Page 8 of Billion Dollar Vow (The Lincoln Brothers #4)

Oliver

“What’s going on today?” Declan asks, loud enough to be heard over the EDM music blaring through the gym speakers.

He’s standing behind me, spotting and waiting his turn.

I slowly press the dumbbell up and down beside my chest, focusing on my form.

We’re both squeezing in our workout before work.

I’ve got an hour to burn before heading to my office.

I’m actually looking forward to work today, likely because I’m sourcing new art for our collection.

“I’m going to visit Dan Warne to discuss the Warne Gallery he’s selling.”

“Do you need another gallery to handle? Surely, you’re busy enough?” he asks, as I finish my eighth rep. I sit up on the bench, grab my towel, and wipe the sweat off my forehead.

“This one’s different. It’s on West 24th street.”

I stand and step aside. He takes my spot, lifting heavier weights. “What’s so special about it?”

“My mom has always loved it, but he never put it on the market. Until now.” I can’t keep the excitement from my voice. This is the opportunity I’ve been waiting for… one I won’t let slip away.

“So you’re buying it for your mom?” he asks, straining as he pushes through his eighth rep.

“Not exactly. She’s happy teaching. She’s not interested in running galleries again.”

He drops the weights, puts his hands on his hips, and paces as he catches his breath, before I continue.

“I want to showcase her students’ work there. They mean a lot to her, and after helping me get a head start with my galleries, this feels like the best way to thank her.” I can’t help but smile as I share my plans, certain Declan will appreciate the mix of strategy and heart.

We switch positions, moving from chest presses to dumbbell flys, and I grab a lighter set of weights.

“So will it run like a normal gallery?” he asks.

“Yes, everything will be for sale, and I plan to hold auctions,” I say, lying back on the bench and press.

“She’ll love it.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” I reply, completing my eighth rep before dropping the weights to the black-padded flooring.

Her approval means everything; it’s not just about business this time.

If she doesn’t love it, I’ll have missed my chance to finally repay her for all those years of sacrifice.

The gallery needs to be perfect. We switch again, and I ask, “What about you? Busy day?”

“Transfer meeting this morning. After that, just the usual grind.” He grunts, pushing through his first rep.

Declan’s in corporate finance, where he handles managing companies, buying and selling them, overseeing mergers, the whole lot.

Even though we were on different paths, we clicked after meeting our sophomore year of college.

While I spent late nights working on business projects, he was grinding through internships at investment firms, already planning his future.

He’s always thinking three steps ahead of everyone else, whether it’s in business, poker, or life, while I go with my gut.

Over time, we settled into an easy friendship, him trying to convince me to save money, and me reminding him that not everything needs a spreadsheet.

He plays it safe; I take risks. It shouldn’t work, but somehow, it does.

Maybe it’s because, no matter how busy he was, he always made time for me.

When I struggled with my business degree and felt like I was falling behind, he showed up with takeout and refused to let me spiral.

He knew my dreams were to own art galleries, and he didn’t let me forget them.

When my grams got sick, he sat with me at home, no questions asked.

And when I nearly backed out of my first real art show, convinced I wasn’t good enough, he gave me a speech about how I was going to take over the art world one day.

“Is the transfer meeting with the New York team or the Florida team?”

“Florida,” he says, putting the weights away. “I’m trying to prepare, so I’ve been signing in to their important meetings to stay in the loop.”

“I’m going to miss you, man. I’ll have to find a new gym partner.”

“I’m irreplaceable,” he says, giving me a playful shove. I stumble but catch my footing, laughing.

“You fucking wish,” I tease, my grin falling when I realize how much I’ll miss seeing him every day. He’s been one of the few people in my life. Adjusting to him living far away is going to take some time.

I pull into the nearby parking garage of Warne Gallery.

After I park and push my door open, the low growl of an approaching engine catches my attention.

My head snaps up, muscles tensing instinctively.

A sleek red Lamborghini pulls into the spot beside me, the driver taking his sweet time shutting it off before stepping out like he owns the entire city.

Liam fucking Carter. Of course he stopped by to chat to Mr. Warne at the same time as me. Asshat.

That irritatingly self-satisfied smirk is plastered on his face like he was born with it.

