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“Most of it hasn’t been worn. The staff keep it stocked in case Mum visits. But they rarely come to this house anymore. They use the one in Florence. This one’s mine now.”
Logan’s face doesn’t hold the delight in it that I would expect when you’re telling someone that you own a palatial Italian estate all to yourself. But the closest I’ve ever come is buying my own small apartment, which is hardly comparable. Still, I cracked open multiple champagne bottles when the sale went through a few years ago.
“We need to leave for the meeting in twenty minutes. Let me show you your room.”
One and a half hours later, I’m smoothing down the deep red pencil skirt that I’ve tucked my blouse into as we exit the car. I run a hand through my curls as I look at the yacht moored in Ostia Marina. Logan said we’re fortunate to have secured a meeting. Apparently, this man is harder to pin down than a first edition copy of The Gutenberg Bible.
I look at Logan. He’s changed into a deep gray suit that makes his eyes glow a brighter green.
Today’s meeting is with a man called Sterling Beaufort. Logan said he’s never met him, but Sterling knows Leonard from business they did years ago. He’s American, so I’ll be able to follow along what’s being said. Logan briefed me before we left Milan. Apparently, as well as owning a multi-billion-dollar jewelry business, Sterling runs a collection of elite members-only clubs around the world. The types of places that don’t exist to you unless your bank account has infinite zeros after the first figure. Logan’s hoping Sterling will invest a sizeable amount, and I get the feeling he’s nervous about this meeting.
“Ready?”
He looks at me and gives me a tight smile. “Always.”
We head along the walkway toward a man in navy slacks and a white shirt—one of the crew from the yacht—who welcomes us onboard. I step on and we follow the man to the top deck where a table is set up, covered in platters of fruit, and a bottle of something chilling in an ice bucket.
I try not to make it obvious I’m looking around. I should be used to the luxury that goes along with obscene amounts of wealth by now. Especially after Logan’s marble palace. But my eyes still widen at the sheer beauty of the yacht.
“Mr. Rich?” A handsome man with silver hair stands from the table to greet us. His eyes land on mine and he gives me a warm smile, his blue eyes twinkling. “I can see you brought beautiful company.”
He shakes Logan’s hand and then takes my hand, never breaking eye contact. The devilish glint in his eye, paired with a wolfish smile, works for him, making it charming, albeit in an intense way.
This man screams power and doesn’t care to hide it.
“I’m Maddy. Nice to meet you.”
He invites us both to sit and pulls out a chair for me, pushing it in for me as I sit.
“Short for Madeleine?”
“Maddox, actually,” Logan interjects, clearing his throat as he takes the seat next to mine.
“How unique.” Sterling’s eyes stay on mine, and I shiver in my thin silk blouse under his scorching gaze. I’ve never been into older men, he must be around my father’s age, but he’s helping me to understand the appeal.
I swallow, aware of his eyes tracking my every move with interest. They stay on my face as he motions for a member of staff to come over and pour us drinks. Then he lifts a crystal champagne flute and hands it to me.
“To new beginnings and exciting ventures.”
Sterling clinks my glass first and then Logan’s. Logan thrusts his glass a little too hard and some of Sterling’s champagne slips over the side, spilling onto his hand. Sterling’s lips quirk into a smile as he places his glass down and dries his hand on a linen napkin before giving Logan his full attention.
“So, you want forty million?”
I accidentally swallow a huge mouthful of champagne and a bubble lodges itself in my throat. Logan said Sterling’s time was precious. He’s obviously a man who likes to get straight to the point.
Logan hands me his napkin, his eyes meeting mine for a second before he looks back at Sterling. I take it gratefully and cover my mouth to cough quietly.
“You’ve read the proposal I sent. Sixty is more in line,” Logan says, his voice deep and confident.
I pat my lips with the napkin before placing it down on the table.
Sterling’s eyes narrow, the corner of his lips curling up. He turns his eyes onto me as he speaks to Logan. “You said forty.”
“Plans change,” Logan snaps.
Sterling’s eyes twinkle with amusement as I turn away and stare at Logan. He’s being so rude. I want to kick him under the table and ask what the hell he’s playing at.
“Fifty,” Sterling says.
