Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
The combined pressure had been sitting heavily on my chest for the past hour.
I’d need to go to Italy a few days early to prepare the villa and staff. Then spend at least a week playing in the tournament to hash out the needs of whatever had popped up.
On the one hand, I was looking forward to it. Despite being late spring on the calendar, New York’s winter still had a stranglehold on the city, and an almost two-week break in the sun sounded ideal. I also enjoyed the intellectual challenge of the game itself.
On the other hand, I didn’t enjoy the immense responsibility that came with what it represented. In this case, trying to foil Russia’s latest plot to cause instability in the Baltic region.
And the timing could not have been worse. Just when I was finding my rhythm as the head of Maris Holdings, I had to step away for a couple of weeks.
But the memory of my grandfather’s words about the Paxis Council was never far from my mind.
Responsibility chooses the worthy, not the willing.
Russia’s provoking activities had been ramping up, and it seemed it was no longer a collection of minor events but something much more serious, which meant it was time for the Paxis Council to do its thing.
Years ago, when my grandfather had finally revealed to me that Paxis was a front for some of the world’s wealthiest people to solve critical global challenges, I’d been shocked. I remembered asking him why the council couldn’t just solve issues verbally, through discourse and diplomacy the way government leaders did.
Some things are too important to say out loud, Locke. Words are powerful. And they cannot be unspoken.
I hadn’t understood at the time, but now I did. Words could be overheard. Translated. Shared. Game moves could be disguised, and the way this particular game was played, with a combination of specially crafted boards and pieces, the moves could only be understood by someone trained for years on the game.
Someone like me.
“I’m not up for a late night,” I murmured to the woman beside me as I lifted my chin to an acquaintance at the coat check stand.
After shrugging off her big, feathery coat, Willow looped her arm through mine, pushing her breast against my elbow, and tugged on my necktie. Her breath was hot on my ear. “What if I let you do whatever you want to me back at your place first?” she purred in a voice almost loud enough for people to overhear. “Then can we go back out? You know you’ll feel better after a little… exercise.”
Her suggestion was laughable since we both knew she’d let me do whatever I wanted to her after this, regardless. But if she wanted to leave after I was done fucking her, that was fine by me. I’d sleep better without her in my bed.
“We’ll see.”
As soon as we entered the dining room, my distraction changed from the Paxis tournament to the crowd of important benefactors. I greeted people as they approached, introduced them to Willow, and generally made small talk until it was time to sit for the meal.
One of the things I appreciated about the woman on my arm—in addition to her sexy-as-fuck body—was her energy. She chatted with anyone and everyone, gossiping about celebrities just enough to be engaging but not enough to be annoying.
Though I was known as a brilliant business negotiator, smiling and putting people at ease was not a skill I possessed. My sister, Celeste, had inherited all the charm in our generation.
As Willow entertained the people at our table, I ruminated about the Paxis invitation again.
Most people on the council brought a “date” of some kind. Men brought wives or girlfriends, women their husbands or boyfriends. They might also bring practical guests as well: assistants for the work-obsessed, or a chosen successor, as my grandfather had brought me for years.
While the council played in the afternoon and evening hours, those who didn’t know the truth of the game kept busy with work or enjoyed their time shopping, skiing, or sunbathing, depending on the tournament location. The game would often pause for an extravagant sit-down dinner at night, where everyone was invited.
In the past, I hadn’t brought anyone since I’d been there with my grandfather, but I’d suffered for it. While other men were able to return to their rooms and blow off steam with a willing wife or girlfriend each night, I’d returned to my hand, laptop, and a giant-sized bottle of lube. Like a fucking loser.
After the last tournament—on a remote island in the Caribbean a few weeks before my grandfather’s death late last year—I’d sworn to myself I’d bring someone next time to warm my bed.
This time, it would be even more critical for me to have a way of releasing the tension.