The Pact (Winslow Brothers 2)

“You act like flying commercial is some kind of atrocity.” I roll my eyes. “We’re not all living the luxury lifestyle, you know. Plus, you sign my paychecks and pay for my flights and accommodations…”

I mean, I can’t deny that flying commercial isn’t what it used to be. Every airline gives you the minimum amount of space and makes you pay a fortune for bags, even though they overbook their flights to the point of having to stuff carry-ons in the cargo.

Not to mention, the snacks and drinks are a thing of the past. You want a Coca-Cola on your flight? Prepare to cough up ten bucks.

But still, that flight saved me several hours of driving, so I’m not going to complain.

“Whatever, sis.” He just smirks and sassily shrugs his shoulder. “How did the setup go in Malibu?”

“You mean the ten-million-dollar beachfront home with a master walk-in closet bigger than my apartment?” I tease. “Oh, it went just fine and dandy. Didn’t make me want to move in or anything.”

He chuckles. “I can’t wait to see what you did with it.”

“Frederick was already there getting pictures before I left for the airport, so I’m sure come Monday morning, he’ll have them ready for you to look at.”

“Fantastic,” he comments. “Forcing you to emigrate from Canada and join my team was the best decision I’ve ever made. I’m never letting you go.”

Forcing me? Ha. Working on Damien Ellis’s team was the epitome of career goals. I would’ve sold both my kidneys on the black market and offered up my firstborn just to be a part of one of the most successful real estate firms in the US.

“Well, that’s good news because you’re stuck with me.”

Los Angeles, New York, Las Vegas, Miami, EllisGrey is the top name in the real estate game. If you’re not a part of Damien Ellis and Thomas Grey’s team, you want to be on their team. And if you have a small obsession with Patrick Dempsey like I do, you fantasize about having the company’s name on your business card a little more. Seriously, though, for someone like me, who specializes in interior design and staging homes for the market, unless I manage to start my own firm and skyrocket to success, there isn’t any higher achievement.

It’s the whole reason I moved from Vancouver to LA and the whole purpose I was seeking when I started Daisy Designs’s social media presence.

Though never in a million years did I think my Instagram following and popularity would get me on a guy like Damien’s radar. To this day, I still feel like there’s been some sort of mistake.

“What time did you end up getting in?”

“A little before noon.”

“Doll, you’ve practically been here all day. What in the hell have you been doing? You should’ve called me.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I know how to keep myself busy.” I waggle my brows. “Shower, nap, slot machines, and a delicious room service lunch, to be specific. Though not in that order.”

“Slot machines? For real?” he questions on a laugh. “And how did that treat you?”

“I’m up five hundred.”

He jolts his head back. “You’re up five hundred on fucking slot machines?”

“Well, technically, I broke even on this addictive buffalo game, but apparently, I was so entertaining while playing, a random stranger gave me a five-hundred-dollar chip.”

“A random stranger?” he questions. “Girl, tell me he’s tall, dark, and handsome with a big cock and you got his number.”

“Technically, he was tall, medium-brown, and handsome. His hair was a little on the lighter side.”

“And the cock?”

“Shoot.” I snap my fingers. “I knew I forgot something. It totally slipped my mind to have him drop his pants so I could take a look.”

Damien grins. “Did you at least get his number? Any man who’s willing to cough up money because he thinks you’re entertaining shows some serious sugar-daddy potential.”

“Oh my God!” I exclaim on a giggle. “I don’t want a sugar daddy.”

“I do.”

“Damien, I hate to break it to you, but you are the sugar daddy.”

“You think Mateo is just using me for my money?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Dame, you’re handsome. But your boyfriend is a twenty-five-year-old Brazilian model with the prettiest face and tightest ass I’ve ever seen.”

He winks. “He has a big cock too.”

“TMI!” I cough on my own saliva. “TMI!”

“Don’t be such a prude, Dais.” Damien just laughs and presses a soft kiss to my cheek. “Now go get yourself a drink and enjoy the party.”

And then he’s off, doing his usual Damien-thing of schmoozing and impressing everyone in the room. I swear, I’ve never met anyone like him. Successful, hilarious, insanely fashionable, and sophisticated, yet he’s unapologetically himself.

It’s the kind of confidence and contentment that only come with age and wisdom and experience. I wish I could bottle it up and add it to my daily vitamin regimen.