Chapters (48)
- Cover
- PRAISE FOR ALEXA MARTIN’S PLAYBOOK SERIES
- Titles by Alexa Martin
- Dedication
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-one
- Twenty-two
- Twenty-three
- Twenty-four
- Twenty-five
- Twenty-six
- Twenty-seven
- Twenty-eight
- Twenty-nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-one
- Thirty-two
- Thirty-three
- Thirty-four
- Thirty-five
- Thirty-six
- Thirty-seven
- Thirty-eight
- Epilogue
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- About the Author
- What’s next onyour reading list?
However, being an adult doesn’t mean I didn’t stay late and that Quinton didn’t wake up with a few hickeys on his neck this morning. I would normally never do that, but he’s Quinton and even though I’m not totally sure what’s going on between us, I’d be crazy not to try and find one way to tell the world that he was mine.
I pull my car into the historic Denver neighborhood where I’m meeting Mr. Mahler and feel out of place almost immediately. Where Quinton’s neighborhood is ridiculous and filled with mansions, I still don’t have a complex driving my Camry there. But here? It’s old money. It’s filled to the brim with people looking for reasons to look down their noses at me. Which is the exact reason I know Mr. Mahler is going to love it.
I don’t need my navigation to direct me to Fitz’s Mansion. Nestled deep in the heart of Denver, Fitz’s Mansion was built in the early 1900s, something that is apparent as soon as I pull up. Thankfully, I don’t think anyone will ever part ways with this architectural beauty to let someone else get their greedy modern hands on it. Without stepping foot on the property, you’re aware of how special it is just from looking out of your car window. The beautiful stone covering the exterior isn’t something you see anymore and neither is the ornate molding lining the tall windows and giant door. It isn’t huge by any means, but that only makes it better. Only the most exclusive clients can have events here. And although I have other venues lined up, my fingers are crossed that Mr. Mahler will want Fitz’s Mansion the second his old eyes land on it.
I’m walking up the stone-paved walkway when a Rolls-Royce turns onto the street. And even though I’m sure just about everyone in this neighborhood can afford one, Mr. Mahler is the only person who would be seen riding in one. The car comes to a stop and the driver steps out and opens the back door. Mr. Mahler climbs out, followed by the man I met at Quinton’s event. I panic for a moment as I struggle to remember his name, but thankfully it comes to me just before I run out of time.
“Mr. Mahler, Mr. Carlin,” I greet them.
An arrogant smile appears on Mr. Carlin’s face, framing his yellowing teeth. He looks more like a super villain than I’d care to admit, but at least I know I got his name right.
“Elliot, how are you, darling?” Mr. Mahler leans in and kisses my cheek.
Gross.
This man really needs a lesson in personal space and talking to employees.