The woman quickly put her call on hold and his chauffeured Rolls-Royce Phantom arrived at the curb as he pushed through the revolving door at the bottom of his building.
The humidity of a New York summer hit him in the face, but it would be monsoon rains in Singapore. His butler kept his jet packed for all climes and occasions, though. His grandmother kept a room at her house for him, not that he had ever used it. Invitations had come periodically, maybe to discuss the fact she was designating him her heir. He also owned a building of flats in that city. The top one was designated for his use, so he never took his grandmother up on—
“Gabriel!” A woman moved into his path and dipped her sunglasses to reveal her fake lashes and waxed brows. “I thought you might like to take me to lunch. It’s Tina,” she reminded after a beat where he only stared, trying to place her. She splayed her hand on the upper swells of her breasts where they were revealed by her wide-necked blouse. “We met at my father’s retirement party last weekend. You said you liked my song.”
He must have been speaking out of politeness because he had no recollection of her voice, her father or the party.
“I’m traveling,” he dismissed, and stepped around her.
If there was one thing he needed less than more money, it was another social climber throwing herself at him.
He slid onto a cool leather seat and his driver closed him into the air-conditioned interior.
Gabriel glanced at the square face of his gold Girard-Perregaux and calculated the approximate time until he would land.
Such affectations as vintage watches and Valentino briefcases meant nothing to him, but appearances mattered to everyone else. He always played to win, even at “who wears it best?” so he ordered hand-sewn suits in rare wools like vicuña and qiviut. He had his leather shoes lined with the softest materials when they were custom cobbled in Italy. He hung all of it off a body that he ruthlessly kept in peak athletic condition.
He wore sunscreen and moisturized.
And he genuinely didn’t care that folding his grandmother’s net worth into his own would tip him into the exalted echelon of world’s first trillionaire. All it meant, quite inconveniently, was more work—yet another thing he didn’t need.
His grandmother was his only relative of note, however, despite being both strange and estranged. He might lack strong feelings toward her or her money, but he did feel a responsibility to preserve her empire. He respected what she had built in her seventy years. He might be progressive by nature, but he didn’t tear down institutions for the sake of it.
He flicked back to the original message and brought the phone to his chin as he dictated a text.
Who is Mae’s business manager?
Transmitted from Luli: I assist Mrs. Chen in managing her transactions. May I help with a specific inquiry or instruction?
Artificial intelligence was so delightfully passive-aggressive, always deferential when it was being obstructive.
Send me the contact details of the man or woman who carries out Mae’s personal banking transactions.
Transmitted from Luli: I perform those tasks. How may I help?
Gabriel bit back a curse. Once this news was released and his connection to Mae Chen made public, a global circus would erupt around her financial holdings. The clock was already ticking, given her doctor had learned of their connection.
He switched gears and began sending instructions to his own team of advisors and brokers to reach out to hers. Once he was on the ground, he would learn exactly who ran things for Mae Chen and firmly take the reins from him.
* * *
“Luli.” The butler introduced her last, since she had deliberately positioned herself at the end of the line of staff, after the housemaids and cook. She was practically standing around the corner of the house where vines grew against the wall that ensured the privacy of Mae Chen’s colonial-era mansion.
His mansion now.
“You’re human.”
If she was, Gabriel Dean was the first to notice in her twenty-two years of existence.
Of course, Luli experienced very human reactions as she shook hands with Mae’s grandson, bowing slightly and murmuring, “Sir,” as she did. Her heart was pounding, her skin coated in cold perspiration, her stomach churning like a pit of snakes.