Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 26605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 133(@200wpm)___ 106(@250wpm)___ 89(@300wpm)
As a billionaire venture capitalist and part-owner of Sterling Capital, I don’t leave things to chance. Every deal is calculated. Every move serves a purpose. That is, until the board starts questioning my image. They want someone settled down—someone who’s stable and committed. So, I treat the situation the same way I treat everything else: as a business transaction.
It should be simple, no feelings, no complications, and no exceptions.
Until I meet her.
Cory Pierson is everything I never knew I wanted: fiercely independent, unimpressed by money, and challenges me at every turn.
Our marriage is meant to be temporary, but the longer she wears my ring, the more the lines blur. She’s no longer just my wife on paper. She’s the woman I can’t let go
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
prologue
CORINNE
Two Weeks Earlier
“Thank you,” I tell the driver as I step out of the hired car at the entrance of Aura. The little satin black dress I’m wearing hugs my waist before drifting over my hips and outline every curve of my body. The fine lace-edged sweetheart neckline adds a touch of softness to the otherwise slip of material. My shoulders are bare save for the thin spaghetti straps, and the hem brushing the tops of my thighs makes the dress feel less like clothing and more like temptation wrapped in silk. It’s effortless in looks and style.
“Have a good night,” he responds as I close the door. With my purse in one hand and my phone in the other, I make my way toward the entrance, where people are waiting in line to get in, along with a hefty cover charge. If it weren’t for Alex and Jett and their infinite connections, I’d have to fork out more money than I care to spend on a girls’ night out.
While Alex works at Sterling Capital with Seraphina, the same can’t be said for myself. Oh no, sitting behind a computer isn’t my idea of fun. I’d much rather be on my feet all day, wearing compression socks beneath my scrubs and a surgical cap on my head. I once had big aspirations to be a head chef in a five-star Michelin restaurant. Went through the first six months of school and absolutely hated it. My love of cooking wasn’t enough to deal with the grueling screaming non-stop when you so much as make the slightest mistake in the kitchen. A million times worse than nursing school and dealing with hothead doctors.
I avoid the line and head straight for the bouncer. A couple of people make comments, and while I feel slightly bad, you couldn’t pay me to be in their shoes on a Wednesday night.
“Name?” a big beefy guy asks when he notices me.
“Cory Pierson.” He doesn’t look up from his clipboard, only gives me a quick nod, then another bouncer opens the door to allow me inside the ultra-luxurious, uber-classy nightclub. Three floors of a glass and steel tower overlooking the glittering Seattle skyline. The man floor pulses with energy. Music thrums through the hidden speakers, and the bass vibrates under my bright red stilettos as I walk further in.
Alex and Jett worked their magic once again, I think to myself as I walk along the perimeter. Velvet booths are housed by socialites, athletes, aspiring influencers, and everyday people. Yet the true elite never stays downstairs. Hidden behind a wall of smoked glass is an elevator, which will take me upstairs, and once I step inside, the atmosphere changes completely. The music softens, the pulse isn’t as jarring, and the crowd disappears.
“Cory!” Jett exclaims when the doors open what seems like a nanosecond later. The breathtaking views of Elliot Bay along with the city lights stretching into the darkness are elegant and seductive all at once.
“Hey, Jett, Alex, where’s everyone else?” The plush ivory sofa in a private alcove is one of many in the room, each designed to shield conversations from others. Rare artwork hangs along the walls with soft golden lighting that is used as a spotlight. And on the marble table where the girls are sitting are two silver buckets filled with a chilling champagne bottle each.
“Romy is late, per usual,” Alex says when I give her a hug.
“Mischa can’t make it, something about her sister needing help with babysitting,” Jett takes account for our other friend.
“And Genny, along with Seraphina, should be here shortly. Though our girl Sera will probably be over there with all of the head honchos.” Alex nods her head to the other end of the room. That’s when I see him, and not through a boardroom window or on the cover of a magazine at a newsstand. Dominic “Dom” Mercer in the flesh is a whole different story entirely.
The suit doesn’t make the man, the man makes the suit.
A five-figure Brioni suit, black and sharply tailored, hugs his frame to perfection. His white dress shirt is unbuttoned at the neck, exposing a peek of his chest. I somehow manage to plant my ass in the sumptuous seating without making a total mockery of myself.
I continue my perusal of the devastatingly handsome man, and when his gaze shifts and his multi-faceted blend of hazel and ember eyes meet mine, a sudden jolt slides down my spine. Dom is all broad shoulders, powerful athletic frame, and sculpted chest. His dark, short, neatly cropped hair, an effortlessly faded style, matches the man. Then there’s his chiseled jaw, clean shaven cheeks, and a mole that makes him all the hotter on the left side of his cheek.
“Oh no, girl, do not go there.” Genny slides in beside me.