The Billionaires (Lover's Triangle 1)

Jewel recalled how stark and grim the mansion had seemed when she and Vin had left in the morning, having fallen asleep in Rogen’s room, exhausted from the emotional turmoil. The house staff had appeared somber. There’d been a lot of watery eyes and quiet consoling. Above that, the mansion had a fragile air to it. The entire place had felt brittle, like they were all standing on a treacherously thin patch of ice that could crack at any moment. Pull everyone under.

That was very reason Jewel was pleased the Angelinis had eventually begun entertaining once more. It’d taken over a decade for them to host a party, but Jewel supposed it was difficult to hear laughter echo through the vast hallways and know it would never again be your daughter’s.

An incredibly dismal thought that sat heavy in Jewel’s heart to this day. Yet another one she had to rise above for the sake of her business this evening.

Gian gestured for her to precede him into his enormous study, with sturdy bronze-colored leather furniture scattered about, its heady scent permeating the room along with the aroma of expensive tobacco.

He took to his chair behind his massive mahogany desk, clasped his fingers on top of the old-fashioned blotter, and wore a formidable expression that nearly made her knees knock together.

She drew in a deep breath. This was unlike any negotiation Jewel had ever entered. First, her father had no idea what she was up to—and wouldn’t be pleased about being kept in the dark, or over the fact that she was here at the home of his sworn enemy. Second, the man currently brooding over her audacious move truly did intimidate the hell out of her.

Jewel held fast to a bit of false bravado and said, “I’d like to speak with you about the land our families jointly own, and something I believe I can give you that might encourage you to sell to us.”

Gian let out a low chuckle that basically indicated she was a foolish girl.

Naturally, that sparked her ire.

She told him, “I happen to have the correct bargaining chip.” She whipped her iPhone from her purse and set it on the desk in front of him, the photo of a gorgeous crystal decanter on the screen, courtesy of Bayli’s research efforts and Scarlet’s connections with auction houses and global black markets.

Jewel said, “That’s the very last of the Angelini scotch produced by your ancestors’ first distillery before it burned to the ground.” Back in the early 1800s.

The premium whisky was currently preserved in a one-of-a-kind blown-glass decanter crafted by a renowned Italian artist from Murano. Only three bottles of the scotch had been made—all from spirits dating back to the time of the French and American revolutions.

The other two bottles were long gone, as Gian knew. She’d heard him speak of the coveted scotch at a dinner party many moons ago. Back when Taylor was still alive, the two families had held numerous lucrative business partnerships with each other and everyone had gotten along.

Continuing, Jewel said, “The scotch was sold at auction by Sotheby’s for just over a million dollars to an undisclosed bidder. He wasn’t you.”

“I’m well aware of that, Jewel.” Gian’s jaw tightened the way Rogen’s always did when he was restless or contemplative.

She pulled in another steadying breath at Gian’s instant aggravation. She was poking the cagey lion with a stick, out of sheer necessity.

“It was suggested an error on the auction house’s part kept you from winning that decanter,” she said. “Though any wrongdoing couldn’t be proven. And your subsequent lawsuit did not make you the victor. However, that scotch does belong to your family, Mr. Angelini—it’s part of your heritage. And I can get it for you.”

He glared at her as though she’d grown a third eye and just declared she could achieve world dominance with the snap of her fingers.

Jewel fought the outrageous thundering of her heart. She curled her fingers into her palms so that Gian Angelini wouldn’t see them tremble.

It took him some time to respond. When his answer eventually came, it was simple and finite. “Impossible.”

Jewel was not deterred. Here was where she excelled in the Acquisitions division of Catalano Enterprises.

“You say that because you’ve already tried to buy the decanter. But, Mr. Angelini…” She slipped into a chair before his desk and speared him with an earnest, insistent look. “You know as well as I do that anyone who has a mil in spare change to purchase scotch they won’t drink, because it’s meant to be put on display like a trophy, isn’t interested in how much it’s worth monetarily. There is no true cash value that can be placed on something so rare. The eccentric person who bid on and won that scotch would only part with it if enticed by a new possession that would yield even more significant bragging rights.”

His gray eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting, Jewel?”

She had his attention—had clearly piqued his interest. She intended to keep it.

“I’ve done a hell of a lot of digging,” she told him. “With a hell of a lot of help. I know the identity of the winner of that auction item and I know there’s something out there that he wants even more than the scotch. But, like you, he can’t get his hands on it. Unless he has something substantial to barter with.”

Gian gazed at her for several suspended seconds. Then he unclasped his hands and sat back in his big leather chair. “I’m listening.”

Jewel didn’t waste a second. Jumped right in. “It turns out that this gentleman is an art aficionado but can’t procure two rare paintings that would complete one of his priceless collections. My team has tracked down the owner of those paintings, and I know what he desires—something currently out of his reach as well. I can make the deals, connect the dots, and put that decanter of scotch in your trophy case. I’ve done it before, with much less motivation.”

Their gazes remained locked. He didn’t say a word.

“I can do it again.”

Gian took endless minutes to consider her proposal. They’d gone well over the time he’d allotted her, but he didn’t seem to notice or care. His mind apparently churned over the possibility she’d presented him.