I could ride her all day. She’s so damn soft.
He grinned beneath his helmet. If he didn’t have to attend a client’s party today, he would have headed back to Finn’s oceanfront bungalow. They’d have shared a beer and laughed about how his friend’s sweet little ride was the softest thing Jared had beneath him in the past month.
Then Finn would turn serious and blame their workload for Jared’s pathetic love life. Too many deals. And don’t get him started on how many businesses they were running. Three restaurants in south Florida. Another in New York. The glass manufacturer in Pittsburgh. Tico Software in New Jersey. Storage centers around the country . . .
Jared leaned into another turn and stopped listening to the imaginary conversation. Work wasn’t keeping him from dating. Although after his little talk over juice in the princess lair, he wasn’t sure “dating” was the correct word. He’d shared meals with women and spent the night with them—naked—but he hadn’t delved into their resumes, examined their online profiles, or endured emotional fireworks over the first cocktail.
He turned north and rode past the mansions that gave Palm Beach Island its “home to the rich and famous” reputation. His love life—or lack thereof—would have to wait until after his client’s party. Yeah, he’d drawn the short straw. And he had a feeling Finn’s offer to let him take the Ducati wouldn’t lessen the pain. He’d spend the rest of the afternoon daydreaming about the bike while shooting the shit at a four-year old’s shindig because her old man had invested half his inheritance in Jared’s fund. He steered the Scrambler away from the ocean and headed for a gated entrance.
Nick Morgan, you’re a pompous bastard. My property is twice this size, but I didn’t add a monster gate.
Beyond the gate, a horseshoe drive led to a mini-Mansion at the crescent’s peak. Old Misner homes built in the Spanish Colonial revival style popular in the 1920s flanked the property. But the owner of this lot had gone with the bigger is best approach. Nick Morgan had filled his piece of real estate with a contemporary mansion. The white house looked like a series of cubes stacked together. Pink streamers and balloons were the only note of color.
Jared parked the motorcycle between a Rolls and a white Honda. Then he pulled off his helmet and headed for the front door. He spotted a flash of color in his peripheral vision and stopped. Glancing over, he saw a pair of wings disappear around the side of the house.
He pocketed the bike keys and moved toward the door. His dread slid away with each step. If there was a fairy in the backyard, Cinderella was probably around somewhere.
Nick, I’d join you for nine holes, but your club tried to take away my cell the last time we played. And I can’t have that.” Jared feigned interest in the silver tub filled with longnecks and ice. As he reached for a bottle, he stole another look out the sliding glass doors. The princesses were posing for pictures while the fairy led a craft project.
“Strict rules about cell phones,” his host quipped.
“How am I supposed to babysit your money and help it grow if I can’t use my phone?” Jared asked.
“Is that your magic weapon?” Nick laughed. “Your phone? I thought you looked at money and it multiplied. I’ve talked to the other guys who’ve parked their inheritance in your fund. We all think you have the magic touch.”
“Or I work damn hard to make sure my deals never fail,” Jared said mildly. Fuck you, I work my ass off felt out of place in his investor’s home. “And my phone’s a big part of that.”
Jared searched the table for a bottle opener while outside on the pool deck, Cinderella smiled at a little girl wearing a matching blue costume. One glance at Lucy in that getup and his desire to shout at his client went down a notch. Although the gown didn’t look like a costume on Lucy. From the long gloves to the tiara perched on her blonde hair, Lucy Linden was the real deal—delicate, regal, and welcoming.
Soft.
Talk about a thought he should hit into the woods with a damn nine iron. Lucy Linden wasn’t a diversion.
“We could discuss my money and your plans to invest in DeVilla’s sugar company out west of town while on the course,” Nick said. “Then I wouldn’t need to invite you to Hope’s party.”
Jared met his client’s gaze over his bottle. “I appreciate the invitation.”
The forty-something dad who pretended that managing his trust fund on and off the golf course amounted to a full-time job grinned. “Well you certainly seem to be enjoying the entertainment. You haven’t taken your eyes off the babe in the blue dress.”
Babe?
Jared raised the beer to his lips and decided to let that one slide. Nick was stating a fact. Lucy was a babe by most men’s definition. Now, if she were his little sister, he’d set business aside
and take Nick down a notch. But Lucy wasn’t his.
“Busted,” Jared said and nodded to the T.V. mounted on the opposite wall. A cluster of men, some of Nick’s friends and a few dads who’d brought their kids to the bash, watched the pro on the screen line up a putt. “I’m not big on golf. Plus, I know Cinderella.”
“Taken a look under the petticoats?” Nick shook his head. “I wouldn’t mind a peek, myself.”
Jared frowned, his grip tightening on his beer. Now he couldn’t let that one slip past. “No, she’s—”
“Mr. Morgan,” his best friend’s little sister called from the doorway to the entertainment room. “We’re ready for the cake.”
“Excellent.” Nick set his beer on the table and headed for Lucy. “Why don’t you join us for a few minutes?”
Lucy smiled at her host. “Thank you, but—”
“For a few minutes, Cinderella. They won’t miss you.” Nick moved to Lucy’s side and placed his hand on her lower back.