Page 72 of Money Reigns
I turn, the corner of my mouth lifting.
Step one: complete.
***
My weight room is empty, just how I like it.
No distractions.
Just the hiss of my breath through my nose, the rhythm of the rope slapping concrete, and the burn in my arms that keeps me from thinking about her lips.
Not that it works.
Her taste is still on my tongue.
Her face still seared behind my eyelids.
Flushed. Breathless.Embarrassed.
Mine.
The door creaks.
Wesley walks in like he owns my fucking place, flipping on the overheads without asking. Light floods the space, slicing across my bare chest, the sheen of sweat and the scowl already forming.
“I told you before,” I grit, not breaking rhythm, “if you’re not here to work out, leave.”
He doesn’t.
Instead, he walks over and slaps something onto the weight bench near me.
A fucking newspaper.
And there she is,Olivia.
Eyes wide, lips parted, glowing like a goddamn debutante.
Caption:Beaumont’s Mystery Girl.
I drop the rope.
“The gala, War? Seriously?” Wes says, tone sharp. “What the hell are you doing?”
“It was a networking event for work. Sheworksfor me.”
He scoffs. “You took her to the fuckingTrust Galaat the Halston Estate,not a networking lunch. She’s in the goddamn tabloids.”
“So?” I grab a towel, drag it over the back of my neck.
“She’s not built for this world.”
“She’ll learn.”
I’ll make sure of it.
Wesley stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You’re not serious about her. Tell me you’re not doing thisagain.”
I pause. “She’s different.”
