“Indeed,” I murmur as I surf through the news headlines on my smartphone.
“Just a few other things I need to go over with you before you leave,” she says, once again referencing something off her iPad. “I have a reminder for your annual donation to The Miller House. How much would you like to give this year?”
“Five million,” I reply without batting an eye. Mulling over it, I take a sip of my coffee. “And let’s add some new scholarships this year. Another million should do it.”
“Got it,” she replies as she makes a few notes with her Bluetooth pen.
“I’ve also confirmed your furniture has been delivered at the new home in Phoenix. Would you like me to take the liberty of having some groceries and other essentials stocked today?”
“That would be great. Thank you.”
It might be an extravagant purchase, but I felt a home in Phoenix would be a good investment. I’m going to be spending a great deal of time there throughout the playoff months. Besides, I have high hopes for this team in the coming years. Sure, plopping down eighteen million on an eleven-thousand-square-foot mansion might seem a little obscene for a home I plan to stay in probably a quarter of every year, but I’m worth billions. It’s a drop in the bucket.
The doorbell rings, and Mrs. Osborne pops out of her chair. “That will be your driver.”
As she strides toward the door to answer it, I take another leisurely sip of my coffee. They always arrive a little early so I have some time to finish it. However, had they been right on time, I’d force myself to leave. I’m never late for any appointment, something that’s incredibly important to me as a businessman.
Pulling up my texts on my phone, I scroll to find the last one I sent to Willow. It was three days ago, and she still hasn’t responded.
She never responds, though—unless it’s to tell me to quit bothering her.
It’s so annoying. She often makes the palm of my hand itch with the need to take it to her backside.
Her “playing hard to get” doesn’t stop me though from whipping off another message. I’m flying into Phoenix today. Dinner?
I don’t explain how I know she’s returned from her job in Kosovo. She’s a photographic journalist, and she’s staying at her brother’s house in Phoenix. I’ve curried enough favor with some of my players on the Vengeance for them to feed me the information. This particular nugget came straight from Bishop Scott, the team’s captain. I expect this little favor was an overdue thank you for lending him my private jet to chase his fiancée across the country last year.
Yes, it’s good to have some of the Vengeance helping me out where Willow’s concerned. God knows her brother Dax won’t give me anything. If I thought Willow was annoying in her refusal to talk to me, her brother is ten times worse in his disdain about my interest in his sister.
But truly, he’s no concern of mine. Even though he’s repetitively made it clear he wants me to leave his sister alone, the truth of the matter is that I’m his boss and I can do what I want.
For the life of me, though, I simply can’t understand why Willow won’t see me again. The two times we have been together were earth-shattering—not only for me, but for her as well.
Like I said, she’s unforgettable, and I intend to have her again. She’s no match for my persistence and dedication in obtaining what I want, so I hope she’s ready for me to continue the chase until I get my prize.
CHAPTER 2
Willow
“Are you about ready?” Regan, my sister-in-law, asks as she leans against the doorjamb of the guest bathroom.
After a critical study of my face, I decide I need another layer of mascara. “Just five more minutes.”
Regan doesn’t move, just settles in to watch me pretty myself up. I flew into Phoenix four days ago from Kosovo—where I’d been on an assignment covering the twenty-year anniversary of the war there. It had taken me three days of sleeping after I returned to start feeling human again.
But I love it. The travel, meeting interesting people, beautiful scenery, the danger… everything. I wouldn’t trade my job as a photographer who memorializes newsworthy events all over the world for anything. It’s what I was born to do.
I can’t wait until I’m off again but for now, I’m going to enjoy my break. While I’ve received some interesting contract offers, none have been fabulous enough to pull me away from here. I want to spend time with Dax and Regan—my brother and his new wife—and cheer him and the Arizona Vengeance on during the playoffs.
Today, Regan and I are house hunting while Dax attends the last team practice before the first game tomorrow. She and Dax currently live in a smallish condo he’d been renting before they got married. Regan is content here, but Dax wants to give her a dream home and he’s determined to do it. He’s given her carte blanche to pick out whatever she wants, and she’s insisting I help in doing so.
I love my sister-in-law. Loved her long before we ever became legally related as her family and mine were the closest of friends back in Michigan. Lance, her brother, was Dax’s best friend.
But then their parents died, and Lance took over raising Regan.
Then Lance died, and Dax was next in line for that responsibility.
Except he’d found Regan wasn’t a kid anymore. She was a stunning woman who he—quite by surprise—found out was suffering from an exceedingly rare blood disease she had kept hidden from us.
Dax did the honorable thing by marrying her to give her health insurance.
He then promptly fell in love with her and the rest is history.
“I really don’t feel good about this, you know,” Regan says.
Through the reflection of the mirror, I see her arms are crossed over her stomach and she’s chewing on her lip with a frown.
“That’s ridiculous,” I scoff while doing my mascara. I feather a bit more on before continuing. “Dax loves you. He wants to give you something beautiful. You should be happy to accept it.”
Regan rolls her eyes. “I love your brother, Willow. Not his money.”
I push the mascara wand back into the tube, twisting it shut. Turning to face my sister-in-law, I tilt my head slightly. “You don’t think he knows that? That I know that? I don’t know one person who can’t see the two of you are crazy in love. So why in the hell are you balking about him wanting to buy you a nice house?”
Regan sighs and spins away from me, walking toward the master bedroom. I toss the mascara into my makeup bag, grab my phone off the sink, and follow.
“Regan,” I call. “Talk to me. What’s the problem?”
“No problem,” she mutters, then huffs in frustration before turning just as she steps inside her bedroom. Throwing her hands out, she exclaims, “I don’t mind him buying a house if that’s what he really wants. But to give me the power to decide it all? It’s just too much responsibility, and I don’t want it. He needs to help with this decision.”
“But he can’t,” I point out. “He starts the playoffs tomorrow. You’re just going to have to buckle up and do it.”
“Or we could just wait,” she grumbles. “We could wait until after the playoffs to make the choice together.”