“Fortunately, everyone in this room is well equipped with their balls,” Billy drawled, slanting a grin at Ross’s baby sister. “Except for you, Gina. And thank God for it.” His gentle teasing garnered the desired effect, and the shadows in her eyes dimmed, lightening with humor and gratitude. “And once we all sign, no one will ever question the influence and reach of The Edmond Organization.”
Rusty grunted and slid the contract over the table toward him. As he scanned through, Billy glanced at Ross and winked. Ross smothered a snort, shaking his head. His pal had been a charmer in college, and since he arrived in Royal two years ago, he hadn’t changed a bit. With his impeccable appearance and manners, generosity with his time, acumen and money, Billy had everyone from business associates to the often clique-ish members of Royal society wrapped around his finger.
Including Rusty, which was a feat unto itself.
The older man had even vouched for Billy with the Texas Cattleman’s Club, and Ross’s friend had scored a much-coveted membership. Billy shared a camaraderie and closeness with Rusty Edmond that even his kids couldn’t claim.
But that was Billy. The Billionaire Whisperer, they jokingly called him.
All right, maybe not so jokingly.
“This looks good,” Rusty announced, reaching inside his suit coat to remove a thick gold pen. With flourish, he signed his name on the designated line. “You did good, son,” he praised Billy.
Picking up his drink, Ross sipped, waiting for the dark slick of jealousy to slide down his throat to his chest along with the liquor. After all, his father had just called another manson, and Ross was human. So yes, pinpricks of jealousy did sting him. But relief reigned as the most prevalent emotion.
And if that wasn’t a fucked-up indictment on the Edmond family dynamic, he didn’t know what was.
But one quick glance at Gina and at Asher, his stepbrother whom Rusty had adopted after marrying Asher’s mother—wife number two—verified he wasn’t alone in this sentiment. That same relief shone his siblings’ gazes, as well. Anytime Rusty leashed in that infamous mercurial temper was a reason to breathe deep and bask in the peaceful, and probably brief, moment.
A knock on the door reverberated in the room, and Billy waved toward the contract. “That’s my surprise. I’ll get that while you finish up here.”
Ross moved forward first, adding his signature to the contract, followed swiftly by Gina and Asher. By the time they all finished, Billy returned, bearing a silver tray laden with a bottle of champagne and five glass flutes. In moments, Billy had the sparkling wine poured and they’d all lifted their glasses to meet high over the table.
“A toast.” Billy paused, blue eyes gleaming. “To The Edmond Organization stamping its indelible brand on not just the US, but the world. I think we’ve all waited for this day to arrive. So, to achieving long-awaited goals. And finally, to all of you, the Edmond family. May you all get what you so richly deserve.” He smiled. “Emphasis on the rich.”
They clinked glasses and sipped the champagne, celebrating this deal that they’d all put so much time into bringing to fruition.
“Vendors have already been contacting me about the festival, just from rumors alone. They want in. I predict tickets will sell out within hours of going on sale,” Asher said. “Soiree on the Bay is going to be wildly successful. For all of us.”
“It needs to be,” Ross added gruffly. “This is the inaugural launch. The potential to make this a coveted, exclusive and profitable annual event is huge. So the first one needs to go off without a hitch. Besides, vendors and investors are pouring money in with ours, and the charities that will benefit from this are counting on it. Onus.”
“We’ll do it,” Gina swore, her tone firm. “I have zero doubts about that.”
“With the Edmond reputation and money on the line, hell yes, you’ll make this a success. You have no choice. I want people talking about this festival for months before and after.”
“Oh, they will. Rest assured, Rusty, they will,” Billy murmured, a corner of his mouth lifting in a half smile. “I promise you. This will be an event that no one will ever forget.”
Once more, excitement stirred in Ross’s gut. In just months, vendors, investors, the press and ticketholders would flock totheirfestival. He sipped from the bubbly wine, savoring the light flavor with a smile. It would be business for him, but notallbusiness. People from all over the world would be visiting the private island where the event would be held. Which meant hordes of beautiful women. Most specifically, women who wouldn’t expect more from him than the temporary, mutually agreed upon use of each other’s bodies for the hottest, dirtiest pleasure.
He knew the reputation he’d earned—they called him a playboy. And admittedly, it was a moniker he deserved. Flings, one-night stands—the filthy hot fun without the messy emotional attachments that could wrap around a man, trap him, strangle him until he couldn’t think, couldn’t function, couldn’t fuckingbreathe.
His chest tightened, a vise slowly turning until he could practically hear his ribs creak in protest. A face, faded and nebulous, wavered across his mind’s eye like a mirage a dying man glimpsed seconds before his heart and body surrendered. Ross’s grip tautened around the glass, his jaw clenching. He wasn’t a dying man, but he’d beat the shit out of himself if he ever allowed himself to be that humiliatinglyweakagain. To allow himself to believe fucking was more than that—two people satisfying an itch before going their separate ways. It didn’t have anything to do with emotion...with love.
God, why in the hell did that word keep rebounding in his head today?
He mentally shook his head, dislodging the wayward thoughts—and that damn face—from his head. Focus. He needed to focus.
He and his siblings hovered on the precipice of obtaining their individual and collective purposes. Of achieving thosegoalsthat Billy had toasted about mere moments ago.
And nothing would stand in their way.
One
“Charlotte, can I borrow you for a moment?”
Charlotte Jarrett looked up from plating and double-checking the dishes before sending them out for customers to dine on. This was her kitchen, her baby. And her recipes were her soul. If the food wasn’t flawless, she sent it back for another plate to be prepared. Nothing less than perfection went out of here.
“Sure thing,” she said to Faith Grisham, the manager of Sheen, the restaurant where Charlotte had been working as head chef for two weeks now. “Give me just a couple of minutes to finish up here and get these out and served.”
