The Billionaires: The Bosses (Lover's Triangle 2)

But, again, that wasn’t the current pressing matter.

Rather, an incredible idea popped into Christian’s head that just might get his and Rory’s derailed project back on track.

Christian’s testosterone level surged at this unexpected opportunity.

“Who are you?” he inquired. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“I don’t mind at all,” she said, an alluring look on her face that enhanced her artistically crafted features. Her high cheekbones, her sculpted eyebrows, her aristocratic nose. “I’m Bayli Styles. Bayli with an i. Styles with a y.”

“And you’re a model, Bayli with an i, Styles with a y?”

She laughed at his bit of humor. “Aspiring, mostly,” she confessed. “I’ve only been in New York a couple of months.”

Hmm. As of yet undiscovered by anyone else …

Yes. Absolutely perfect.

Christian had just found a golden nugget.

Wait till Rory fucking finds out.

Christian’s best friend and business partner had been so wrapped up in the launch of their new steakhouse in Manhattan that he couldn’t be bothered with a night out at a premier fund-raising gala. Instead, Rory was in the kitchen this evening.

Well, that actually wasn’t out of the ordinary. Rory was a bit of a recluse. A famous recluse, but a recluse nonetheless. He made his presence known when necessary, but the man’s kitchen was his castle, in the restaurants they jointly owned and in Rory’s home.

Christian would have liked to persuade his friend to get out more often, but that was no easy feat. And neither here nor there at present.

Christian had something entirely different to focus on at the moment.

“I will take the Black Dragon,” he told Bayli, pleased with the sudden turn of events. “Thank you.”

“It’s my pleasure,” she said, beaming and stealing his breath with her megawatt smile and easy demeanor. There was nothing forced about her conversation or her expressiveness. Nothing contrived or even practiced. She was so natural, so comfortable in her own skin. Confident and yet incredibly friendly and instantly likeable.

For months, Christian had needed a catalyst to spark his creativity. And damned if lightning hadn’t just struck!

While his mind buzzed with the sort of activity that always charged him to the core, Bayli’s assistant set up the stand and took the humidor from her to locate the coveted cigar she’d mentioned to Christian and opened the individual wooden encasement. A work of art unto itself.

Bayli retrieved the cutter and asked, “May I?”

“Please.”

She gingerly held the cigar with two fingers and her thumb and used an elegant, wafer-thin cutter, executing a clean wedge cut of the cap, as though she’d cut an eleven-hundred-dollar cigar a million times before. Christian nodded his approval. He’d actually tensed up for a moment, hoping like hell she wouldn’t mutilate such a highly regarded cigar. But Bayli Styles knew what she was doing.

She handed over the Black Dragon and then her assistant provided her with a well-crafted lighter. She held the flame close for Christian, careful to keep it from touching the tip of his cigar as he slowly rotated it, achieving a glowing ring. The whole time, his eyes were locked with hers. He noted the deep-orange color mixed with golden flecks that rimmed the tawny pools. Caught the hitch in her breath that pulled the cords of her neck tight. Felt the nearness of her seep inside him and bunch his muscles.

He wasn’t accustomed to reacting so quickly and so vehemently to a woman. Usually, he was more guarded. Assessing the attraction. It was Rory who had the immediate and strong responses to their objects of desire. Though Rory hadn’t really been feeling the vibe of late, Christian had sensed. And attributed it to the pressure of last month’s grand opening, and the new menu Rory spent all of his spare time working on. Completely understandable.

Hell, they hadn’t even found a few minutes over the past couple of days to catch up on business, because Christian had been inundated as well, with travel. They kept missing each other’s calls.

When Christian had the cigar going, Bayli snapped the lid of the lighter shut. A server appeared at her elbow with a silver tray holding a crystal tumbler.

She must have caught the movement from her peripheral vision, because Bayli’s gaze remained on Christian as she asked him, “Rémy Martin cognac?”

“Certainly,” he said.

She lifted the intricately cut Baccarat glass from the tray and graciously handed it over.

He took a sip, then assured her, “A perfect complement to the Black Dragon. You don’t miss a beat, do you?”