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I tossed my keys onto the kitchen counter with a clatter, shrugging off my jacket and loosening my tie. The silence of the place was deafening. Back in Palo Alto, I’d always had people around - Cory dropping by unannounced, colleagues crashing on my couch after late-night brainstorming sessions. Here, it was just me and my thoughts. And let me tell you, my thoughts weren’t exactly splendid company at the moment.
I grabbed a beer from the fridge and flopped onto the couch, kicking off my shoes. The TV remote felt heavy in my hand as I flicked through channels, not really seeing anything. My mind kept drifting back to Sienna, to Olivia, to the mess I’d created in such a short time.
“Get it together, Gracen,” I muttered to myself, taking a long swig of beer. “You’re here to work, not get tangled up in some rom-com plot.”
But even as I said it, I knew it was too late. I was already neck-deep in exactly that kind of situation. And the worst part? A tiny part of me was kind of enjoying the ride.
Suddenly my phone buzzed and I tossed the TV remote onto the couch.
It was Gavin Manning.
“Fury,” his voice crackled through the speaker, tension clear even through the phone. “I need you at Club Privé. Now.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Everything okay, Gavin?”
“No,” he said bluntly. “I’ll explain when you get here. How fast can you make it?”
I glanced at the clock. It was just past 9 PM. “I can be there in twenty minutes.”
“Make it fifteen,” Gavin said, then hung up.
Well, shit. So much for a quiet night in. I threw on a fresh shirt and slacks, not bothering with a tie. Whatever was going on, it sounded serious.
As I hailed a cab, my mind raced. What could be so urgent? Was the club in trouble? And then a thought crept in: Would Sienna be there?
I shook my head, trying to focus. This was business, not some teenage crush.
Arriving at Club Privé, I nodded to the bouncer, who let me in without a word. The club was in full swing, the bass thumping through my chest as I made my way to Gavin’s office. I scanned the crowd, looking for a familiar face, but there was no sign of Sienna.
Gavin’s assistant ushered me in without any introduction. The man himself was pacing behind his desk, looking more disheveled than I’d ever seen him.
“Fury,” he said, relief evident in his voice. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”
I nodded, taking a seat. “What’s going on, Gavin? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
He ran a hand through his hair, messing it up even further. “Worse than a ghost. I found out who’s behind the buyout offers.”
I leaned forward, intrigued. “And?”
“Arthur Dalton.”
The name left a sour taste in my mouth. Arthur Dalton, the Wall Street shark with a reputation for hostile takeovers and shady dealings. I’d had my own run-in with him a few years back, and it hadn’t been pretty.
“Shit,” I muttered. “Are you sure?”
Gavin nodded grimly. “Positive. He approached me directly today. Made quite a generous new offer, too.”
I let out a low whistle. “How generous are we talking?”
“Double what the club’s worth on paper.”
My eyebrows shot up. “That’s... suspicious.”
“Exactly,” Gavin said, collapsing into his chair. “From what I hear, Dalton doesn’t overpay for anything unless he thinks he can squeeze ten times the value out of it.”
I nodded, my mind already racing through possibilities. “What do you think he’s really after?”
Gavin shrugged, looking more defeated than I’d ever seen him. “Could be anything. The real estate, the client list, hell, maybe he just wants a fancy playground for his rich friends.”
