Page 83 of Most Eligible Billionaire

The champagne is flowing,but I’m hitting the scotch.

Unfortunately, no amount of drinking will kill enough brain cells to make me forget what an asshole I was.

There’s a jazz trio on the other end of the lavishly decorated ballroom and Jana Jacabowski is trying to pull me away from the bar toward the dance floor.

“Not in the dancing mood,” I say, setting my glass down for the man to refill.

Because all I can think about is the hurt on Vicky’s face.

She never asked to play pet whisperer for my mother. She certainly never asked for that will to be changed. She thought she was getting money for taking Smuckers to some overpriced celebrity vet.

And I wouldn’t trust her.

Of all the women I’ve been with, she’s the only one who doesn’t seem to care about the Locke fortune, the only one who bothered to look behind my name and wealth.

And what do I do? Treat her like a grifter.

My texts stopped delivering to her. Blocked. My calls go to voice mail, and I doubt she’s been listening to those.

I stopped by the makers co-op. She wasn’t there. I probably seemed desperate. I’m not embarrassed. I’ll keep trying. I won’t give up.

Jana Jacabowski waits. We had an arrangement to be seen here together and talk up each other’s causes. She and her sister have been good allies for us.

Brett casts a warning look at me. “Brett’ll dance,” I say.

Brett puts on his most charming smile for her. What am I doing? Another dick move.

I snap out of it. The four of us have a deal. This is about the business. I down the scotch and take her out to the floor, moving on autopilot, dancing, chatting, spinning Jana around. She’s a force for good in the city, a woman I respect. A dip for the cameras. She screams and laughs. Another spin.

I let Vicky down big-time. It doesn’t mean I have to go on permanent asshole mode with people who need me.

Brett and Maddie Jacabowski spin by. I smile. If Vicky were here, she’d see right through that smile.

Jana and I do our time with the politicians. This is where she shines—the Jacabowski women are total movers.

A councilperson compliments me on the dog PR stunt. I laugh it off.

We discuss the Ten, the project everyone is excited about. “The Ten is transitional,” I tell him. “It’s forward-looking, yes, but I’m taking things much further now that I’m moving into leadership.”

Translation: it’s too late to make the Ten into the cool project it could be.

“Once you take over leadership from the dog?”

“Yeah, once I take over from the dog,” I say smoothly.

“You guys actually did a stock transfer. That’s ballsy.”

“He really is in charge. He and his advocate.” I wink. “We’re doing our best to guide him. Smuckers would be putting fire hydrants all over Manhattan if he had his way.”

Jana laughs. “The dog has more vision than some builders.” I suppress a smile, enjoying her dig at Dartford & Sons, assholes of the building community.

Brett’s there and we’re posing for photographs. Somebody grabs Jana away and I use the opportunity to hit the bar again, but then I see Renaldo, hanging out on the fringes of the place with one of the retired city managers.

They’re elderly guys who are still important for their wealth of knowledge, but they have zero power anymore. I go over, keep my back to the brightly colored dresses and black tuxedoes, so many peacocks peacocking it up.

Renaldo lumbers up from his seat and claps me on the back. “Henry!”

“He was telling me about the Ten,” the man says.

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