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I step back, admiring or rather scrutinizing.

He looks almost presentable, like the man he’s supposed to be.

“If you want me naked,” he says with that devilish glint in his eye, “all you have to do is ask.”

“Behave yourself.”

“Don’t I always?” He grabs a set of keys beside the mail and walks to the door, not waiting for me.

Brandon Milton doesn’t have an innocent bone in his body, and somehow, that makes me want him more than ever.

TWO

BRANDON

Istep out of the car, tugging at the tie. It’s too tight, like a noose around my neck. Naomi emerges, looking like a million bucks in a sleek black dress that hugs every curve. She’s wearing those killer heels that make her legs go on forever, though she still barely reaches my shoulder.

No.

This goddamn beautiful and infuriating woman is priceless, like the perfect dish you can only create once.

She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow.

I shrug. “Let’s get this over with.”

We walk up the steps to the museum, where a banner proclaims ‘In Loving Memory of Charles Milton.’ I want to tear it down.

Loving memory? More like a goddam joke. The old man was a tyrant, and now I’m supposed to grieve to honor him?

The whole place is dripping in ostentatious marble and gaudy chandeliers, like a fucking wedding cake that’s been decorated by a pastry chef with a heavy melodramatic hand. The exhibits are swathed in black velvet, draped like burnt meringue.

Tall vases filled with white lilies stand at every corner, their scent so thick I can taste it, cloying and artificial, like cheap vanilla extract trying to pass as the real thing. Waiters weave through the crowd with trays of champagne and hors d’oeuvres. I snag a glass and down it in one go, the bubbles prickling my throat.

Better than getting through this sober.

“Pace yourself.” Naomi shoots me a look. “We’ve still got a long night ahead of us.”

“Don’t remind me.” I scan the room, taking in the dark-clad vultures circling, ready to pick over the remnants of my father’s legacy.

“I’ll be right back.” Naomi waves to Serena, a good friend of hers. “Try not to mess up while I’m gone.”

“Already miss you.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish.” I wink at her, and she pivots, stomping off while mumbling something that sounds suspiciously like ‘asshole.’

Still got it. Getting on her nerves or making her blush are my two favorite things in this world. There could be a third one, but?—

“Brandon!” Allistar fucking Green, one of Dad’s oldest friends and biggest ass-kissers, barrels down on me, grin plastered on his Botox face. The old bastard crushes my hand in his meaty paw. “Your father was a titan. He would be so proud. Tell me, how’s the transition going?”

“Smooth.” I force a grin, the kind that makes my cheeks ache like I’ve been punched. “Elijah and I are a good team.” My brother does most of the heavy lifting, but I’m doing my part. Sort of.

“I know these last few months have been hard, but you’re doing the right thing, son. Carrying on the Milton legacy. Your dad always said you had it in you.”

Son? “Thanks.”

His eyes dart past me. “Good, good. We’ll talk soon.”

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