ChapterOne
Warren
This is a bunch of bullshit.I scowl down at the party going on below me. This isn't my scene at all, but according to my pain-in-the-ass PR manager, this is necessary for business.
I call bullshit. I'm the one who keeps this business running. I'm the owner. We’re a financial corporation for fuck's sake—not a fucking club.
But every year on Halloween, Matt insists on turning an entire level of my high rise into the hot spot of the city. There’s a mixture of college kids and old businessmen down there, and my lips twist again at the sight.
“Oh, come on. It's not that bad,” Matt says to my right. “Would it kill you to go down there and have a little bit of fun? God knows you need to let loose. Who knows? You might dislodge that stick that’s up your ass.”
I shoot a glare Matt's way. He just grins at me like a fucking fool. He knows he's the only one who could ever get away with talking to me like that.
“Besides,” he goes on, ribbing me even further, “what would a Halloween party be without an appearance from the devil?”
“You're trying my patience, motherfucker,” I grit out to him.
We go through this song and dance every year. He insists on throwing this huge Halloween party for all of our current and potential clients—and apparently half the college sector of the city—and I stay up here in my office and glower down at the scene while he tries to lure me out to make an appearance. I usually do walk in just long enough to appease the papers and whatever marketing scheme Matt has going on. He swears it works, and maybe it does. I don't know. I don't read the papers. I don't give a rat's ass what they say about me. All I care about is the numbers.
That's what I'm good at. Numbers. Mergers. Growing my company. Making so much money it should be illegal.
Despite the fact that they call me the devil, I don't get my gains via nefarious means.
No, I make sure my company is completely on the up-and-up. There are no shady business deals here. Everything is done by the book.
Yes, money is nice and all, but that's not even what it's about for me. I crave the challenge. I like keeping busy. It gives me something to do and gets me out of my head. Plus, when you're successful and powerful, no one can step on you. If you've got enough money, you can rule the world, and while maybe I don't rule theworld, I definitely rule my little kingdom here in the city.
“You would think people would have enough sense not to tangle with the devil,” I grumble.
Matt throws his head back and laughs a big booming laugh that grates on my nerves. The fucker is annoying as hell. He’d better be glad he’s good at his job. That’s the only reason I keep him around.
“Admit it, man. You do it to yourself by keeping to yourself so much. You create this elusive aura of mystery that the public loves. They thrive off that shit. Especially the ladies.” He waggles his eyebrows at me.
My scowl deepens. That’s the last thing I'm interested in. I don't have time for women, especially ones who only see dollar signs when they look at me.
I'm tired of this shit. I'm tired of doing things just to keep up with appearances and to indulge Matt's marketing schemes. I'm about ready to tell him he can go straight to hell when something on the floor below catches my eye.
No, not something. Someone.
I go completely still as I watch the tiny woman walk into the room. She's with a group of women, and they're all talking and laughing with each other the way girls do when they travel in a pack, but not her.
She smiles at them and glances around the room. Something about her is set apart from them, and it’s not just the way she’s dressed more conservatively than them either.
No, she almost seems to glow with her own inner light, like there’s something special about her.
I don't even notice what the other girls look like because my gaze is zeroed in on her. She has honey-colored hair that flows down her back in sensuous waves. I can't make out the color of her eyes up here, but I can already see how puffy they are.
She’s wearing a strapless, peach-colored dress that looks way too classy for the kind of party she's at. Her friends are all wearing miniskirts that will show their asses if they so much as sneeze, but this girl's dress flares out around her thighs. It’s cut well about her knees and shows off her slim yet curvy legs.
She’s nowhere near as scantily clad as the other girls on the dance floor, yet she somehow looks even more erotic for it.
She looks young—too young—sweet and innocent. But I know she's got to be at least eighteen or she wouldn't have been admitted into this party.
My eyes rove over her exposed flesh. She's a tiny little thing, but her legs seem to go on forever. She flips her hair behind her shoulder, and I watch as the honey-colored waves ripple like silk. My hands twitch at my sides with the undeniable urge to glide my fingers through the strands and see if they feel just as soft and silky as they look.
My chest tightens as I continue to gaze at her, and I'm suddenly hyper-aware of my blood rushing through my veins.
I'm not old by any means. I'm only thirty-one, but she looks so young, so beautiful.