Page 4 of Sold to the Silver Foxes

I can’t help the wry grin that tugs at my mouth. “Interesting is good. I’m starved for interesting.”

“Call them.” Gabriel’s expression stays calm, like this is business as usual, but I notice a flicker of satisfaction. “You won’t regret it.”

I stand, straightening the cuffs of my suit jacket. It’s casual black, since I didn’t plan on making a formal appearance anywhere. I briefly recall Nico lecturing me that I should dress in “classic Moretti” to promote brand synergy. I told him synergy can blow me.

Sliding a few bills onto the bar—far more than my tabs usually warrant—I give Gabriel a polite salute. “Thanks for the conversation. And a mystery.”

I turn to go, and a flash of auburn hair behind the hostess stand catches my eye. Gorgeous. Maybe it’s the scotch, maybe it’s my aimless mood, but I find myself drifting in her direction. She’sbusy with a few stray menus, so she doesn’t see me approach until I’m practically at her elbow. When she turns around, her green eyes lock on mine, and for a second, I’m caught off guard.She looks like trouble.

Perfect.

“May I help you?” she asks.

I open my mouth, but words momentarily escape me. Something about her strikes me, and I can’t put my finger on it. “I suppose if there’s anything I need, I’ll come back and ask for you.”

She blinks, then recovers with a small professional smile. “Of course. Enjoy your evening.”

It’s a throwaway exchange, but it leaves a spark I haven’t felt in a while. I linger another moment, eyes flicking down to the name tag pinned to her shirt.Tabitha.Suits her, I think. My typical lines feel cheesy under her gaze, so I just nod and head for the door.

Outside, the air is crisp, hinting that summer’s nearing its end. My limousine awaits at the curb—another perk of being a Moretti. The driver steps out to open the door, but I wave him off. “Give me a sec, Luca.”

I fish the black card from my pocket. Glancing up and down the quiet street, I step a few paces away from the bistro’s entrance, leaning against a lamppost. My phone’s in my other hand, and I punch in the digits, heart thumping more than I’d like to admit.

It’s ridiculous. For all I know, this is some hoax or a shady business deal I want no part of. Only one way to find out.

On the third ring, a smooth voice answers, “Good evening. Who may I say is calling?”

“Dante Moretti. Gabriel says hello.”

There’s a pause on the other end—just a breath, really—then the voice brightens. “Ah, Mr. Moretti. Very good. Are you alone at the moment?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to be connected to the coordinator of our virginity auction?”

For the first time in a while, I’m speechless. My pulse thrums in my ears. I blow out a breath, scanning the empty sidewalk to make sure no one overhears me. “You’re serious?”

“Completely.” No hint of a joke or denial.

I’ll call their bluff. “Yes.”

“One moment, please.”

The virginity auction coordinator has classy jazz piano hold music. What the actual fuck?

“Adventure number ten thousand and one,” I murmur to myself. Maybe I’ve finally found a new mountain to climb. And if it leads me nowhere, at least I can say I tried. If it leads me somewhere unexpected—well, that might be exactly what I need.

For the first time in a while, I’m not bored.

3

NICO

No matterhow early you start preparing for the end-of-year holidays, you’ll still be drowning in last-minute tasks when December rolls around. It’s a law, I think. At least, that’s how it always goes at the Moretti offices—quarterly reports, final contracts, year-end bonuses, product launch teasers for next quarter, and all sorts of other loose ends that pile up on my desk like an avalanche of corporate nonsense.

A headache is throbbing behind my temples, probably from too much coffee and not enough real food. But if I can finalize these numbers today, it’ll make for a smoother new year.

Across from me, my analytics lead, Kelsey, is seated at the small conference table, double-checking a few columns of data. Two other team members are perched at laptops, inputting last-minute figures. Their hushed whispers and the rhythmic clack of keys fill the room. We’re on a roll, and if luck is on our side, we’ll be done before evening.

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