Page 66 of The Boss and the Adoption Mess

Whether I want to or not.

Chapter 16

Gabriel

I walk into the Millionaires and Gentlemen’s Club, which isn’t particularly crowded tonight. No surprise—it’s the middle of the week.

Cornelius Grey is chatting with a group of businessmen while I scan the room for a young woman who might take my mind off this nagging thought for a while.

Sweet. Blonde. She won’t do.

Also sweet, long dark-brown hair.

She’s the right type, but her blonde curls don’t match Kimberley’s. Hasn’t Cornelius hired a single redhead?

“I know that look,” he says, coming over with a glass of whiskey. I take it and sip.

“Restless. Searching. Nobody fits your type?”

“Honestly, no,” I reply.

“What are you looking for?” Cornelius smirks and adds, “This stays between us, of course. No matter how crazy. You’re one of my most valued and closest confidants here.” He probably says that to everyone.

“Natural red curls. Freckles.” Maybe that will distract me.

“Ah. The Irish type.”

“Scottish. But I’m not going to be too picky.”

“I know someone. From Ireland. Sweet. A little sassy. Wild. Want me to call her?” he asks.

I hesitate. It feels wrong, but…

“Can she come here?”

“I’ll arrange it.” Cornelius takes another sip, pulls out his phone, and turns away to have a quiet conversation while I keep scanning the room.

Beautiful women are everywhere, each one more stunning than the last, and yet I can only think of one.

“Room 701. In thirty.” Cornelius looks pleased. “Bring me a small bottle of saffron sometime. That’s red, too.”

“Only the best.” I nod, grateful, and leave the lounge to head to the room.

The key is waiting for me in the lobby. Everything runs smoothly, as one would expect from Cornelius Grey.

I step into the large room with a double bed and bathroom. A cozy hotel room that leaves nothing to be desired: modern, clean, discreet. A well-stocked minibar with all kinds of exquisite delicacies: chocolates, wine, champagne, whiskey.

Condoms and toys ready.

I stand at the floor-to-ceiling window. The heavy curtains had hidden London’s light show; now thousands of colorful lights dance in the night to the heartbeat of the city—a rhythm I’d gladly follow if not for the longing for a woman who’s been turning my head for weeks.

Maybe her stand-in will give me what I need tonight to create some distance. Distance from the thought of following my heart while my mind tries to warn me.

There’s a knock at the door.

I hesitate, set my glass aside, and open it to the young woman standing there in a tight black dress. Sweet freckles scatter not only across her face but also down the inviting line of her décolletage. Natural red curls spill loosely over her shoulders as she looks me over with dark eyes.

“Cornelius didn’t exaggerate,” she purrs, smiling broadly with full lips. Yes, she resembles Kim a little, but they’re fundamentally different. Kim is angelic and delicate. This woman is feline—wild, impulsive, greedy, clearly more dominant.