The Billionaires (Lover's Triangle 1)

For the most part, Jewel had had to rely on the out of sight, out of mind mentality … or she’d never get past her heartbreak. Both of them. Because her disconnection from Rogen had eventually led her into Vin’s arms. That had gone horrifically wrong around graduation. She hadn’t seen him since. Didn’t speak to him.

And though she’d secretly visited Rogen once at Trinity and then one more time in Italy during a college break, she’d opted to sever the ties with him, too. It’d been excruciating to see each other on such a limited basis. To have to be so sneaky about it. That had never felt right.

Then again, her split from Vin hadn’t sat well with her, either. But it was all a complicated mess that had never been straightened out. Just like the family feud that had started with mourning, morphed into misunderstandings, and then exploded into a vindictive backlash—with the two heirs, Rogen and Jewel, caught in the cross fire. And Vin suffering along with them.

Diverting her thoughts as the limo passed through the massive gates of the Catalano estate, she told Cameron, “Take the car back into the city and enjoy a night out with Spence, on me.” They wove their way through the plush setting of velvety-green grass, voluptuous trees, and gently flowing streams before pulling under the vast porte cochere of the main house.

The driver opened the door for Jewel.

“I’ll see you in the office on Monday morning,” she told her assistant.

“Wait.” Cameron gingerly clasped Jewel’s arm, a hint of warning in her tone. “What about your parents?”

“Not here to grill me over why I’m in River Cross. Thank God. Daddy’s plane hasn’t landed yet from his trip to Aspen and I arranged a day at the spa for Mother.”

“Clever girl,” Cameron said with a conspiratorial grin.

Jewel nodded. It was a huge relief her parents wouldn’t be around to talk her out of attending a party she wasn’t actually invited to. They would make the attempt to thwart her efforts not just because of the difficulty and sensitivity of this impending real estate negotiation—if they suspected anything, that was, because Jewel hadn’t told them her plans, they’d come about so quickly—but also because Rogen would be there.

Her breath caught at the prospect of seeing him after so many years. Chased by a blazing fire in her veins that Vin could be on hand as well. He was the family’s Chief General Counsel now. She’d read that in the Wall Street Journal.

Vin was the last person she wanted to run into this evening. One smug word out of his mouth and she knew her temper would flare. She couldn’t afford that. Jewel had to play this hand calmly and coolly. Which basically meant avoiding Vin D’Angelo at all costs.

It also meant she had to continue greasing the wheels in order to get what she wanted. So she told Cameron, “Send over two cases of our Meritage to the Angelinis, my compliments.” It was the Catalanos’ prized merlot-sauvignon-cabernet blend. “Mrs. Angelini has always favored that variety. We used to provide it for all of her events as a hostess gift. Back in the day.”

“Consider everything taken care of.” Cameron’s manicured fingers slid away, though the concern still rimmed her hazel eyes. “And good luck with your new mission.”

“Thank you.” Jewel exited the car. Adrenaline over the prospect of coming to acceptable terms with Gian mixed with anxiety over seeing Rogen.

And possibly Vin.

She couldn’t argue with the wary voice inside her head that told her this might all be a gigantic mistake on her part. But no one else was making a move on that land. It was high time someone did.

Even if it put her in a prickly situation with three men she wasn’t exactly primed and ready to confront …

But Jewel lived and breathed the adage of no guts, no glory.

She prayed her motto would not fail her tonight!

&nbs

p; * * *

“If I recall correctly,” Vin D’Angelo said to Rogen Angelini as Vin checked his diamond-studded cuff links to ensure they were secure, “there’s a gala about to commence in half an hour. And you’re still in jeans. Dusty jeans and boots, to be exact.” He sniffed the air and added, “You also smell like the stables.”

“Smart-ass.” Rogen dropped his saddlebags on the kitchen table in his three-bedroom house on the Angelini estate and extracted several containers. “I was out riding the adjacent property, collecting more soil samples to keep testing what grapes will grow best on that land. What hybrids I can work with.”

“First of all,” Vin said in his deep, lawyerly voice, “there’s a no trespassing without written consent clause in the contracts your parents and the Catalanos signed when they jointly purchased the property. It even applies to you.”

Rogen smirked.

“Second,” Vin continued, unfazed, “Anthony Catalano will never consent to a sale—and the binding agreements specifically state that Catalanos can only sell their portion of the land to Angelinis and vice versa. Which clearly is never going to happen. So testing the soil is pretty much a waste of time.”

“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared for any opportunity that might come along, my friend.” Rogen had wanted to grow on that property since he could walk the lot line.

Perhaps a slight exaggeration, but still. It was his dream.

“The only thing you need to be concerned about right now is this ostentatious shindig your mother is throwing,” Vin reminded him. “There are over six hundred VIPs from San Diego to San Francisco—and all the Sans and Santas in between—about to fill the mansion and spill out onto the grounds. The Golden Boy son needs to look a little less Lone Ranger and a lot more James Bond.”