“Oliver,” he says smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks. “I’m surprised you made it out of bed this morning. I thought you'd be lying in a pool of your own tears after a restless night of dreaming about your failures.”

I shut my car door and match his smirk. “It was hard to get out of bed, considering I was entertaining your ex-girlfriend. She kept going on and on about how she was glad to be finally dating someone successful.”

Liam lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “You almost had me there. But we both know you don’t have the time, or the money, to keep up with a woman like her.”

“That’s rich, coming from a guy who throws money at problems because he doesn’t have the brains to solve them.”

“Money wins in the end, Oliver. You’ll figure that out eventually.”

I step toward the gallery entrance, and he falls into stride beside me. This is how it always is. Business, life… hell, even women. If I want something, Liam Carter wants it too. It drives me fucking insane.

He gives me a sideways glance. “So, what is it this time? Looking to add a little class to your sad excuse of an office?”

I let out a dry laugh. “Please. Unlike you, I actually appreciate art beyond its price tag.”

“Oh, is that so? I just assumed you were here to beg the gallery for a payment plan.”

“Bold of you to assume I need one when you’re the one who thinks buying this place will finally make you interesting.”

Liam grins, pushing open the gallery door. “Guess we’ll see who walks out of here as the new owner.”

My heart hammers against my ribs. This isn’t just another business acquisition… It’s personal.

He pauses just inside, his grin sharpening. “Speaking of interesting,” he says, glancing over his shoulder. “Heard you’ve been on the hunt for that hidden artist everyone’s whispering about. Any luck?”

I keep my expression neutral, masking my surprise. “Didn’t realize you had an interest in them.”

“You know me, always curious about what keeps you up at night,” he replies smoothly.

I force another smirk, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a real reaction. “Sleep’s never been an issue. Maybe you should try worrying less about me and more about your own overrated collection.”

My jaw clenches. The fact that Liam is sniffing around the same anonymous artist only confirms what I already suspected.

Whoever created those pieces is the real deal.

Now, I’m not just determined to acquire the gallery for my mother; I need to find this artist before Liam does.

His interest has just turned my curiosity into an obsession.

Two battles on my hands, and I refuse to lose either one.

Right now, I want to talk to Mr. Warne about the gallery, and seeing Liam here makes my stomach uneasy.

If Liam buys it, he’ll only ruin it like he’s done with the others by turning them into overpriced, soulless showrooms. He guts their originality, strips them of real artistry, and replaces it with whatever flashy, high-ticket pieces will sell the fastest. No loyalty to artists, no real appreciation for the craft, just another playground for the wealthy to throw money around.

That’s not what I want for this place. This gallery has history; real character. The artists here deserve a space that respects their work, somewhere that fosters creativity instead of choking it with neon lights and overpriced champagne bars. If Liam gets his hands on it, all of that disappears.

Not happening. I won’t let it.

The sun beams down on me, heating up my suit as I walk toward the building, leaving him behind. I have a meeting to get to, and I won’t be late.

The tall brown brick gallery has a special charm, a mix of sophistication with neutral tones and gold accents, art on display with warm accent lighting, and the scent of fresh wood polish.

It’s perfect. This place matters to me, and I know exactly what I’d do to make it even better.

Incorporating my mom’s students’ art. I can already picture her face when she walks through these doors…

That slight widening of her eyes she gets when she’s truly surprised, followed by that soft smile that crinkles the corners of her expression.

She’d slowly walk the space, maybe even tear up a little, but try to hide it.

I stride straight to Mr. Warne’s office. I’ve been here countless times over the past few years, practically begging him to sell the gallery to me. This time, Trudy, his assistant, told me he was selling.

When I reach his assistant, she smiles, but she won’t be smiling for long. Once I buy this place, she’s out. Cora, my assistant, will be taking her position.

“Hi, Trudy. I’m here to see Mr. Warne,” I say, leaning on her desk. “Can you do me a favor and delay Liam joining me?”

“I shouldn’t…” She hesitates, glancing around.

I flash her my devilish grin and edge a little closer to her. “I just need a few moments alone with Mr. Warne.”

She sighs lightly. “Alright, but you owe me.”