Alex Madden raised his whisky glass to his lips, acknowledging the blonde woman who entertained him with a story about her father's antics at their recent New Year's bash. He couldn't help but know the man; the mere fact that he had spent time with his wife and family felt like a rare occurrence. Rumors sourced from a reasonably reliable channel, suggested that her father, Sam Stewart, was entangled with not one, but two girlfriends, both blissfully unaware of each other's existence. With Valentine's Day looming, Alex couldn't help but pity the politician for the impending financial burden.
Three women in the mix? Not his cup of tea.
The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He preferred that his liaisons be fleeting, devoid of lingering attachments or expectations.
Glancing around Bar Hugo, one of Manhattan's most prestigious establishments, Alex noticed that most of his essential connections had departed. The only reason he lingered, nursing his Macallan, was, to be blunt, the blonde bombshell beside him. He knew where the night was headed; her incessant chatter would soon give way to more... intimate activities.
Ping, ping.
Alex, urgent matter. Office. 1 hour.
Reading the message from his father, Alex mentally adjusted his plans. Setting down his crystal glass on the gleaming bar, he quickly confirmed his presence at the office before smoothly taking the blonde's arm. "Shall we?"
Her eyes sparkled with anticipation.
"Your place or mine?" she purred.
"I have a meeting in my office tonight, so let's head there," he replied, leading her towards the discreet exit. The last thing he needed was to be caught in a compromising situation, fueling more gossip about his relationship status.
When would the media relent? Marriage was not on his agenda.
She hesitated for a moment, processing his offer. There would be no lingering breakfast in bed. Alex met her gaze squarely, leaving the decision in her hands—take it or leave it.
He knew she'd take it.
They always did.
A billionaire in a sharp suit was irresistible to women of her ilk.
Like his brothers, he had inherited their father's striking features. Alex exuded confidence and power when standing at six foot three with a chiseled physique, meticulously sculpted in his gym, and a strong jawline.
Some of it was cultivated, some innate.
In the business and economic circles of the United States and beyond, Alex Madden was a frequent subject of discussion, unfortunately not solely for his professional acumen. Despite rarely being seen with the same woman twice, the gossip columns incessantly speculated about his marital status.
They even had cringe-worthy nicknames for him.
Try as he might, Alex found it difficult to shield his private life from prying eyes. He had a few cardinal rules:
No commitments.
No lingering overnight.
No repeats.
He occasionally broke the last rule—sleeping with the same woman twice, but never in quick succession to avoid any misconceptions.
Alex Madden wasn't interested in relationships of any kind. He scoffed at the idea of true love and had no intentions of settling for a mundane partnership. Yet, he enjoyed the company of women and the pleasures they offered at the end of the night, so he obliged with dates for obligatory social events.
And his options were never limited.
But a committed relationship was not in the cards for him.
Settling down with a companion and engaging in routine sex held no allure.
As predicted, she followed him through the door, and they made their way to Madden Towers. Alex hung up his dark gray Tom Ford jacket and turned, ready to attend to the matter that awaited him in his office.
Miss Stewart—damn, he couldn't recall her name—paused, admiring the breathtaking view of Central Park from 57th Avenue. It was undeniably one of the finest vistas along Billionaire Row.
"Stunning," she remarked, approaching the floor-to-ceiling windows.
Meanwhile, Alex unfastened his cufflinks, the metallic ping echoing as they landed on his meticulously crafted oak desk. Rolling up his shirt sleeves, he glanced at his Piguet watch.
Thirty-five minutes left.
Joining Miss Stewart by the window, Alex casually slid his hands into his pockets. "I'm going to assume you're open-minded."
She turned to face him, her expression shifting.
A promising start.
Leaning in, Alex gently ran his fingers through her hair. "Or we could opt for something a bit more... direct. Your call."
Her lips parted a silent acknowledgment. Pride kept her from storming out; Alex could sense her desire.
