Page 43 of Billion Dollar Vow (The Lincoln Brothers #4)

Oliver

The phone rings just as I’m reviewing the quarterly numbers. Dan Warne. My heart rate picks up slightly as I answer.

“Oliver. Are you and that lovely wife of yours free tomorrow night?”

I glance at my calendar, already knowing I’ll clear anything that might be there. “We are. What did you have in mind?”

“Just an intimate dinner with friends. Nothing formal. At the gallery, around six?” There’s a casualness in his words, but I know better than to treat any invitation from Dan Warne as informal.

“We’ll be there.”

“Excellent. I look forward to catching up with you again.”

“Can’t wait. See you at six tomorrow.”

The next night, I’m standing in the kitchen, flicking through my phone while waiting for Karley to finish changing.

A picture makes me straighten. Liam’s getting ready, too.

Perfect. The prick scored an invite. Fucking great.

Maybe tonight’s the night Mr. Warne finally announces who’s getting the gallery, and I won’t have to deal with Liam’s smug grin ever again.

The sound of heels clicking on the floor snaps my head away from my phone. There she is.

Her black dress has a high neckline and falls modestly to mid-length, but then she moves, and the thigh-high slit on the left side catches my attention. My throat goes dry, and I almost choke on my tongue.

“You look incredible, Petal,” I manage to say, slipping my phone in my pocket as I step toward her with my hands out.

She places her palms in mine. Her makeup is flawless, her face radiant, but the way her eyes flick to the floor and back up tells me she’s blushing.

“Thanks for arranging the girls to help me,” she says softly, glancing back toward the bedroom, where the stylist and makeup artist from our wedding day are packing up. I’d flown them here to help Karley feel more comfortable tonight.

“I wanted to make your life easier.”

“It helped. There’s no way I’d look this good without them.”

“I beg to differ. You always look good.”

She smiles, and I notice the way her cheeks lift, her confidence shining through. “Thanks.”

There’s a quiet pride in watching her confidence grow, knowing I had some small part in it.

“The shoes are a nice touch.” Slipping my hands to her lower back, I pull her closer. The added height from her black stilettos brings her just close enough to my level.

“I’m hoping not to break my neck in them,” she jokes.

“I won’t let that happen.” I brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Though if you trip, we’re making it a scene. Maybe I’ll fake a tumble too… Really sell it.”

She grins. “Oh, and have Dan thinking we’re both hopeless? Sounds like a solid plan.”

“Exactly. If we’re going down, we’re going down in style.”

“Speaking of style…” She steps back and gives me a once-over. “You look good.”

I smirk, stepping back and giving a small spin. “Careful, Petal. Complimenting me this much might make me think you’re smitten.”

“Oh, I am. But don’t think I didn’t catch you almost choking when I walked out.”

“Almost?” I tease. “I’m still recovering.”

She shakes her head, laughing as the hairstylist and makeup artist quietly gather their things and head out, and I nod in appreciation.

“Are you ready?” I ask, slipping my hand into hers.

She gives my fingers a soft squeeze, her smile soft but determined. “Yes. Let's charm them so they can give you this gallery.”

I raise an eyebrow, gesturing toward the door. “Let’s get out of here. And remember, if you fall, aim for Liam.”

Laughing, she shakes her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Impossible to resist,” I shoot back, leading her out the door.

The car comes to a stop in front of The Warne Gallery, and I slip out, the cool evening air brushing against my face.

My palm feels clammy, an unfamiliar sensation that irritates me.

I’m not the type of person who gets nervous about business deals.

Yet here I am, discreetly wiping my palm against my black pants before holding it out for Karley.

She steps out gracefully, her hand slipping into mine.

We take the steps to the gallery entrance, the glow of warm lights illuminating the sidewalk. My heart pounds, each step bringing me closer to what could be the night everything changes. If I play my cards right, this gallery will finally have my name above the door.

The Lincoln Gallery.

And it’s not just the business acquisition that matters, there’s Karley too. This arrangement between us has grown into something I never expected, something I’m not ready to lose.

“Mr. and Mrs. Lincoln,” the doorman greets us, his tone polite and welcoming.

Karley’s fingers squeeze mine lightly. I glance down at her. Her lips curve into a sly smile, the kind that makes my pulse race for an entirely different reason.

Hearing that title doesn’t scare me the way I thought it might. If anything, I fucking love it. But what about her? Did the squeeze mean she liked it too? Her expression gives little away.

