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“That would be lovely. I love you, Cormac.”

A lump swells in my throat at the genuine affection in those words. The remorse in her voice is like acid on a fresh wound.

Only the wound isn’t fresh anymore. I should have been able to swallow the bitter pill and move on with my life.

And yet… the man I’d looked up to, the man I’d loved all my life, had brought me to my knees. From beyond his fucking grave.

“I love you, too, Mom.”

“Be safe, Lovie.”

I hang up, finish my coffee, and decide to hit the gym.

As soon as I rev up my Lambo, I amend the plan. After my workout, I’m keeping the car in the garage and going out.

As an owner of several clubs, I’ve never partied in them beyond the necessary schmoozing with VIP guests. That has changed in the last several months.

Clubbing is the only way to cope with his betrayal.

“What?” I bark into the phone, after I finally located it under my pillow and answered to stop the offensive ringing. Fuck. My head hurts.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Roxy, my office manager, purrs.

The woman is the bane of my existence. Correction. Everything lately has been the bane of my existence.

Unfortunate. Uninspiring. Un-fucking-bearable.

“You better have a good reason for calling me,” I snap, the words rolling from my tongue with unwarranted harshness.

Roxy chuckles. “Does saving your ass count as a good reason in your book, asshole? I mean, boss.”

Fucking Roxy.

I turn to lie on my back and run my hand over my face as if that would wake me up. Or sober me up. I pull the phone away from my ear to check the time. Shit. I slept for two hours.

“What are you saving me from, Ro?”

She hates when people call her Ro. I hate to be rudely awakened. On a Saturday, no less. I guess we’re even.

“Why do I even bother?” Her eye roll is obvious even through the line.

My silky sheets rustle, drawing my attention. My gaze lands on a pale ass. Fuck. The last thing I need is the whole dance of sending someone on their walk of shame.

Leaning forward slightly, I check my companion’s hair color, hoping that would help me remember her name. It doesn’t. The movement, however, sets off the agonizing pain in my temples.

I stumble from my bed and pad to my bathroom in search of a painkiller.

“Roxy, since you already inconvenienced yourself with this call, why don’t you tell me the reason?”

I might be a dick to her, but I respect the shit out of this woman. She wouldn’t have called unless it was pressing.

Roxy Moretti possesses the best combination of capable, professional, and just enough unhinged to enjoy working with four men—her bosses—who are demanding, selfish, and extremely busy.

And occasionally real assholes like me this morning.

If she ever tries to leave us, I’d pay her my salary and destroy the fucker who dared offer her another opportunity.

“Again, why do I even bother?” she quips.