Page 29 of Lavish

Despite the sting of my loss, I should have sat in my seat, but I couldn’t resist the pull to follow her. I was always trailing after Serena. I shouldn’t have watched her walk away, her curvy round ass in those slacks. Who made slacks sexy?

It was the way she carried herself, that effortless glide in her step, like she wasn’t walking but cutting through space, making room for herself whether people wanted to give it or not.

Serena King didn’t do soft. She didn’t do approachable.

It used to be a game to me, to see if I could break through her tough exterior—a dangerous game to play with my best friend’s little sister.

She wasn’t like the other girls in Lush. Hell, she wasn’t like anyone. You couldn’t charm her. Couldn’t flirt your way into her world. Never in my life in Lush did I have to…work.

It’d been easy being Erik King’s best friend.

He was the King. I was the Prince. Not too much expectation, just girls trying to get close to me or Erik, parties and bullshit. I could coast on my name, my face, the Whitmore legacy.

Serena was sharp, steel-edged, and disdainful looks. The opposite of me.

Every time she cut me down with one of those icy one-liners, it felt like a dare.

And I was never good at walking away from a dare.

But it wasn’t just her fire that got me. It was what shedemandedof me—without ever saying it outright. She made mewant to come correct. Every conversation was a test I didn’t know I was taking.

She’d ask things no one else did. Real questions.Why do you want the company?Where do you see yourself in ten years?What would you do with it if you weren’t trying to prove something to this town? What do you really want?

No one ever cared what I thought—just what Iinherited.

And for the first time, I realized I wasn’t sure I knew either.

I told myself it was harmless. I was just teasing. Just flirting.

But it wasn’t harmless.

My fists curled as I leaned back, my eyes fixed on the ceiling. The Sunny I remembered would’ve been in a pair of old jeans and a baggy Cranberries tee, hair sticking out in every direction because she didn’t care. She used to push those too-big glasses up her nose and laugh at me for not knowing something simple.

“Damn it, Serena,” I muttered again, and I swiped the glass off the table, sending it shattering to the floor.

I needed to get my shit together. I was being too dramatic.

The estate was lost. Reggie was still in the hospital, his wife calling every other hour for updates Carlus and I didn’t have. I was back, scrambling for…what?

Is this the life you want to live, Miles?

Every day, fight after fight. It felt like going a hundred rounds with Mike Tyson, Floyd Mayweather, and Muhammad Ali back to back.

I kept telling myself that restoring Whitmore Ventures was the goal. Theonlygoal. That if I could rebuild what my father broke, I could scrub the family name clean. That if I won, I’d finally be enough.

Maybe I wanted out after that.

But what the hell would I be without the Whitmore name? Without the fight?

No.

I couldn’t run. I couldn’t walk away. My legacy washere.

I was just a smooth-talking rich kid with a broken family and no real plan.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, rubbing at the tension clawing its way up my spine.

I should’ve stayed at the auction. I should’ve held my tongue. I should’ve been smarter.