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Not that forever is really that long when it comes to my family.
So there’s an idea.
Mother’s been married how many times now?
My grunt floats through the air as my fist bounces off the bag. I pause, realign my feet and go at it again. Right. Left. Right.
Okay. So that’s a possibility. A quickie wedding, a quickie marriage. If my grandfather was so smart, he would have been a little more specific about how long I have to remain married before I can get my money.
But he wasn’t, so maybe I can use that to my advantage.
Sweat drips down my temple. Another droplet rolls down my spine. This is the best workout I’ve had in a while. I glance around the gym, appreciating the quiet because I feel like I’m one punch away from an epic meltdown.
Of course, the problem with the quickie wedding is that there’s still no one I’d want to marry. No perfect guy waiting in the wings.
Admit it, Katherine. You’re too picky.
There is no such thing as the perfect man where you’re concerned.
I hate being known as the difficult one. Persnickety. Choosey.
Ford’s the golden child who can do no wrong.
Then there are my two half-sisters and the handful of step-siblings, not to mention all my cousins and step-cousins. Just one big, not-happy family.
I prefer to say I’m driven and I know what I want. And what I want in a man, well, doesn’t exist.
Maybe I should just marry the next guy who walks through the door.
I shake out my right shoulder and then lift my fist. Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement.
A tall, toned body strides around the corner. Broad shoulders stretch a dark t-shirt while long, nimble fingers twirl a basketball.
My gaze skips north, and I recognize those bright blue eyes immediately. They’re locked on me.
Gabriel Rothburn.
My fist misses the punching bag entirely.
4
GABE
Sweat drips down my temple, and I swipe at it with a hand towel, then slap it over my shoulder.
“Good game.” Nothing like blowing off a little steam on the court to start the day. I freaking love having my best friend under my roof. We get to do fun stuff like this without fighting traffic. It reminds me of college, when he took me in as his roommate, and we got to hang out all the time.
Three a.m. pizza fest, here we come!
“What are you going to do about the Chanler and Cort deal?” he asks, propping the basketball on his hip.
A thrill moves through me like melted butter. Hot and delicious.
I’m just petty enough that my lips tug up in a smirk. “Make them wait.”
“You sure that’s the smart thing to do?”
Alexander knows me like no one else. He was by my side seventeen years ago when Henry Chanler tried to ruin me. And unlike my “family,” Alex understands how hard I worked to build my company.
