Wildest Dreams: Chapter 4

I wish I could say I was able to concentrate on some (or any) of what Bruce Marshall blabbed about in our meeting, but the truth was I was too busy shifting in my seat to adjust my six-foot hard-on. All I could think about was Dylan and the million implications of what we’d just agreed to.

Who’d brought up sex first? She had, I was sure of it. My mind hadn’t even gone there. And not for lack of attraction to her. She was forbidden, completely off-limits, which begged the question: What were we doing?

I couldn’t screw my best friend’s little sister. There were limits in this world. Sure, I never adhered to any of them, but this one I actually cared about. Row was more than a buddy. He was my ride or die. He’d given me a job and taken me for a spin all over the world in our early twenties. This was insanity. I wasn’t going to cash in on Dylan’s offer.

Not initiating sex with her was one thing. I could do that, even if it shaved off a few years of my life and a good amount of my sanity. But if she threw herself at me? I was only human—and a terribly immoral one at that.

Maybe we should cancel the whole thing.

As if he were privy to my inner turmoil, Bruce lounged back in the velvet recliner in the trendy coffee shop, sipping his black coffee, which he’d asked his aide to fetch from “the shittiest, dirtiest diner you can find on this block, no fancy-schmancy stuff.”

“About that pretty lil miss of yours…”

I snapped back to attention.

The meeting had been a disaster. Everything I’d planned for it—the spreadsheets, market overview, presentation, layout, audience research, sales pitch, app mock-up—had evaporated in a fog of sweet, aching desire as soon as I stumbled out of Dylan’s apartment.

“That dog don’t hunt, I’m thinkin’.” Bruce stroked his stubbled chin, chewing on the tip of a stir stick. “Why would you hide someone like that from the world? None of our mutual friends ever mentioned her, and I sniffed around about ya.”

“Love that you are so committed to the canine analogies.” My tone was clipped. I decided to go for some version of the truth. The fewer lies I had to remember, the better. “She just moved here from the small town we grew up in,” I supplied. “It’s new, but it’s real. We’re as serious as a heart attack.”

“How new?”

“A few months, but we’ve known each other forever. She’s the one.” It took everything in me not to hold my fucking nose as I said it. “When you know, you know.”

In reality, I wouldn’t marry Dylan if she were the last woman on earth. She was, among other things, a rebellious, stubborn, foulmouthed, sharp-witted troublemaker. A twenty-six-year-old Swiftie, she was sex on legs and as manageable as an F5 tornado. Even if I were crazy enough to contemplate marriage, she’d be at the bottom of the list, right after Catherine the Great and that woman who boiled a bunny in that eighties movie.

Didn’t mean I wasn’t still thinking about fucking some sense into her, as though I didn’t also need a re-up. But Bruce looked so fucking pleased, his stern scowl finally relaxing into a smirk of approval, his brow smoothed out of wrinkles for a change.

“I’m searching for another ring for her now,” I heard myself say. “Something perfect, just like her.”

Really now, asshole? But the truth was, to strike a deal with Bruce Marshall, I was willing to drag Dylan down the aisle kicking and screaming. This was my shot at becoming a billionaire. Not a millionaire—a billionaire. I had a once-in-a-lifetime idea and a lot of background knowledge. I just needed the connections, engineers, and seed money. This deal was so much more than just money. It was prestige. It was validation. It was everything.

“You do that now, son.” He rapped the table between us, standing up. “That’s a good idea right there.”

He was glowing with pride. This was good. Fantastic, even. Now all we needed was to sign the dotted line.

Instead of doing that, though, Bruce slapped his thigh and clucked his tongue. “Welp, I definitely want to hear more about that little app of yours.”

“More?” I blinked, confused. “I thought this meeting was it?”

“Yeah, I didn’t become a billionaire handing over huge amounts of money to people I don’t know.” He shook his head. “We don’t have to rush into this so fast. We’re a family company and like to get to know our partners and their families. Let’s take this one step at a time and see if we all get along. My wife will definitely want to chat with your lil miss, and I like to spend a weekend or two with people I consider accepting into my professional circle.” A weekend or two? Was he freaking kidding me?

Clearing my throat, I asked, “Do you have a timeline of how long it usually takes you to make a decision?”

“A month.” He shrugged. “Sometimes two. All depends on how fast we get to know each other and you send me all the info I need on your app. It’s not just about creating relationships. I have to make sure this idea of yours is legit.”

Fuck my life.

That meant a good number of 10k-a-week salaries to keep the hellion downstairs happy.

Looked like I was going to put an engagement ring on Dylan Casablancas’s finger after all.