Page 438 of The Morally Grey Billionaires Boxset

My heart crashes into my rib cage. This is a joke—him asking me to work for him?

Only it doesn’t feel like that. His harsh features indicate he has not one funny bone in his gorgeous, sexy, chiseled out of granite, body.

And to have him as my boss? This brooding, unfriendly, severe man, this…

dark, handsome in an uncompromising manner man, who’d relish ordering me around is not something I want. Of course not.

"Of course, you are.” I turn to face him. “You don’t know me. You have no idea of my qualifications, why would you want me to work for you?"

When the expression on his face doesn’t change, I swallow, spare a glance around the room, and find no one willing to meet my eyes.

"You are joking?” I ask in a small voice.

He tilts his head. “What I am, is offering you a job.”

"A-a job?" I manage to choke out.

"I assume you need one?"

"What makes you think—" I shut up because there’s a knowing look on his features.

What gave it away? I'm still a plus-size woman.

Never mind, I've been surviving on dry ramen for the last week, ever since the preschool went bust. My body shows no signs of losing these stupid curves.

Good thing Gio had already moved out of the apartment when I lost my job.

There's no way I would have wanted to bother her with my problems or allowed her to buy my food.

And I know she would have insisted. It's not that I don't want to burden her because I know money isn't an issue for her and Rick, but I’m too ashamed to admit I need help.

I need to do this on my own. But what hurts the most is not being able to see the kids I used to take care of.

Between my aching heart and my empty stomach, I’ve only managed to make it to two interviews, both for jobs I didn’t get.

I'm running out of options. And there's no way, I'm calling up my family.

My stepmother and half-sisters would be only too happy to tell me, again, I'm a failure.

I had enough of that when I lived with them.

I am not subjecting myself to that misery again. So yeah, I need a job.

He sees the expression on my face, and a flash of satisfaction colors his before he schools his features back into a mask. He reaches into his suit pocket and pulls out a card before handing it to me. "Be at my office, eight a.m. tomorrow."

Edward

"You think she’ll turn up?" Sinclair spots me as I bench press twice my body’s weight. My chest squeezes down, my shoulders scream in protest, my biceps threaten to tear apart, but I ignore it. Breathe through it. In and out.

"She will."

"And if she doesn’t?" He assists me as I push the barbell up and over my head.

"She will," I grunt.

"There’s a chance she won’t."

"If she doesn’t, there are more fish in the sea, but she will.

" I lower the weight down to my chest, hold, then he assists me as I hoist the barbell up again.

The tendons on my throat strain, and my triceps feel like they are being shredded.

I push the barbell up and hold. And hold.

Sweat runs down my temples, between my pecs.

My stomach muscles harden, my thighs contract.

I push my feet into the floor and brace.

Brace. You need to bear the weight. Bear the mistakes of your past. Bear how you were abandoned by your parents when you needed them most. Bear how she decided you were not the one.

Not that I blame her. Baron would be—has been—a better husband for her.

And now, they had a child. A family. Moisture trickles out from the corner of my eyes, joining the beads of sweat on my face.

"You okay, mate?" Sinclair murmur.

"Why wouldn’t I be?" I begin to lower the barbell down, and he doesn’t let go. He helps me as I push up and through the pain again. Work through it. Keep riding it. At some point, you’ll find the calm in the center of the storm. At some point, I’ll figure out my life’s purpose.

It's the only reason I took the meeting with my grandfather. My father’s father, who I never met before. Imagine my surprise when he called me and introduced himself. My father never spoke about him.

After the incident the communication with my parents broke down.

They were at a loss for how to deal with what had happened to me.

And I took refuge in whatever helped me find oblivion from the emotional pain I was carrying—am still carrying—inside.

I almost hung up but he pleaded with me to meet him.

Just once. Ten minutes of my time. I finally agreed because, why not?

Being the General Manager of the London Ice Kings has given me some focus.

Working with Rick Mitchell, the captain of the team, we steered the team to victory in the League.

