Alex Drake was the reason they sat together now. And, as one of them was a billionaire and the other had a piggy bank eagerly catching up, say what you want, but no one could argue with results.
But facts were facts. It was the one time Paco couldn’t connect with whatever his friend was going through, readily chalking it up to Alex being Alex. Sleep deprivation and working to exhaustion? It had to take its toll.
Paco shook his head.
“No?” Alex blew out the word, his angst riddled with disbelief.
He took another mouthful, and Paco added it to his mental tabulation. Alex was clearly outpacing him.
He’s mellow. Not even close to last year, or the year before. But we’re early on this slippery slope. You can’t fool me, AJ. Not now. Not ever.
“You know what I’m in the mood for?” Paco asked.
“Wow.” Alex struggled with the question, taking another slow sip before answering. “Seriously, that question could have literally any answer.” Thinking for another second, he asked, “Can I at least buy a vowel?”
“Tapas.”
“Huh?”
“Tapas. You know, the appetizers.”
Alex’s eyes slowly shifted from side to side, as if he were mentally running through the menus of every restaurant in a ten-block radius. “You want to hit a restaurant? I don’t even know where we’d find one open at this hour with tapas.”
“I do. Best damn restaurant in the city for them. My place. Tapas will be the perfect complement to your booze-on-booze dinner. I’ll whip some up while you drink yourself slaphappy, until you eventually pass out and I bust out the Sharpie. We’ll hit the ground running hard tomorrow, after I tag you on Instagram and your phone wakes you by blowing up. I’m thinking money heist mask meets kitty cat.”
Alex shot him a solid smirk, the kind that used to irritate the shit out of him. “You don’t trust me to be alone.”
Tossing back the last of his vodka, Paco told the truth. “Damn straight.”
Epilogue
Alex
Staring himself down in the mammoth mirror of his luxury bathroom, nothing but an exhausted shadow of a man looked back. Another week down, and Alex wasn’t any better. He’d kept every minute of the work week jampacked with a myriad of things that would help him breathe through one more day.
But it wasn’t enough.
It was two in the morning. He’d spent three hours in his penthouse gym, pushing himself to exhaustion. But after all that and a hot shower, a disappointed glance at himself said it all.
Nothing was helping.
If anything, the bottled-up energy fueled an attack. At least he finished a shave before the trembling in his hands overtook his control. With his fists balled on the coolness of the marble bathroom counter, he rode the waves of intense anxiety until they passed.
Eventually, they always passed.
Unsettled, he pulled himself from his reflection’s hazy glare, hating how his eyes always gave him away. At least to Paco.
Alex didn’t give a damn what the rest of the world thought, but Paco was a different matter.
The last thing Alex Drake needed was bad publicity. If DGI’s stock value dropped an eighth of a point because he couldn’t get his shit together, he’d look forward to a good long ass-kicking by the only guy who’d take a fucking bullet for him.
Tilting his head a little to the left, then the right, he gave himself a final pass. With enough coffee and the right Tom Ford suit, in a few hours, he would look presentable enough.
Saying a silent prayer to the mercy of the universe, he clung to his last shred of hope that he wasn’t going crazy. Even if he lost his mind, he still had faith in his ability to pull a miracle out of his ass and play the part of Alex Drake, CEO.
Surrendering to the inevitable, he killed the lights before he padded out of the bathroom. His king-size bed nailed opulence, but never quite made the grade when it came to carrying him off to sleep. Like all the other nights, he eventually got in anyway.
Hands clasped behind his head, Alex stared aimlessly at the dark ceiling and shadowy walls that always closed in on him.
The pounding in his ears reminded him that it would be another Woodford-spiked-coffee morning. If he was lucky, he’d get ninety minutes of sleep—the least he’d managed since tapas night. Overthinking things was his mind’s jungle gym, looping through the scenarios and questions that hadn’t stopped haunting him on and off for a decade.
But tonight, Alex took a mental detour. Have I lost my mind?
The erratic echoes of his own instincts continued pummeling him with one word.
No.
If I’ve lost my marbles, then I’ve lost all of them because this feels goddamn real.
It wasn’t the first time he’d been carried away with a feeling.
The last time I was too fucking late. Better late than never is bullshit, and I’ve been paying for it every day of my life since.
But I wasn’t wrong.
And I’m not wrong now.
It could be any one of a million things. But it all traced back to that name. Taylor. He gave himself a short leash to think about her for a moment, indulging once again in his obsessive fascination.
Is she even single? Married? With a hopeful notion, he considered another option. Divorced?
Is she happy?
On the spectrum of his last two encounters, would she be more like Natasha? Or like Charity?
What would she look like now?
Her hair. Her skin. Her smile. His mind always tried filling in the blanks.
Was that why he’d had so many different women over the years? A crazy rich man’s game of trying her on for size. Sketching a model of her from every new possibility.
Alex had indulged in a heavy diet of voluptuous women for the past decade, aiming to satisfy his libido over his heart. A quick romp and a consolation prize from Cartier helped keep every relationship under twenty-four hours and at arm’s length. Okay, cock’s length is more apropos.
Maybe she’s out there right now. Sleeping peacefully here in New York. But even if she is, she doesn’t need her life disrupted by a bastard like me.
Believing this woman could somehow change everything had all the signs of a madman grasping at straws. The sick desires of a lunatic desperate for redemption and forgiveness from some woman he’d never met.
If she could possibly be the key to unlocking his only path to freedom from the darkness of his existence, why not just find her? He had every resource imaginable at his fingertips. Operatives. Investigators. Google.
Instead, Alex made an almost daily decision that any movement in that direction would be a step too far.
No. I can’t force this. The coin flip is in the hands of fate.
As he finally dozed off, picturing her hair a touch more chestnut this time, he couldn’t help one last fleeting thought, proposing a deal to heaven or hell, or whoever would listen. Because, who knows? Maybe for once, destiny would lend a hand. Wasn’t he owed at least that?
Put her in my path. I’ll take it from there.
Ready for more? The hot and steamy ALEX DRAKE SERIES with Alex, Madison, and Paco Robles is available now! Get ACCESS now!
When seclusive billionaire Alex Drake sets his sights on Madison, obsession takes over. Unlocking his world was easy. Seducing her was inevitable. But securing her heart might be impossible. He's ready to give in to her every desire except for one. The only thing she wants. An answer. To a tiny question.