The Billionaire’s Second Chance by Kimberly Krey Page 0,4
of clout in LA. And they don’t come much prettier than her.”
Duke rounded the final landing before gripping the banister and heading back up. “She’s not really my type, Grandma. In fact, she’s kind of a brat.”
“It’s one night,” Grandma urged. “You’ll be announcing together already. Why not make it a date?”
“Because I don’t want to give her the wrong idea, that’s why.”
“She only wants it for her image,” Grandma specified. “She’s fresh off a breakup, for crying out loud.”
Man, she wasn’t going to let up, was she? “Fine,” he finally said. “I’ll think about it.”
“That’s my sweet grandson. Mark the last weekend of June for the gala, will you? That’s about two months from now.”
Duke had reached the seventeenth floor—Slipper Magazine’s floor—but rather than go back to the greenroom, he headed up to the rooftop instead. Something was getting under his skin. Something beyond the obvious irritations vying for his attention.
“You know who Veritå is?” he asked.
“Is that who’s interviewing you for your feature with Slipper?”
“Yeah.”
“Wow.”
When she left it there, Duke prodded. “Wow, what? Is that good or bad?”
“No, it’s good. It’s really good actually. She’s just…well, I’d say honest at all costs. She should help people see you clearly, and that’s wonderful because you are an incredible guy.”
An incredible guy, huh? Duke didn’t feel incredible. He felt irrelevant. Each of his siblings seemed to be in newlywed bliss and the public was eating it up with a spoon. Gushing over every lame thing the couples did together.
Oh, looks like James is still treating his culinary princess like a queen, beside some picture of the two out for dinner. Or Betzy and Sawyer caught test-driving a new million-dollar machine. Will the two get a matching pair—His and Hers?
Why did anyone care? But they did. They cared more than they did about what he was doing.
“Duke?” came Grandma’s voice through the line. “You still there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. But I should probably get back to the meeting. It’s about to start.”
“Okay. Good luck. Oh, and tell Veritå I’m a fan, will you? I’ve got a good feeling about this.”
“Will do,” Duke said before disconnecting the line. Grandma had a good feeling about it, did she? He sucked in a breath as he looked over the landscape. At least one of them did.
Chapter 3
A spark of anticipation flittered through Viv as the elevator glided up to the seventeenth floor. She was about to meet her new subject.
The elevator slowed, dinged, and retracted its glass doors with a hum. Once they were open, a new, inner hum picked up. An agitating one at that. The sort that came when life was about to take one of its turns.
Viv shook it off, lifted her head, and proceeded toward the wide corridor leading to Slipper Magazine’s suite. Life had taken a very unexpected turn when the twins came along. Big enough to last a lifetime.
Whatever awaited her beyond the bend was small stuff in comparison.
Viv had been in the particular greenroom twice before. It had glass walls, which—she realized as she turned the corner—would reveal just who her subject was before they were face-to-face.
The inner plea picked up once more. Please don’t be Duke Benton. Why she was entertaining Mom’s suggestion, Viv couldn’t be sure. Probably because he was exactly the type of guy people wanted to get their hands on—a sexy billionaire bachelor to put on their cover. One with a bad boy edge and a scandal at his heels.
Her eyes searched over the scene within the room as she approached it. There stood Riley Shay, editor-in-chief, perfectly poised in a pencil skirt and heels at the head of the table.
She recognized Rico Shimwah, the famous designer who’d spotlighted his spring line on live TV just last week. But the man sitting across from Rico—tall, thin, and visibly restless with a bouncing leg and fidgeting fingers—Viv didn’t recognize him.
She tried not to get discouraged; a lot of important people were known for what they’d done, not what they looked like. Perhaps the guy was CEO of the nation’s fastest rising company. Maybe he’d just blown millions somehow, put thousands out of a job with his reckless behavior, and needed to man-up and publicly take the blame.
The man’s eyes followed her as she approached the double doors, gripped the rose gold handle to pull it open, and stepped inside.
Or perhaps he was looking at something else, she realized as his gaze seemed to follow a different route. She glanced over her shoulder and came up