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We own a string of luxury hotel chains around the world, known for their oversized suites, private beaches, and world-class spa services. We also have a sub-genre for private jets and yachts, driving services, and luxury transportation. We partner with all the biggest names in resorts, hotels, jets, and even private cruise lines. We lack nothing in terms of luxury except one small thing.

Our events department. Which is why I am sitting here trying to figure out what my next steps will be.

“She’s dating someone new.” Tuck tells me the information I didn’t ask about, and honestly never wanted to know in the first place.

“So what?” I snap. “Are you surprised? Juliette is a gold-digger. I should have seen it a mile away,” I mutter as I take another sip of my whiskey.

“I get it,” he says, plucking the toothpick of olives out of his martini and eating two of those nasty garnishes before stabbing another one to eat from the bartender’s garnish tray. I slide the dish in front of him and consider ordering something to eat…with carbs. “It’s hard to notice anything about her personality when you can’t stop staring at those tits, am I right?”

“They were fake,” I say, flagging the bartender down to order something to eat. “Come to think of it, everything about her was fake.”

“Why did you go out with her for two months then?” he asks. Well, that is a good question. Most of the women I go out with don’t even last that long. The women I am surrounded by usually present themselves as fake or greedy or just plain unintelligent within minutes of talking to them. Stupidly enough, I thought Juliette might be different. As a country music singer and a part-time actress, she doesn’t actually need my money. She already has a fuck ton of money, makes a fuck ton of money, and her house is bigger than mine. It’s not because she can afford more than I can; she can’t. Few people can, but she likes to show off her money for all the world to see. I prefer a quieter, more private life, which is exactly why I choose the corner stool at Bitters.

“Because she was interesting,” I say. “At first.”

“I see,” he nods. “And how long did ‘at first’ last?”

I narrow my eyes and bite my lip in a moment of thought. It’s a short moment because I know exactly when I lost interest in Juliette Hayden.

“When I realized she was dating me for status. My blue checkmark on Instagram made her blue checkmark brighter. That and I think her record company told her to date me,” I mutter.

“Well, they certainly told her to date Gunner Bane,” he chuckles as he literally pours some of the juice from the olive dish into his already dirty martini. Tuck is a funny guy, even if he is a large, muscular man and my head of security. He is exactly what I wanted in a security guy…broad shoulders, taller than me by a couple inches, and two hundred and fifty pounds of solid granite muscle. He keeps his shoulder-length, dirty blonde hair pulled back and has hands that look like he could crush a bear. In short, he looks like Chris Hemsworth and Jason Momoa made a hybrid clone. Bright blue eyes, a goofy smile, and a heart of gold might make some swoon, but he annoys the shit out of me.

“Gunner Bane?” I echo in disgust. “Isn’t he a country singer too?”

“Not just any country singer,” Tuck says. “He’s topping the charts right now with his newest single and going on a world tour starting next week. He’s sold out three consecutive nights at Madison Square Garden, and I’m pretty sure the nosebleeds started around five hundred.”

“No wonder she’s into him,” I say. “Even though I can’t see how anyone would want to be with someone with a name like Gunner.”

“Oh, that’s not his real name,” Tuck says, rattling off more celebrity gossip than I care to know ever. Why he knows these things is beyond me, but he is a funny man. “His real name is Gunther.”

“Gunther?” I ask.

“Gunther Boone,” he grins. “He did himself a favor by changing it, that’s for sure.”

“Barely,” I say. “Anyway. I hope she’s happy.”

“Do you?” he asks.

“No,” I say flatly. “I mean, I don’t care. I would rather die alone than be in a relationship with a woman with zero substance who cares more about fame than living a real life.”

“She was a slut for attention, that’s for sure. I read that her and Gunther Boone are doing a duet together,” he says, drawling out the name. I almost feel sorry for him, though I don’t know if it’s because of his name or because he’s with Juliette. She will definitely eat him alive, and not in a good way.

“Lovely,” I say.

“Yeah. You should put yourself back out there. Find someone who will make her jealous,” he says, and I sneer at that.

“First of all, I’m not a teenage boy,” I state.

“Nope. You’re almost fifty, actually,” he reminds me as he grins and chews another olive at the same time.

“And second, I’m not looking for a relationship.”

“I didn’t mean anything serious,” he says. “You don’t have to get married or anything like that.”

“Serious or otherwise,” I tell him. “I have too much on my plate to fool with her…like figuring out the events department.”

“I heard that fell apart this morning,” he says, and I am very grateful for the conversational pivot.