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After my mother’s diagnosis and short, painful struggle with pancreatic cancer when I was thirteen, I’d discovered who my father was—not a happy discovery.
For years, my mom had busted her ass to keep food on the table and make rent, and not until after she’d died did I learn that my father was none other than Connor Maximus, one of the richest men in Texas.
After my mom passed away, he took custody of me and spent years trying to buy my approval. He was a decade too late. While I’d gone to school with my shoes duct-taped at the toe, he’d been the world’s biggest manwhore, only thinking about himself.
With almost a dozen half-siblings living in a giant mansion, I never wanted to be there. In the following years, I was headed for rock bottom and turning into my father.
I didn’t see it coming. Not until my half-sister, Giana Eckerle, told me one morning while I was puking up my guts that if I wanted to punish our father by drinking and using drugs, I was doing an excellent job of it. But none of the women I hooked up with deserved that.
I told her that any woman who went out with me knew the deal.
She’d given me a look so cool it could have frozen the marrow in my bones. “Some would probably say the same thing about your mother.”
Then she’d left.
I’d brooded about those few words so simply said.
And so fucking right.
Screwing up my life to piss off Connor wouldn’t have made my mother happy. Once I acknowledged that I’d been disgusted with myself and vowed to change.
But I still wasn’t the relationship type.
I loved women—particularly in the bedroom. Outside and inside the bedroom, I respected them, but I never indulged in relationships or lovers. Brief affairs or liaisons where both parties knew the score suited me perfectly because I didn’t have to worry the woman might get dewy-eyed.
Maybe I wasn’t so angry with my father these days, but I would never risk turning into him, either. I’d never promised a woman to love her forever and then break her heart weeks, months, or years later when I got bored.
That had been my philosophy with the opposite sex for years, and I didn’t see it changing anytime soon. Or ever.
The women I dated loved my honesty and rarely said no to a good time. Unlike tonight. A rejection from a waitress.
Still, despite Tina’s easy brush-off, I sat next to the floor-to-ceiling windows and looked up at a night sky that reminded me of her eyes.
And I knew I couldn’t let it go without trying at least one more time.
Turning to my desk, I eyed my computer and considered the time.
They’d be busy with the rehearsal dinner for a few more hours. Smiling to myself, I switched on my computer.
It was almost an hour later when I finally leaned back from the computer, and although it tempted me to stay and keep reading about Tina Siegler, I didn’t want to miss the chance to catch her before she left.
I rarely stressed over a woman rejecting my advance because I never lacked companionship. But the more I read about Tina Siegler, the more I wanted her.
The internet made it ridiculously easy to learn about people. Not everybody, but there were always some who left a digital footprint, and Tina had definitely done that.
She’d been a track star in high school. Thinking back to the tight curve of her ass in those bland black pants, it wasn’t hard to imagine that she still ran, either because she just enjoyed it or because she was used to an exercise regimen.
She also had a website for her own interior design business here in Houston.
I’d checked Yelp for reviews. There were only a few, but they were all fours and fives, praising her for the timeliness, staying on budget, and her creativity. The most recent one was almost a year ago.
Being in business for yourself could suck, so I didn’t bother wondering why she moonlighted for her sister.
I knew very little about interior design, except what I needed to know for my hotels, but judging from her website, Tina had talent.
Smart and sexy, a deadly combination.
Leaning back in my chair, I studied the headshot on her website and debated for another minute.