“To the Pace Empire!”

My father raises his glass and takes a sip. Everyone clustered around my desk does the same. The tumbler feels heavy, solid in my hand, and the whiskey goes down smooth. It’s a Highland Park 30—not nearly the caliber of the Macallan 55 I have in my penthouse, but there’s no way I’m going to break that out every time we close another deal. Not at the rate I’m going.

When the toast is finished, the guys scatter, heading back to their respective offices. “Find me more buildings!” I call after Mike Ford, the guy who’s singlehandedly located at least three diamonds in the rough in the last month alone.

He gives me a jaunty salute from the doorway. “You got it, boss.”

My father beams after him, waiting until the last of them are gone before he turns back to me. “Hell of a job, son. Hell of a job.”

I sip the last of my whiskey and put the tumbler on the little tray perched on the edge of my desk. “Three more buildings. I wanted five by July.”

He laughs. “You’ve still got time.”

Time—but it never feels like I have enough. “Three weeks, two buildings—I’m sure I can pull it off.”

“No doubt.” Declan Pace’s blue eyes, a mirror image of mine, sparkle in the afternoon sunlight pouring in through my office windows. The floor-to-ceiling glass gives me an incredible view of Manhattan. From here, the city looks clean and alive and close—close enough for me to reach out and grab with both hands. There’s more out there for the taking, and I’m going to find it. “No doubt at all.”

I sit back down in the executive chair behind my desk, giving my father a nod. But he doesn’t head for the door, back to his own office at the other end of the hallway. “Something on your mind, Dad?”

He considers me, taking another measured sip of his whiskey. “I’m impressed.”

“By what?”

“By you. You’ve got the same kind of killer instinct I had when I started this firm.”

I fold my arms over my chest and lean back, smiling at him. “I don’t know if I’d think of it as killer. We’re improving Manhattan one building at a time, even if the riffraff has a problem with it.”

Dad laughs out loud. “They’re not riffraff, son. They’re future tenants.”

I wave my hand in the air. “Behind closed doors, I know you agree with me.”

He cuts his gaze at my open office door, then gives me a level look. “It’s about time you took over the enterprise, Jasper.”

I can’t help but chuckle at that. “Don’t joke around. I’ve got contracts to sign.”

“I’m not joking.” His eyes haven’t left mine, and there’s no trace of a smile on his face now. 

I straighten up in my seat. “I see that now, but—”

“What changed my mind?”

“Yes.” My dad has lived and breathed Pace, Inc. for thirty years. He’s been the first one in the office and the last one out more days than not. What the hell happened to make him want to loosen his grip on his empire?

“Are you telling me you didn’t notice that you had more and more to do over the past year?”

“I noticed. I didn’t think that meant you were interested in something as absurd as retirement.” The image of my father lounging on a white-sand beach somewhere makes a laugh bubble up in my chest. Laying around like some kind of lazy asshole seems antithetical to the rest of his life.

He wags a finger at me, a spark coming back into his eyes. “I didn’t say I was going to retire.”

“But you’re ready to be done with Pace, Inc.?” My heart picks up speed. To be in charge, in every way possible—it’s so tantalizing I can practically taste it. There’s already a low hum of adrenaline racing through my veins. Pace, Inc., mine. I could get more aggressive in Paris and London and Dubai. I could own those markets. 

“It’s pretty clear that you’re ready to take matters into your own hands. These last three buildings are a major coup.” I get ready to scoff—they’re a fantastic deal, but not any more so than the five before—but Dad cuts me off. “You’ve assembled a good team here. You haven’t needed me to steer you toward a good find in a year. You don’t need me here.” He leans in with a conspiratorial grin. “I’ve got a thirst.”

“There’s more whiskey.” I grin back.

“For new markets.”

“You want to expand Pace, Inc. elsewhere? We’re worldwide already.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head, his eyes going distant. “I want to start something, build it from the ground up.”

“At sixty-five?” I laugh.

“I’ve got nothing but time.”

“And money.”

“That’s right.” The last of his whiskey gone, he sets the tumbler next to mine and stands up. “We’ll continue this discussion later.”

I stand along with him, possibilities thrumming in my veins, and reach out to shake his hand. He looks me square in the eye. “Keep up the good work. Don’t ever take your eye off the prize.”

“I won’t.” The prize—money. Power. Always. 

He goes whistling out the door, and I stand at my desk for a long moment, fingertips pressed against the polished surface, a new fire lit in my gut.

Yes. Today is a good day.

I sit down in my seat, pull the contracts toward me, and scrawl my signature at the bottom of each. “Christine?”

My executive secretary, a willowy blonde who wears her skirt suits like high fashion, is instantly at the doorway. “Yes, Mr. Pace?”

I hold out the papers to her. “Get these down to legal immediately. I want to get started on these buildings as soon as we can.” I can’t wait to have my driver take us past, watch the rotted innards of these properties hauled out to make room for gleaming interiors, for shining lobbies, all the old stripped away to reveal the true potential of the place.

She nods and glides gracefully back out the door. I know exactly how long it takes to get down to legal, so it should be no longer than fifteen minutes before my phone rings, and—

Christine’s voice rises outside the door. “No, I’m sorry, miss. Mr. Pace doesn’t allow unscheduled appointments.” What the hell?

“That’s Ms. Gabriel. And he’ll make an exception for me.” The low voice is commanding and leaves no room for argument. A crackling curiosity short-circuits my focus on the new buildings. Who in this city has the balls to interrupt my afternoon without an appointment? 

There’s a long pause. “That’s simply not—wait. Ms. Gabriel—”

Then she’s standing in the doorway, fire in her eyes, a glare that sends a spike of heat straight down my spine. Christine hovers behind her, but doesn’t dare get too close. When she speaks, her voice is razor-sharp. “So you’re the bastard who’s ruining my day.”