Page 3 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

Pushing that thought aside, I focus on the only reality that matters. There is no other option. The moral weight of it is huge, but so is the cost of not trying.

Real life doesn’t care about romantic fantasies—it cares about hospital bills and the harsh truth that we’re out of time. If I have to sell my virginity to strangers, then so be it. Erin’s life is worth more than my pride.

2

DANTE

Amber swirls in my glass,and I’m left wondering if this is really the best I can do with my evening. My choices tonight were this place or sitting at home, watching TV.

I hate TV.

Nico told me to stay out of trouble for the night, so here I am. This quaint French bistro tucked away on a side street, apparently “the place to be” if you’re seeking subtle elegance and artisanal pastries. It’s cute, but not as nice as anything in Paris.

Honestly, I stumbled in because I spotted the discreet sign and felt like grabbing a decent drink—plus, I needed to escape the stifling air in Sal’s office. He doesn’t drink like he used to, so there was no chance he’d keep up with me tonight.

Four scotches later, here I am, trying to recall the last time something truly thrilled me. I’ve swum with sharks off the coast of South Africa, flown a wingsuit over the Swiss Alps, and summited mountains that left me gasping in awe. But now, at thirty-eight, I’m…bored. Not just a little bored—existentiallybored.

“You doing okay there, pal?” the bartender asks, arching an eyebrow as he polishes a wineglass. He’s tall, with a neat goatee and a casual swagger. His name tag readsGabriel.

“I’m peachy,” I say with a dry laugh, twirling the glass in my hand. “Just taking a moment to reflect on the joys of a midlife crisis. You know, that special time when you’ve done everything you can think of, and suddenly it all feels…stale.”

I’m not usually the type to pour out my soul to some random bartender, but four scotches have loosened my tongue. Besides, he seems unfazed by my rambling. Occupational hazard for him, I suppose. I’ll be sure to tip him well to make up for it.

He sets the wineglass aside. “Yeah? That’s rough. Especially if you’re used to seeking out thrills.”

I let out a short snort. “Thrills, yeah. I’ve done it all. Look, I’m Dante Moretti—you might’ve heard of Moretti Brands? High fashion, crazy runway shows, overpriced handbags. That’s my family’s empire. I’m supposedly the VP of marketing, but really I just do as I please. Travel around, claim it’s for ‘location scouting.’” I use air quotes and nearly knock my glass over. “Still, it’s all on the company dime, so I shouldn’t complain…except that I’m bored out of my mind. Spoiled little rich boy, right?”

He chuckles lightly. “Sounds like you’ve had a life most people would envy.”

“Yeah, you’d think so. I’ve flown to Tokyo for a fugu dinner. I’ve gone skydiving at dawn and hit the beach by noon for kitesurfing. I’ve got more stamps in my passport than most folks do in a lifetime. I could do all that again tomorrow, and it wouldn’t give me the same spark it used to. I know, because I’ve tried.” I swirl the scotch, watching the liquid coat the sides ofthe glass. “Did a tour of my greatest hits, and I kept thinking, is this it? Am I doomed to float through the next few decades like a zombie with a trust fund?”

Gabriel props an elbow on the bar, giving me his full attention. “Thirty-eight isn’t exactly ancient, you know.”

My phone buzzes on the counter, probably my brother Nico checking if I’m heading back to the office anytime soon. Technically, I was supposed to attend a meeting about next year’s summer collection. But after an hour stuck with him and Salvatore bickering over spreadsheets, I bolted.

Let them handle the actual business. I’m useless when it comes to that stuff.

“How about women?” Gabriel asks in a mild tone. “You find no excitement there?”

I let out a half laugh, half groan. “There’s always been a supply of them around—models, brand influencers, socialites looking for a fling, gold diggers…I’ve met them all. I can’t remember the last time I actuallycaredabout a date.”

“Maybe what you need isn’t a fling. Maybe it’s something…bigger.”

I arch an eyebrow. “My family has enough drama without adding a wedding to the mix.”

“If you really feel like you’ve tasted everything life has to offer, maybe you’re looking in the wrong places.”

“You got a secret treasure map hidden under the counter? Because I’ve done treasure hunting, and it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

Without a word, he reaches into his back pocket and slips out a sleek black business card. When he slides it across the bar, I notice there’s no logo, just a phone number in silver lettering that catches the light.

I pick it up, raising an eyebrow. “You’re not about to sell me your script, are you?”

“You want color back in your life? Give that number a call, in private. Tell them Gabriel says hello.”

I examine the card, running my thumb over the embossed digits. “You’re not gonna elaborate?”

“Let’s just say it’ll be interesting enough to at least get your attention.”

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