Page 109 of Billionaire Bachelor

“This,” he says slowly, “is exactly what we were hoping for.”

Beside him, Olympus’s CFO—a sharp-eyed woman with a no-nonsense bob—taps her pen once against her legal pad. “Let’s talk terms.”

I don’t let my grin show. Not yet. But when I glance at Ryan, he’s already looking at me with that spark in his eye.

The one that says:We did it, brother.

He gives me the smallest of nods.

I return it.

Yeah. We fucking did.

34

LOGAN

It took longer than anticipated,as their legal team insisted on combing through every line item one by one, but the deal is officially closed. Together, BetMasters and Olympus are about to change the game. Once players see what we’re offering, they won’t want to place their bets anywhere else.

Despite the late hour, Jared was on his way back to the airport the moment we wrapped. His wife is due to deliver their first child next week, so he didn’t feel comfortable staying the night. I don’t blame him one bit—if Rosie were about to have our baby, I would be glued to her side—so I had our chartered jet staff on standby, waiting to take him home. Ryan and I have some loose ends to tie up at our satellite office in the morning, so we’ll fly back tomorrow afternoon.

“C’mon, man, let’s hit the tables.” Ryan slaps me on the back. “Whoever walks away with the highest winnings buys dinner.”

“Blackjack?”

“Is that a real question?” He raises his brows, and the gesture combined with the sarcasm is so similar to something his sister would do, I laugh to myself.

Kyle drives us to a newly refurbished casino we’ve been meaningto check out, and we find the nearest high-stakes blackjack table. Ryan’s in the zone, doubling down like it’s a reflex, his stack of chips growing taller with every smug win.

Lady Luck must’ve clocked out after our Olympus pitch, because I might as well be lighting hundred-dollar bills on fire.

“Dude,” I mutter after my sixth busted hand in a row. “This is painful. I’m sitting the next few out. I’m sick of embarrassing myself.”

Ryan sips his whiskey and grins. “A little humility’s good for you, Edwards.”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately, Morales?” I deadpan.

He just laughs and taps the felt, signaling for another card. “Maybe it’s karma. You date my sister behind my back, you lose your ass in Vegas while I rake in the dough.”

“Blackjack for the gentleman to my left,” the dealer announces, gesturing to Ryan like he’s the king of the damn table.

The dealer flips his hole card. It’s only a five, bringing his total to sixteen, so he hits again and pulls a king of spades.

The dealer busts.

Ryan snorts as a fresh stack of chips is pushed toward him. “And that, my friend, is what we call sweet, sweet justice.”

“Son of a bitch,” I grumble, slumping back in my seat.

He swings an arm around my shoulder. “Aw, don’t be grumpy, sweet pea. C’mon, let’s take a break at that piano bar we passed on the way in. Maybe your luck will reset after a few drinks.”

“Fine, but you’re buying.”

We gather our chips, head to the cashier’s cage to exchange them, and then make our way to the Encore Lounge, a piano bar tucked into the corner of the resort.

Inside, the lighting is low, the drinks are served in fine crystal, and a tuxedo-clad pianist glides his fingers across a glossy black Steinway with impossible grace. It’s the kind of place designed to seduce with subtlety. You won’t find a boisterous crowd singing along to “Sweet Caroline” here.

While that kind of schtick can be fun—especially after a fewdrinks—I’m hoping the chill, upscale vibe will give me and Ryan a chance to talk. Hanging out tonight has felt like old times for the most part, but the stilted energy between us isn’t fully going away until we hash things out. And honestly, I’d rather get it over with than keep pretending nothing’s off.