She stares at me like I’ve grown an extra head. ‘I can’t do that! You’re very, very kind but it’s not an option. I’ll get the bus.’

‘Where’s the football pitch?’ I ask her in my CEO Voice.

‘Um, Poplar.’

This hangar is in the middle of fucking nowhere. There’s no way she’s going to find an easy bus route to Poplar. ‘Yeah, the bus thing isn’t going to happen. Let Yan drive you. Honestly. Call your husband back.’ I give her what I hope is a reassuring smile. ‘Vanessa has made it very clear that I have hours of decision-making in my near future. Mark and I are good here for the afternoon.’

I brush off her effusive, teary thanks as I escort her out to my Defender.

Back inside, Vanessa's leaning against the twin of my soon-to-be catamaran, a cold Peroni in her hand and her skirt hiked just enough to make me forget about the receptionist's problem almost instantly. Here's hoping she'll make the next couple of hours worthwhile... and I'm not talking about linen swatches.

Mark gives me a judgmental look before flopping back down with a huff.

‘Don't give me that,’ I mutter to him. ‘Unlike boats, blondes are easily replaceable.’

The hot ones always think they're special. But they all blur together eventually: this month's diversion until something shinier comes along. Just like the SEVENTY 8 will be this year's toy until next year's model catches my eye.

At least the catamaran won't expect a phone call the next day.

CHAPTER 4

Brendan

The bank of glass walls behind my desk and the expanse of space and light beyond it are both luxuries of having our headquarters based in the London Docklands, where square footage comes at less of a premium than in the city centre.

When my grandfather dragged his eldest son—my father—over from their home in the Dublin docks to forge a name for the Sullivan family within the London construction industry, neither of them could have conceived of the success they would go on to achieve, the wealth they would build. Wealth that was crystallised when we took Sullivan Construction public on the stock market a few years ago, netting our family billions of pounds, which my brother Gabe now manages under the umbrella of our in-house investment firm, Rath Mor.

Billions that we’ve recently pledged to give away.

While our sister Mairead spends most of her time managing stallions with boners—she runs our family’s stud farm—Gabe and I stand at the helms of our asset management and construction businesses respectively. Gabe’s still a little green behind the ears, having left his calling as a priest after a decade to take up the reins at Rath Mor, but I’ve grown up in Sullivan Construction and I’ve earned the top job.