Reaching for his zipper, she knelt before him. "Both," she murmured, her gaze meeting his as she took him in her hand.
Alex offered no verbal response, simply enjoying the sensation as her tongue teased and explored, gradually enveloping him. He couldn't suppress a low moan as she skillfully worked her magic, bringing him to the brink.
And when he finally released, she swallowed without hesitation.
Surprising—Alex had expected otherwise.
As she rose to her feet, licking her lips, Alex couldn't help but notice her natural beauty. Yet, like countless others before her, she suddenly paled in comparison.
Most were drawn to him for his name, mistakenly believing that marriage to him would grant them power. But power, Alex knew, was innate—a force that emanated from within, not from a bank balance.
Madden Hotels, a cornerstone of the Madden Dynasty, boasted global properties. Established by his father and taken public five years ago, the company was now under Alex's stewardship as CEO.
"Thank you for accompanying me tonight," he said, zipping up his pants. Blast, what was her name again? Tilly. Right. "Please convey my regards to your father, Tilly."
She smiled, her demeanor still sultry. "I believe you've overlooked the second part."
No, he hadn't.
Thankfully, his father's punctuality provided a convenient interruption, sparing him any further tension. Occasionally, rejection stung, provoking claws to come out.
"It seems our time is up. I must prepare for my meeting," he replied, not attempt to hide his lack of regret as he retreated behind his desk. "Feel free to use the facilities before you leave, if necessary."
As Tilly gathered her belongings, she cleared her throat. "No, thank you. I'll wash down the taste with a glass of Cristal when I get home," she retorted, then exited with her head held high.
Despite himself, Alex couldn't help but smile.
Good for her.
Moments later, his father entered the office, raising an eyebrow. "Was that Sam Johnson's daughter I saw leaving?"
"Yes, she joined me for the Glass Towers rebrand launch this evening," Alex confirmed.
Though Glass Towers was a rival in the New York hospitality scene, Alex had strategically selected the senator's daughter as a statement, given some ongoing government lobbying concerning Manhattan's water system. While it might strain relations with Glass Towers, it was a necessary stance that his father understood well.
Alex's grin widened. The game—the thrill of it—was his playground, and he excelled at every move.
Tim Madden strode to the spot where Tilly had knelt moments ago, his stance restless. Evening meetings with his father were routine, but Alex sensed the gravity of this one. It revolved around a topic that soured his mood lately.
"I have troubling news, son," Tim began, his tone heavy. "The agreement is still missing, and now Sam Howard is attempting to blackmail us."
Alex raised an incredulous eyebrow. "With what exactly?" he interjected. "He's already squeezing us dry by claiming inflated interest rates on the initial loan."
Nearly twenty years back, his father had struck a deal with his then-friend, Eras Howard. The loan had been substantial, propelling Madden Hotels to its current heights. The terms? Repayment in twenty years with a modest three percent interest.
This wasn't a clandestine affair. Their finance team had diligently set aside funds over the years, gearing up to settle this fiscal year's debt.
But a few weeks ago, Sam's letter demanded payment for a sum vastly exceeding the original agreement. Attached was a purported copy of the contract—except, it had been tampered with. The once nominal interest rate had ballooned to a ludicrous fifteen percent.
Only a handful knew of this predicament: Tim, Alex's brothers Fletcher and Hunter, and their trusted financial advisor and lawyer. The latter urged them to locate the authentic agreement before escalating the matter.
However, Tim had presumed he possessed a copy at home, alongside the one housed in the Madden Dynasty's vault.
Not.
Tim ran a weary hand over his face.
Damn it.
"Father, tell me," Alex pressed, his tone urgent.
With a frustrated slam, Tim's fist met the sofa's armrest. "He's given us thirty days to cough up or else he wants his daughter tied to the Madden name. And the prenup mustn't exclude her from the Dynasty shares."
Alex's jaw tightened. "You've got to be kidding me," he muttered.
He knew what was coming next.
"She's asked for you."
