The crowd breaks into applause as the ever-handsome Nate appears next to Mason. “Thank you all so much for your support. The last year has been tough, but the phone calls, emails, texts, and visits have not gone unnoticed. I appreciate all of you, and I know if my Cecelia were here, she’d be much more eloquent and giving you all hugs of gratitude.”
The crowd claps as Nate raises his glass and grins. “I’d like to toast all of you for what you’ve done for my girls and me.”
Everyone takes a drink.
“I’d also like to thank my best friend in the whole world, James Adelson, and his fiancée, Katherine Monroe, who put their nuptials on hold because of everything that’s been happening. So, I’ve been ordained by the State of California and the Church of Every God, and Jim and Kate have agreed to let me marry them here tonight.”
The crowd goes crazy.
“I wish Cecelia could be with us, but I’m so happy all of you are here to join me.”
After the short ceremony, everyone toasts Jim and Kate, and they deserve it. It’s wonderful to see them together and happy.
Landon holds me in his arms. “This was one fantastic party, eh?”
“It was a lovely evening,” I agree.
“Seemed like you were particularly enjoying yourself right after we arrived,” he adds with a raised eyebrow.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” I counter, suppressing a laugh. “I’m proud of myself for remaining upright, and I’m also happy you quit while you were ahead.”
“I prefer to think of it as more of a pause in the action.” He smiles and kisses my lips. After a moment, he squeezes me tight and sighs. “This year has had its ups and certainly its downs. Without you, I don’t know how I would have managed.”
I smile up at him, and my heart swells.
“I never thought I would feel so centered and complete,” he adds. “I love you.”
Running Hot
Tech Billionaires book 4
A Preview
by:
Ainsley St Claire
Chapter 1
Marcella
“Do we have any other options?” I stare down at Raven Stewart, my associate, and she shakes her head.
“Elena was all over Chirp last night, and the stock has bottomed out,” she says. “The US Attorney’s office wants her bad for stock manipulation.”
“Who’s assigned to the case?” I ask for the third time, hoping the answer has changed.
“Miguel Garcia.”
“The man I beat out in law school for Order of the Coif. Great. Going over his head is going to have him gunning for my clients.” I stare up at my I love me wall—an array of accomplishments that mean I’ve worked hard and I’m good at my job but mean nothing when you have to go see your arch enemy and grovel. “Call Walker Clifton’s office and find out where he’s going for lunch today. I’ll stop by and sell a bit of my soul to him.”
Raven slides a piece of paper across the desk. “He’s at the Union Club.”
“Fuck. Really?”
Raven Stewart is one of the best associates I’ve ever had. She is a master chess player and always thinking four steps ahead.
“Is he there now?”
She looks at her watch and nods.
“Call me a rideshare. I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”
I sling my coat over my shoulders and grab my couture bag. Elena is going to pay for this.
When I step out on the sidewalk a few minute later, I look up at the concrete building and its giant columns. It’s close to the capitol building, and the architecture looks the same, but there’s one major distinction: no women are allowed inside the hallowed halls of this all-men’s private gathering place called the Union Club.
The man I’m about to ask for a favor may very well end up president of the United States one day, but today he’s the United States Attorney for the Northern District of California, and his minion wants to screw one of my clients for having a heated moment on Chirp last night with a senior member of her team.
I open the door, and the dark, wood paneled walls and low lighting scream debauchery. It always smells like Pledge to me, but that would be too mundane a product for the employees to use at such a highly regarded club.
The man behind the podium looks down in his tailored suit. “How may I help you?” he asks in such a monotone and distasteful way that I feel like gum stuck on the bottom of his shoe.
I paint a smile on my face. “I’d like to see Walker Clifton, please.”
“We don’t allow women on our premises.”
I bet if I was a hooker, they’d allow me, but I’m not going to argue that with this guy who’s only doing his job—despite the fact that he’s condescending as hell.
“Can you let him know Marci Peterson would like a moment of his time?” I hand him a copy of my engraved business card. It at least alerts him that I’m of moderate importance and most likely not a woman threatening to sue Walker for paternity.
He lifts the card and hands it to a large gentleman with an earpiece who takes it and disappears.
A group of men enter behind me, and I step aside. Walker will make me wait. He always does. This is the little power game he plays. I pull my cell phone from my pocket and lean against the wall, my legs crossed at the ankles. I play a few rounds of Candy Crush.
I’d love to take these hideous shoes off. Stilettos are the brainchild of a man. I wish comfortable shoes were in style.
Groups of men continue to come through the