From being the underdogs to one of the highest paid teams in the world, and in one season.

It was unheard of. I'd accepted the position as a favor to Knight, the owner of the team. But in working toward a greater goal, I discovered some measure of satisfaction. You can take the priest out of the church, but you can’t take the need to help people from him.

It's also the reason I agreed to my grandfather's request.

"You’ve been through a lot in the past week.

" Sinclair helps me ease the bar onto the rack. I draw in a breath, feel my heart thunder in my chest, and the blood pounds in my ears, drowning out all thoughts for a few seconds. It’s the main reason I work out.

Pushing my body in a way I can’t push my mind.

Controlling how much I can lift in a manner I never can control my thinking.

All those restraints, the limitations I imposed on myself.

I lived my life according to the direction of the Church.

Found some modicum of peace in the routine, the daily prayers, the sermons…

All the while, knowing the storm brewing inside me would break loose, and ignoring the warning signs.

Until it did. I sinned. And punished myself by leaving the house of God.

Unmoored, I left everything behind. I travelled until I managed to ground myself. And by the time I returned, it was too late. She had turned to Baron. And they were happy together. And me?

The empty shell that constitutes me, Edward Chase, lives from moment-to-moment, not quite sure what I wanted out of life. I feel un-needed, unwanted, useless to everyone, even myself. Maybe that’s why I grasped onto Grandfather's ask. I could be of help to someone, after all.

I don’t need a shrink to tell me I'm going about this all wrong. I don’t need a shrink to tell me the person I see when I look in the mirror is not the person I was.

I don’t need my friends to point out I'm on a one way trip to a crisis again.

Hell, I'm living from one crisis to another internally.

Every minute I get through without doing something I'll regret is a win.

As is the deal I made with my grandfather. It gives me a reason to… keep going.

I sit up, then reach for my bottle of water and chug from it. I lower it and raise a shoulder. "I’ll live."

"For how long?" he asks softly.

"For however long it takes, I assume."

He searches my features. "I’m worried about you."

I bark out a laugh. "Since when did you start going soft?" I raise a hand. "Forget I said that. All six of you are married, and most of you with kids… Who’d have thought?"

His mouth curves in a smile, the kind I never thought I’d see on Sinclair fucking Sterling’s face.

The meaner they are, the harder they fall, apparently.

The seven of us were united by an incident that changed our lives forever.

And each of my friends went through their journey and found their soulmates.

It's not to be for me, and that's okay. I'm happy they're happy.

All of them. Including Baron. He makes her happy, and in her happiness is mine.

"Speaking of,"—he tilts his head—"what time is your girl coming to the office?"

"Not my girl, merely a—"

"Cog in the wheel?" His smile grows sly. "A piece in the puzzle. A—"

"Stepping stone to my larger plan? Yes," I say dryly.

"Hmm." He grabs the bottle from me, drains in.

"The fuck does that mean?"

"Nothing. Why should it mean something?"

I frown. "No, of course not, but if you have something to say—"

He caps the bottle, then wipes his hand over his face. When he lowers his arm, his eyes gleam. "It would be lost on you. Ergo, you need to learn your lessons yourself."

"Thanks. And to think, I’m the one who gave the sermons."

"You know what they say? Even a doctor needs another when he’s unwell."

I lower my eyebrows. "Are you saying—"

"Nothing. You do you, Ed. Find your way. I have every confidence that you will."

I snort. "What-fucking-ever."

He laughs. "The classic rejoinder of a man who’s at a loss for words. Also,"—he nods toward the clock on the wall—"you need to rush if you don't want to be late."

I am late but not for the meeting with her.

I left instructions with my HR director to get her settled in.

I'm on my way to a much more important meeting.

When I walk into the conference room adjoining my new office, the five men in the room turn to glare at me.

Once again, I'm the outsider, but I prefer it this way.

They're brothers. Some of their blood runs through me, but I’ve never met them before today.

