Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91989 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91989 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
I’m a triplet, you see. There are three of me but only one true Declan.
My brothers pale in comparison to me because they have attitude problems.
Me? I have an eye for beauty and design. I relish my role as head of the modeling division ‘cause I’m fucking good at it.
Sampling beautiful women is all part of the business.
I don’t feel bad for a second. These women love it. They practically pick me up before I even have a chance to make my move.
I have all the pussy I want and all the money I want.
Life should be a fucking dream.
But it’s not.
I hate this annual meeting. I hate having to see my brothers. And most of all, I hate that my father, John James Grayson, has just died.
Life doesn’t make sense.
He wasn’t old or anything, and his death came as a complete shock. Now I’m an orphan with only my estranged brothers for family.
I pull up right to the front curb of my father’s building. Sure, he left the business to us, but it will always be his. He built it from scratch, and now we’re the most successful and important adult entertainment company in the city.
Hell, our range is global, and I have no intention of slowing that down even if it does mean having to work with my brothers.
The valet comes out to take my car.
“Hey, Tommy,” I say, tossing him the keys. “How’s school?”
“Fine, Mr. Grayson. Thanks for asking.”
“Tommy, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Declan?”
This kid never learns. He’s always nervous around me, and I don’t know why.
Yes, I own the most important part of the business if I do say so myself: the adult modeling line. But come on—I’m a fucking artist, a photographer. Just because I wear a suit doesn’t mean I don’t have a personality or that I can’t relate.
What this kid sees is what everyone sees...Declan Grayson, artist extraordinaire, leader of the most prominent adult modeling business in the city, and a fucking billionaire.
I guess if I were his age, I might be intimidated by me.
But come on, does he have to be so formal?
I’m not my father...yet.
I feel pissed off as I walk in. This meeting only happens once a year and, every time, my brothers and I fight and exchange harsh words. They get under my skin like no one else can, and today, there’s no avoiding them.
I prefer to run my branch of the business and to stay out of their way.
But that’s not happening today.
Once in the familiar and opulent lobby, I hear hushed tones and whispers about me. People are so fucking obvious.
“Did you hear about what happened to his dad?”
“Yeah, it’s so sad.”
“I heard they inherited a fortune.”
“I guess they’re marriage material now more than ever.”
“Oh, you can’t pin down a Grayson brother. They’re notorious playboys.”
I smile as I hear the gossip.
People are right. My brothers and I have a certain amount of infamy in this town. We’re used to going out and getting what we want, albeit in our separate corners.
That’s the thing about us; we don’t really share. But we do have one thing in common and that’s our love of women and our dislike of commitment. I don’t see that changing anytime soon.
Once in the confines of the VIP elevator at the back of the building, I get ready to make my entrance. Dad’s office won’t be the same without him in there running the place.
The doors open, and I go to his penthouse suite. Everything looks the same, and it all reminds me of him and what I’ve lost.
Fuck. Grief never gets easier.
I swing open the double doors and guess who’s waiting for me?
“Hi, Declan. Long time no see.”
Chapter 3
Jasper
My thighs burn.
My biceps ache.
But it’s worth every goddamn second. It’s not easy to achieve the perfect body, but I get off on it.
Mind over fucking matter. This is no different to running a business, except that I have to control my body instead of people.
I like punishment. I thrive on it. I fucking need it.
“Come on Jas,” Luke urges me on. “Three to go. Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, and one hundred.”
“That’s four, asshole,” I growl and jump to my feet.
Beads of sweat drip down my chest and back. I grab my plush towel and wipe my face. These sessions are a fucking killer, but they’re worth it.
“Just testing,” my personal trainer says with a grin. “Time to switch sides.”
“You’ve got be fucking kidding me.”
I jump up and down on the spot to keep my muscles loose. Doing too many of these fucking push-ups can make me cease up, particularly if I overdo it.
A good cure is a good fuck, but this is out of the question this morning. I’ve got places to be.
“Come on, man.” Luke punches me in the shoulder. “You know the drill. One-armed and one-legged push ups need to be done on both sides.”