Filthy Rich (Blackstone Dynasty 1)

I’d had Victoria make a late appointment with the owner in the hopes that Brooke wouldn’t be there, and so far everything was working in my favor. I wanted this deal done before she was informed on Monday morning. In a few minutes I’d know her full name.

“I’m here to see Mr. Harris,” I told the guy at reception, not quite able to process his dark-pink leopard scarf—or was it a shawl?—as office attire. The thing was fucking huge and draped down past his knees. I was in a design studio after all, so maybe he knew something I didn’t.

“Welcome. I’m Eduardo and you are Mr. Blackstone?”

“Yes.”

“Right this way, Mr. Blackstone. Mr. Harris is expecting you. His office is upstairs.”

Eduardo led me through to the back where I caught a peek at Brooke’s office as we passed by the doorway. I knew it was hers because I saw the red flowers I’d sent to her. I was glad she liked them enough to still have them in her office weeks later.

It dawned on me she’d just been in there a few minutes ago, and I liked to think I could still smell her perfume lingering. It was hard to tell because all kinds of scents seemed to be swirling around in this place. Starting with Eduardo’s cologne. I had a suspicion he was her phone call out on the street the night of the clusterfuck cocktail party. Which was good news for me because he was one hundred percent certifiably not her boyfriend.

Yeah. Eduardo knew about a lot of things I didn’t.

“Ah, Mr. Blackstone, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Jon Harris.” He shook my hand and asked if I’d like some coffee before we got started, the usual pleasantries exchanged. “How can we help you here at Harris & Goode?” he asked.

I decided to skip the bullshit and let him know exactly what I’d come for. “My 1920s penthouse just a few blocks from here needs a complete renovation. More specifically, a woman’s touch as far as the designing goes—that point is essential, Mr. Harris. I hope you understand that I know exactly who I want working on my project. I need some help transforming a bachelor apartment into something a family could be comfortable in, and it definitely needs to be a woman doing the designing.” I smiled pleasantly before casually glancing at my watch to check the time, just to help nudge him along a little bit.

“I see.” He eyed me curiously, probably wondering what planet I’d dropped in from. “What would be the budget for your renovation?”

There we go. The universal language that everyone can speak fluently. “Oh, I think five million ought to be sufficient for my needs, but open to upward adjustment, of course.”

He bowed his head slightly, as if to suppress his elation at realizing what a contract for that amount of money could do for his business, even without the future referrals he might gain through me. “I am absolutely certain we can help you, Mr. Blackstone.”

“Excellent. Just the words I wanted to hear, Mr. Harris.” And that was how it was done.

IT had been so long since I’d needed casual clothes, it threw off my usual routine of packing for business trips. That should tell me something. Only thirty-one years old, and I couldn’t remember the last weekend I’d had away.

I really couldn’t remember when or where, and it annoyed me. Because it brought back what my dad had told me on his deathbed in full-on Technicolor. I could see him saying the words to me. “When you find whatever it is that makes you happy, Caleb, hold on to it with everything you’ve got. Your heart will let you know.”

Did I even know what my “happy things” were?

No, I did not.

I did, however, know what didn’t make me happy. And that was being so fucking confused about my feelings for a girl I barely knew. My feelings? I scowled at that thought, and threw the last of my shit into my bag and zipped it closed.

Just enough time for a quick shower before heading back to the offices where the heliport sat at the very top of Blackstone Global Enterprises.

I stripped off everything and let the hot water roll over me for a minute before I went for the soap. I wasn’t sure about a lot of things at the moment, but one mystery had been cleared up for me. Brooke Ellen Casterley. I was also in possession of her design bio, and had an appointment to meet with her late Monday afternoon.

So, it was happening, and I’d have to deal with it Monday when I walked into her office to let her know about her new project, and hopefully relieve her financial stresses. She didn’t need to find a second job any longer. The retainer fee I’d deposited tonight, payable directly to her, would take care of any urgent debts. I’d made sure.

My plan might flop if she decided she wanted nothing to do with me, but I felt confident she would accept. And if she did accept the job, at least she would be working for me for as long as it took to renovate the penthouse. That meant I would have access to see her and talk to her . . . for a long time. What did I care if the styling cues weren’t to my taste? What did I know about the interior design of a home? Nothing. Everything I’d given input on before was for business offices.

Just thinking about her even a little drew a reaction out of my aching cock. Remembering how she looked walking across the street in her pink coat and leather pants had me rock hard in seconds. Some soap applied under the steaming hot shower spray to just the right places . . .

My hand reaching down to grip the heavy weight was inevitable.

I needed to release some tension, and it felt far too fucking good once I started to even consider stopping. I wouldn’t stop pumping my fist up and down the length of my cock. Couldn’t.

The sound of my hand as it fought for friction against the tight skin of my dick sounded almost brutal. Root to tip, twisted, and then slammed back down all the way again. Over and over the motion was repeated, all while images of her bombarded me. Some real, some fantasy—mixed in together to make such an erotic concoction I nearly went down in the shower at one point when my knees buckled. Only one thing would end it. And that would be when I came furiously hard from picturing the image of Brooke beneath me, surrounding me, and in my arms as we did this together.

It took about three more seconds after I imagined how beautiful she’d look while we were fucking.

Beautiful is how Brooke would be with my cock buried deep inside her. She would be mine when that happened.

&n