"Knox." I jerk my chin toward the man standing in the far corner. The sunlight streaming in casts his face in shadows. The other four are at strategic positions around the conference room. None of them are seated. And I’m sure their locations weren’t chosen by chance.

These five are united in a way that tells me I am the opposition.

The enemy. The one who came in from the cold to take over their business.

The one chosen by their grandfather to take over as the CEO of their company.

"Edward,"—Knox tips up his chin—"or should I call you Priest?"

There’s a challenge in his tone—one I don’t rise to. I’ve come across enough men who’ve decided it’s best to go on the offensive when they’re backed into a corner, as my half-brothers, no doubt, are at this moment.

"Priest, I prefer Priest."

"Yet, you left the church?" This from Ryot who’s standing closest to me.

"Funny how you only value something when you don’t have it anymore," I murmur.

"Like your girl who’s not your girl anymore?" Tyler, the brother standing on the other side of the table, drawls.

Anger squeezes my guts. My pulse begins to race. "Better than not knowing if your child is your own or not." The moment the words are out of my mouth, I regret it. I raise my hands. "Sorry, that was a low blow."

Tyler’s jaw tics. A nerve pops at his temple. He folds his fingers into fists and takes a few steps forward, as if he’s about to jump over the table and hit me.

But the brother standing near him—Connor—moves forward and touches his shoulder. Tyler seems about to shake it off, but the other man says, "Don’t. Arthur won’t be happy if you fuck up this meeting."

Arthur. So they do refer to our grandfather by his first name?

He's the chairperson of the company, so it stands to reason it’s easier for all concerned to call him any other name at work, and he’d asked me to do so the one and only time we’d met.

But I’d have thought when they were among family, they’d refer to him as Grandpa?

Or Grandad? Not that he looks like either of those.

Tyler lowers his arms to his sides but continues to glower at me.

The fifth man who, so far, stands in one corner of the room reading, looks around, then snaps his book shut and walks over to the table.

From my research, I know that Brody is the quietest of the five, and the one I know the least about.

He keeps to himself and does not participate in the day-to-day running of the company.

The only reason he’s here is because Arthur asked him to come.

Brody pulls out a chair, turns it around and straddles it.

The rest of the brothers look at him, their expressions ranging from anger to frustration.

All of their gazes are tinged with stubbornness.

Do I really want to take over the company and deal with their egos, not to mention, the roadblocks they’ll put up to block any plan I want to execute?

If it's challenge I'm looking for, being the GM of the London Ice Kings provides me plenty—or rather, did provide me plenty—right until the time they won the League, and on their first attempt.

I played a role by helping to put the team together, but the glory belongs to the players. And they won the championship.

I have the option to continue as GM, but I'm ready to hand that off.

I paved the way for someone else to take over and build on the foundation I set up.

That's me. I prefer to do the hard work, the dirty work, the work that requires the most obstacles to be overcome. And once that's done, I moved on.

The only time I stayed consistent was when I was part of the church.

The routine, the discipline, and the regulations ensured I could focus on the only thing which mattered—my devotion to the Lord.

And then I left it behind, and with it, my ability to have a focal point in my life.

I hoped being the GM of the Ice Kings would provide me with that anchor, and it did.

Briefly. But something was missing. The position always felt temporary.

I loved building something with the team, but like I said, something was missing.

Something I hope I'll find as the CEO of the Davenport group of companies.

It’s why I accepted Arthur’s offer to take over this role. The fact that it means working with my half-siblings is something I've both been looking forward to while also dreading. It’s not every day a man finds out he has an entire blood family he never knew anything about.

I glance about at the faces of my half-brothers, then pull out the chair at the head of the table and drop into it.

The men stiffen. None of them move for a few seconds.

Then, Knox steps forward into the light.

I take in the scars on his face as he crosses over to the chair at the other end of the table.

He sits down, and his brothers follow suit.

Then, Knox leans forward in his seat. "You have something to tell us?"

Want to find out what happens next? Turn the page to read Edward and Mira’s story in The Pretend Christmas Bride