The Dare Collection November 2018. Christy McKellen

my life had crashed and burned. Without her intervention, I’d probably be in jail for murdering my cousin. She’d kept my secret, used her connections to keep the most salacious morsels of my breakdown and the reason behind it out of the press.

      If I hadn’t been in awe of her before then, I certainly was by the time the red haze cleared and I discovered I had a semblance of a life left.

      The raw double betrayal still haunted me. The one that followed haunted me even more, I wasn’t ashamed to admit. The only time the demons grew quieter was when I deliberately drowned them out with a willing woman and single malt whisky. Apparently that was unacceptable to a few sanctimonious members of my family. I hid a grim smile, wondered whether they would be so hypocritical if they knew the reason behind my behaviour.

      ‘Especially since you turn thirty-three in four months—’

      Bloody hell, I really needed to focus. ‘What’s my age got to do with anything?’

      ‘You’re no longer a boy. They want to see a marked change, a more grounded outlook on life—’

      ‘Or what? They’ll vote to chop my bonus in half?’ Who cared? I was already wealthier than I would ever be able to spend in two lifetimes. Plus, with a twenty-three per cent share in a company worth thirty-one billion, I had more clout than every individual shareholder.

      ‘Or they’ll consider putting Harry in charge for a while.’

      I stopped midpace. ‘Harry?’ Derisive laughter spilled out unchecked. ‘Are they out of their damned minds? I taught that little pissant everything he knows—’

      ‘Which means he’ll do a stellar job. Especially if he conscripts one of your other cousins to assist him. The board are confident they can elect someone else to head the company without the accompanying Page Three snippets of the CEO’s X-rated lifestyle shoved in their faces every time they open their newspapers.’

      That neat little nugget was a bullet to the chest. One I couldn’t argue with. I felt it penetrate deeper, causing as much damage as possible.

      My cousin Harry was duller than a puddle in winter, with zero personality and even less of a life. I wouldn’t be surprised if he went to bed fully dressed in his staid brown suits, his brown hair neatly combed, tie in place, ready to spring to work like a robot.

      The last family member who’d been thrust into the demanding CEO position had lasted just six months before succumbing to a nervous breakdown and a long stint in rehab.

      I’d been considered too young when I presented them with a three-year projection of where the company would be without radical changes—which was basically bankruptcy—and offered to save The Mortimer Group, on condition I was made CEO.

      In the six years since I took over, I made the company wildly successful, and unfortunately pissed off more than a few members of my own family along the way.

      ‘Page Three no longer exists,’ I murmured abstractedly while my mind raced to tackle what could possibly be a real threat to my position.

      Despite his shortcomings, Harry was a hard-working and intelligent subordinate, but he was nowhere near ready to take the helm of the company I’d shaped into running like a Swiss watch. Nor was he in any way equipped to be trusted with the biggest deal TMG was within a whisker of bagging. The deal that had demanded ninety-nine per cent of my working life for the last eight months.

      ‘It’s not going to fucking happen,’ I snarled under my breath.

      The clink of her teacup against the saucer preceded Aunt Flo rising to her five-foot-two-inch height. In her Chanel suit, flawless make-up and contemporarily styled hair, she looked a decade younger. ‘No, it’s not. Because the last thing I need is your uncle Joseph giving me one of his damn I-told-you-so lectures.’

      I’d spent most of my life wondering when the permanent stick Uncle Joseph had up his arse would turn into a tree. At sixty-eight, he was one of the oldest of the remaining Mortimer clan and probably the one who hated my guts the most, although he had no problem cashing the huge cheques my hard work brought him while not so secretly keeping the lynch mob at the ready in case I fucked up royally.

      ‘If you don’t want that to happen, then you’ll keep your antics down. At least until this Russian deal is done. That’s what we agreed.’

      ‘Wait, that’s what who agreed?’

      ‘An informal family meeting was called this morning.’

      I raised an eyebrow. ‘To which I wasn’t invited?’

      ‘It was agreed it would be best if you weren’t involved. Besides, you were tagged on social media with the caption that read “Just Done Being Banged.” I thought you needed your sleep before this meeting.’

      ‘I was on the phone to an intractable Russian oligarch until three a.m. this morning. Trust me, I had no energy after that to bang anyone.’

      ‘But you realise there’s a pattern that supports these allegations, don’t you?’ she insisted.

      For the first time in for ever I couldn’t hold the gaze of the only person who meant a damn to me. Spiking my fingers through my hair, I paced to the window.

      I was pretty sure I knew who’d posted the fake news, and if I hadn’t dumped Mischa last week over her many flaws, I’d do it all over again, just for her insane Instagram obsession.

      With a sigh, I faced Aunt Flo. ‘So you had the meeting. And you all agreed to this...rancid little attempt at blackmail?’

      Her lips pursed. ‘I’m your greatest ally, Gideon. You know that. But even I’ve noticed that you’ve...regressed a little lately.’

      My teeth ground together and I forced myself to remain silent. It was true I’d made full and frequent use of the handful of exclusive gentlemen’s clubs I patronised. And so what if I didn’t date the same woman for more than a handful of weeks and that each sexual encounter left me a little more jaded than the last? Didn’t someone marginally profound suggest that the best way to get over mediocre sex was to fuck someone else?

      I grimaced inwardly at the hollow echo of the reminder, ruthlessly suppressing the voice that suggested the bandage I’d slapped over the gashing wound of betrayal was in serious risk of failing.

      ‘So they elected you to be the bearer of this momentous news?’

      She cracked her first smile since entering my office. ‘I was tempted to send one of your uncles just to see what colourful name you’d come up with this time. I believe last time it was a giraffe’s arse?’

      I shrugged. ‘Uncle Conrad shouldn’t have walked into my office without knocking. He embarrassed the hell out of the Aston Martin saleswoman. It wasn’t my fault she chose to make her presentation minus a substantial amount of her clothes.’

      Aunt Flo shook her head as we shared a grin. After a moment she sobered up. ‘I love you, dear boy. Enough to let you know things are serious this time. There are whispers of board members banding together to gain enough shares to form a majority. I’ll happily throw in my six per cent behind you but if this becomes a reality, it still won’t be enough.’

      ‘I can’t believe this tripe. I’ve made them all more money than they’ll ever be able to spend.’

      She nodded a little sadly. ‘They’re ungrateful bastards. Every last one of them. But they’re still part of this family. And they’re powerful enough to pack a collective punch if it comes to it. I don’t want to see that happen to you.’

      ‘So they’re holding my sex life prisoner?’

      ‘Not your sex life. They just don’t want any unsavoury publicity or social media posts like the one from this morning risking this deal. Get one of those sex-bot things that seem to be the rage nowadays.’

      I snorted. ‘No, thanks. If that’s my only choice, I’d rather stay celibate.’

      Flo’s