The doorman ushers us in, and as we step into the softly lit space, I lean down to murmur in her ear. “Mrs. Lincoln. God, I love the fucking sound of that.”

Her body shivers slightly, and the reaction gives me my answer. But this time, the possessive rush inside me is stronger than ever before.

The gallery’s interior is stunning, exuding understated elegance.

A long wooden table dominates the room, surrounded by chairs and lit by the warm flicker of candlelight.

Gentle amber lighting highlights the art on the walls, each piece perfectly curated, creating a calming atmosphere.

The faint strains of instrumental music fill the space, soft enough to soothe, with just enough volume to mask the echo and our footsteps on the polished concrete floor.

For the first time tonight, my nerves begin to settle. The anticipation remains, but with Karley beside me, her presence grounding me, I feel like I can handle anything.

We approach the table, where Dan and Eden stand to greet us. I scan Mr. Warne’s face for any hint about tonight’s purpose, but his expression gives nothing away. Their smiles are wide and welcoming, genuine warmth radiating from them.

“Oliver, Karley, welcome!” Mr. Warne says, shaking my hand firmly while Eden leans in for a cheek kiss.

Karley mirrors the greeting.

As I glance around the table, I take in the unfamiliar faces. There are more guests than I’d anticipated… Dan and Eden’s friends, no doubt. But my gaze quickly lands on two I recognize: Liam and Paige.

Liam is already seated in a black suit, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place. Of course, he got here early, probably to position himself as Mr. Warne’s favorite. Asshat.

I briefly nod to the table, playing nice for now. Karley, ever the picture of grace, kisses Paige on the cheek and, of course, extends a friendly greeting to Liam.

I, however, can’t bring myself to shake his hand. Instead, I opt for a curt nod, my jaw tightening. She’s a better person than I am, that's for sure.

We slide into the last two available seats, side by side. As I settle into my chair, I take a deep breath, stealing a quick glance at Karley. She meets my eyes, and for a moment, her lips twitch with the hint of a smile.

Yeah, I’ve got this. With her, I’m unstoppable.

Karley leans in, her caramel-sweet scent enveloping me, her breath brushing warm against my cheek. The candlelight brightens her eyes, making them dance with curiosity. “What’s this?” she asks quietly.

“Truffle gnocchi,” I murmur, turning my head. The proximity startles me… My lips are just a whisper away from hers. Her gaze lingers on mine, unspoken words swirling between us before she turns back to her plate.

“I like gnocchi,” she said, picking up her fork. “So, I’m sure I’ll like this.”

She takes a small bite, her expression unreadable at first, until a faint sound from the back of her throat draws my attention. Amusement tugs at my lips. “Not a fan?” I ask, biting back a laugh.

Karley shakes her head slowly, her expression slipping into an exaggerated smile that doesn’t fool me. She swallows, wincing slightly, and then reaches for her wine, chasing the taste away with a long sip.

I chuckle, leaning in close enough to bring my lips to the shell of her ear and whisper, “Want to know a secret? I hate truffle.”

Her head shoots up, whipping toward me, her eyes narrowing into an accusing glare. “You could’ve told me.”

Laughter bubbles out of me, and I lean back. “Where’s the fun in that? Watching you try to mask the horror was perfection.”

“Mean,” she mutters, but her laugh betrays her. Her elbow bumps mine as she pushes her plate aside.

Her nose scrunches adorably. “See, that’s the difference. My parents cooked pasta, tacos, fish… Meanwhile, you were probably raised on oysters and truffles.”

I grin. “Wrong. We didn’t eat that stuff unless we were at some restaurant, party, or gallery opening.”

I picture taking her to Sunday dinner at Grams’ to show her the home-cooked meals we had growing up.

The light-hearted tone wavers for a moment. A question hangs on the tip of my tongue, one I’d danced around before but never dared to ask. Tonight, though, it feels like the right time.

Before I speak again, a friend of Mr. Warne’s pulls me into a conversation about recent market trends.

I nod along, offering advice while glancing at Karley, who’s engrossed in conversation with Paige and Eden.

She laughs at something Eden says, looking completely at ease despite her earlier nervousness.

We finish dinner, and as the servers clear our plates, there’s a small break before dessert.

Karley leans close to me. “Would you like to check out the new art?”

“Lead the way,” I say, standing and offering her my hand.

She slips hers into mine, her fingers warm and sure. Together, we wander through the gallery, our hands interlocked as we examine the intricate strokes of paint and the emotion captured in each piece.

“For someone who never wears heels,” I say, “you’re doing amazing.”