The Billionaire (The Dalton Brothers 2)

Prologue

Jenner

“Damn it, Jenner, you’re drooling.”

I heard Walter’s comment, but my attention was on the brunette who was making her way across the restaurant. She had one hell of a body, wearing a tiny, low-cut red dress. Full Cs on display. The bottom of her dress hitting the center of her thighs.

And, goddamn it, it was climbing.

With each step, the hem rose half an inch. By the time she passed our table, I was hoping she wouldn’t bother pulling it down, giving me the view I was after.

I bet her pussy was fucking perfect.

Her stare, locking with mine, was the kind that mentally stripped off my suit. Her slight grin only confirmed that, those plump lips promising a blow job I’d never forget.

“Do you need a napkin?” Walter added.

The brunette continued to hold my gaze until she passed us, turning the corner into the entrance of the restaurant.

Now that she was gone, I shifted my attention back to Walter. “Holy hell.” I shook my head, lifting the dark cloth from my lap to wipe the corners of my mouth. “Did you see her?”

“She certainly had eyes for you.”

Walter Spade was my largest client. A hotel mogul I’d been doing business with since I’d passed the bar. For tonight’s meeting, I’d chosen the highest-rated steak house in LA, the scotch he was sipping over five hundred dollars a glass.

I smiled. “Do you blame her?”

He chuckled. “Tell me, are there any skirts in LA you haven’t looked under?”

I pushed my back into the chair, rubbing my hands together. “Hers.”

“Should I wager a bet that you’ll have her naked before we’re served dessert?”

This certainly wouldn’t be the first time a woman’s glance had enticed me enough to meet her in the hallway outside the ladies’ room and carry her inside, fucking her against one of the walls of the stall.

But Walter wasn’t just some client I could leave for thirty minutes.

Walter was the client.

The one who had helped me become a billionaire.

I got our waitress’s attention and pointed at our tumblers, signaling we needed a refill, before I replied, “The only thing we’re betting on tonight is the success of your upcoming hotel.” I shifted in my seat, crossing my legs under the table. “I know you mentioned you have several locations in mind. Have you made any decisions?”

Spade Hotels was the biggest independent chain in the world with twenty-six five-star hotels in his portfolio. This meeting was to discuss his plans for the twenty-seventh, which he wanted to open within the next twenty-four months.

Each build-out was becoming more difficult, unraveling hundreds of unchartered complications. The city would tie me up in permit issues, and the seller would bury me in thick, daunting negotiations. There was often litigation over the height of the hotel, the zoning, if the land housed animals or endangered vegetation. Months of research went into these projects, and that was before construction even began, which was another stage I legally oversaw.

“I do have a few ideas,” he started. “One that’s been marinating for over a year.”

Walter approached new ventures unlike the way I pursued women. He was strategic, not impulsive. He wanted to analyze each endeavor, plan the exploration, process the possibilities.

I wanted to taste and please and come, and then I wanted to wake up in my own bed.

Alone.

“Let’s talk about it,” I told him.

“Before we do, I want to hear your thoughts.” He turned his glass in a circle, the amber-colored liquid sloshing against the sides. “You’ve traveled the world, Jenner. You’re in a plane more often than you’re on the ground. You’re at the age where people start having more disposable income and they like to travel in style. They might still fly coach, but they want thousand-thread-count sheets covering them at night. Where do the young and wealthy, like yourself, visit nowadays?”

I had two brothers who I used to do most of my traveling with. Since my youngest brother, Ford, had his daughter, Everly, his getaway time was more limited. My oldest brother, Dominick, was tied down with Kendall—his client turned girlfriend. The extent of my trips now happened solo, but when I was able to drag the guys away, there were a few spots we visited most often.

One in particular that had everything I was looking for in a destination.

“When a guy is in his twenties, he wants action,” I told him. “The pulse and vibrance of big, entertaining cities like Vegas, Miami, Manhattan, where they have the convenience of twenty-four/seven amenities. When men hit their thirties, their careers are more strenuous, and their mindset shifts. Rather than a slice of pizza from a pushcart and warm canned beer, we want a Michelin-rated restaurant and a fireplace across from our bed.”

“Wait until you hit your fifties.” He laughed, taking a large drink. “That fireplace will need to come with a remote with no less than a hundred channels on the TV, and if they don’t offer a two-hour massage at the spa, forget it.” He leaned his arms on the table, cradling the twenty-five-year-old scotch with both hands. “Tell me where this magical place is.”

I could see the scenery without closing my eyes. The vibrant colors of the fall foliage, the crispness of fresh, clean air, the snow-covered peaks. “Utah.”