Playboy Prince

But I can't picture a single one. I can't remember a name on my lips, a head of hair in my hands, a dress on the floor.

The memories form, but I don't see the women I invited to my bed.

I see Briar.

Her long legs wrapped around my waist. Her grey eyes wracked with bliss. Her head falling back as she comes.

On the fucking floor in the kitchen, because we can't wait to get to the bed.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I'm a slut, sure, but I'm a grown-ass man. I have some self-control.

"You want a drink?" I ask.

"Are you having one?"

"If you are."

"Always a gentleman?" She turns to me with a soft smile. The one I recognize. You're Liam Pierce and you're ridiculous and I like it.

"You're the one who disagrees."

"You offered to eat me out in front of your brother."

"I'm not following the logic."

Briar lets out a soft laugh. "Of course not." She takes a step toward me. "Are you really going to fix me a drink?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"You're a billionaire."

"With manners."

"Still." She takes another step toward me. "Usually, I'm the one fetching your drinks."

"Enjoy the role reversal."

"I will. Thank you." Her smile widens. "Do you know how to make a drink?"

"Gin and grapefruit?"

She nods.

"It's a complicated recipe, but I think I'll get it."

She laughs. It's different than her normal you're ridiculous laugh. Softer. More intimate.

Or maybe that's the space.

She's in my apartment.

I only invite women to my apartment for one reason.

I have friends. I throw parties. But if I'm offering plus ones, I host at a public space.

Too much security risk otherwise.

Too many opportunities for failure.

Parental training? Or running a cyber security company? I'm not sure anymore. I'm not a tech guy. I know enough to do my job, but I'm not passionate about computers or software.

Numbers are more my speed. Nobody could believe it when I started acing math tests in middle school. I was a troublemaking kid. I didn't take anything seriously. I didn't even do my homework.

Math made sense. I was good at it, and I enjoyed my expertise, but it wasn't until I started studying money that I fell in love.

Money is fascinating. A piece of paper with arbitrary value. And people do anything to get it.

Easy for me to say. I have a lot. But I see wealthy CEOs make mistakes all the time. Overpay for a company to spite an enemy. Or undervalue an employee who annoys them. Attempt to trade cash for respect.

Look at me, offering Briar a massive amount of start-up cash to play this game with me.

Yes, I want to invest in her company. Yes, I believe in her success.

But there's no monetary value to our ruse.

What is it worth, making a dying man happy?

There's no financial benefit. I'm not expecting any inheritance, or a leg up, or the chance to buy Preston's business.

There's no gain at the end of this transaction.

Only loss.

But maybe there is something in between. Some need for respect, love, closure. A need to prove myself, to prove I'm the kind of guy Preston believes I can be.

I move into the kitchen. Fill two lowball glasses with ice, grapefruit, gin. I even find triple sec.

Briar is standing at the window, staring at the skyline. "You really live here?"

I don't know what she means. "No, I broke into some guy's apartment. Thank fuck, he has your brand."

"You have my brand?"

"Yeah."

"You said gin tastes like Pine-Sol."

"It does."

She motions explain.

"Some women prefer gin. You drink enough of it to know—"

She flips me off.

I smile.

It's normal. Our usual back and forth.

Then she looks out the window and it's different again.

This shit with Preston is fucking with me. I'm off my game.

Maybe that's it.

Maybe she's the same. Maybe we're the same.

Maybe kissing her didn't change anything.

I hold up her drink. "You want to go to the balcony?"

"You have a balcony?"

"A terrace."

Her eyes go wide. "And you're just telling me now?"

"It's been ten minutes."

"Ten entire minutes."

My lips curl into a smile. She's adorable. How can such a tough badass be so fucking adorable?

I grab our drinks. Lead her to the balcony.

She opens the sliding glass door. Steps outside. "This is yours?" She turns the corner, walks along the other edge, to the open space at the end. "All yours?"

"All mine."

"You don't owe the bank?"

"Bought it with cash."

"I thought that was a dumb investment."

"I was outbidding an asshole."

"Liam Pierce, as petty as the rest of us."

"Our secret."

She mimes zipping her lips. "Do I know him?"

"Who?"

"The asshole."

"The tech guy from San Francisco."

"The one tech guy from San Francisco?"

"The one with the hipster glasses."

She shoots me a really look. "That barely narrows it down."

"He tried to poach you."

Her eyes light up. "He tried to fuck me."

"That too."

Her eyes meet mine. "You were jealous?"

"He was an asshole."

"You were jealous."

"Nobody steals my fucking assistant."

"Your assistant…" She brings her drink to her lips. "You didn't want him to steal your assistant."