“We need to talk about the new rooms. Décor, design, layout, equipment, that kind of thing.”

I work up a lather, closing my eyes and trying to enjoy the spray while Sarah bothers me. “John’s sorting the equipment,” I tell her. “As for the décor, call the company who did my new place.”

“You want the Lusso designer?”

“Yeah, why not? All that Italian shit looks great.” Really great. The penthouse I now own is fucking incredible, but the décor? Yeah, whoever did that knows what they’re doing. It’s good. Very good. Tasteful. And if The Manor is anything, it’s tasteful. Past the orgies and illicitness, of course. I smile as I rinse my hair, thinking Carmichael would be proud of what it’s become. Then it drops when I think about how disappointed he’d be by what I have become.

I flinch and shake my head free of those thoughts. “What’s the time?” I ask as I step out of the shower. Sarah doesn’t control her roving eye.

“Still too early for a drink.” She pulls a towel off the rail and chucks it at me. “I’ll call Rococo Union,” she says as she leaves me in peace.

I frown. “Who’s Rococo Union?”

“The designers of your new swanky penthouse,” she calls. “What should I say when they ask what kind of establishment this is?”

I go to the mirror and immediately look away from the drained-looking man staring back at me. My green eyes look dull, my skin sallow. “It’s The Manor, that’s it. No need to give them a rundown of everything that happens within its walls, Sarah.”

“Why? Are you ashamed?”

I don’t entertain her. She knows I couldn’t give a flying fuck what people think of me or my establishment. I just can’t be bothered to feed their curiosity.

As I descend the sweeping staircase to the lobby, John wanders out of the bar. His wraparounds are perfectly in place as always, but I know his eyes will be narrowed behind them. I reach the bottom and stretch my hamstrings, nodding to staff as they pass. “All right?” I ask.

His face remains impassive. “Stayed the night again?”

I give him a tired look but hold back my retort, because if there’s one man on this earth who deserves my respect, it’s John. “I’m going for a run.” I need to clear the cobwebs off. And the drink. And the sin.

I head for the doors.

“Just tell me,” he says, pulling me to a stop. I don’t turn around. “Why the fuck have you spent millions on a penthouse apartment when you crash here every night?”