kitchen. The clatter of pans and buttery steam greets me as the staff preps breakfast. They freeze when I appear—me in the kitchen is rare enough to startle.
“Good morning,” I greet their wide-eyed faces.
Their greetings are hurried and tentative as I grab an apple from a bowl and pour black coffee into one of the clean mugs on the table.
“Carry on,” I call cheerfully over my shoulder as I slip out. The apple’s crisp bite is pleasant as I head over to my office.
My desk is littered with notes from the party, new clients waiting to be courted, billions in play. I’m supposed to be on vacation, a break from London’s grind, but even the idea of me taking a break is laughable. Disconnecting feels like letting my world teeter, and I thrive on control—emails, calls, deals that keep my world humming like a well-oiled machine. Besides, work has always been a refuge, especially now, when Lauren, under that Tiffany lamp, keeps sneaking into every pause.
I settle into my chair, the coffee’s heat seeping through the mug into my palms, and remember her. And she comes instantly and vividly—her face soft in that warm light, engrossed in her book, ethereal, untouchable. What was she reading? She’d dodged the question, her cheeks pink, and it nags me, a mystery I want to unravel. I glance at my phone, her number glowing in my contacts, tempting. No good reason to text, not yet, and it pisses me off, this ridiculous need for an excuse. I’m Hugh Montrose. I don’t wait, don’t hesitate. But with her, I have to tread carefully, and it’s maddening.
My phone buzzes, and Athena’s name flashes up. I answer, leaning back against the cool leather of my chair. “What’ve you got?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice tight with apology. “I reached Raye’s manager. She’s booked for a show in the States Saturday coming—in fact, she’s already flown out early for rehearsals. The earliest she’s free is two weekends from now.”
Disappointment hits sharply like a deal gone sour. “That won’t do,” I say, my voice low, iron beneath it. “When’s her U.S. show exactly?”
“Saturday evening,” Athena says, her voice quickening.
“Then it’s simple,” I say, leaning forward, the desk’s edge biting into my palms. “Get her for Friday night at The Vellum. We’ll fly her to the States on my jet right after—plenty of time for her Saturday gig.”
Athena pauses, processing. “That could work, but… she’s got rehearsals. Her team might not agree to the back-and-forth.”
“I don’t care what it takes,” I say, each word deliberate. “If she needs to bounce between the U.S. for practice and London for this, make it happen. Offer flights, a stay in Claridges, limos, whatever she wants. Double her U.S. fee—triple it if you have to. I don’t know a celebrity who didn’t get out of bed for money. Get it done.”
“Yes, Sir,” she says, and I hear the upbeat shift in her tone. That’s why she’s the best; she doesn’t pry, she just executes quickly and efficiently. “I’ll make it happen.”
“Good,” I say, end the call, and toss the phone onto a stack of papers. I rub my jaw, staring at the ceiling, and let the question I’ve dodged creep in: Is Lauren really worth this? The money’s nothing—I’d spend ten times that without blinking—but it’s what this says about me. I’m bending over backward, pulling strings for a woman who’s fighting me at every turn. It’s not just the land anymore, though I’m still pretending to myself it is. That cottage—I want it, sure, but it’s her I’m chasing, her door I want to open and walk into.
I lean back, biting into the apple. It’s normal, I tell myself. Attraction’s a game—hot and all-consuming, until its gone. I’m indulging, that’s all, letting myself revel in it because it’ll fade, and when it does, I’ll have what I want: her surrender and her land. Raye, the plumber, the lamp—it’s just pure strategy, moves on a board only I see.