I’ve got to get that wretched woman out of my head.

One week back in New York City, and the time I wasted on Emerald Winslow still makes my shoulders tense and my cheeks flush with a sickening heat.

My fingers clench around the stylus I’m using to mark up some contracts on the new tablet I had Stuart pick up for me this morning. I wiped the old one clean before I left London and threw it into a box of Emerald’s things. I don’t care if it gets broken on the way to wherever her sorry ass is now.

Sorry ass. She had a wonderful ass, I think as I press down too hard with the stylus. The tablet screen skews my signature. What Emerald didn’t have is a worthwhile personality. I took a risk on her but I shouldn’t have. My hit-it-and-quit-it lifestyle was serving me perfectly well until I went and ruined it by falling for her.

One wrong move and even a billionaire can find himself screwed over.

Financially, I’ll recover. I didn’t invest much, comparatively, into the venture with Emerald in London. But I’m never letting another woman get that close to me again.

I put a hand to my forehead. Stuart notices the movement in the rearview mirror.

“All right, Mr. Brandon?”

I’m not going to admit to being mortified by the fact that I let some stupid infatuation take me across the Atlantic and open my wallet. I take my hand away. “Considering some options.”

“Of course, sir.”

My focus does not improve once I’m in the office. The headquarters of Brandon, Inc. occupies six floors of a Midtown high-rise, with my office at the very top. The various companies and divisions under the Brandon, Inc. name are all serviced here. Most people will never hear of my umbrella company, but they’d be shocked to know how many products and services we produce. I took my father’s advice and diversified. That advice has made me very, very wealthy.

Of course, all the money in the world couldn’t save me from being overtaken by Emerald, and I can’t force the thought from my mind. It’s like a black cloud covering the summer sun. You don’t get to the top of the Fortune 100 by being a cuddly pushover, but today I’m acting like an even bigger asshole than usual.

I shouldn’t have ignored what my father had to say about women. He’s been happily married to my mother for thirty years, but he always communicated a similar strategy. Once, on a big game fishing excursion in the Bahamas, he turned to me and said, out of nowhere, “Marriage is generally a bad investment, Jett. You can really get your ass handed to you if you’re not lucky.” Then he turned and helped the crew members wrestle a marlin onto the boat.

By the time my CFO comes into my office to update me on a pending merger between one of my media companies and a social site I decided to acquire, the day has already taken a turn for the worst. I’ve snapped at my head secretary, Emily, twice, and though she doesn’t say anything about it, I see the set of her jaw when she pokes her head in the doorway to tell me that Connor has arrived.

“Send him in,” I say sharply. Connor has been one of my best friends since college. The man can drink most people under the table, but he also has an exceptional mind for business. He never schedules meetings like this unless it’s bad news.

He enters my office, his lips pressed into a thin line. What the hell went on here while I was in London? I thought I’d had the situation well under control from overseas, but it looks like somebody—maybe several somebodies—have been dropping the ball.

“It’s my fault,” Connor starts in, and I roll my eyes. I’ll give him credit for that—he never throws anybody else under the bus.

“Tell me, Connor. Is the merger fucked?”

“Not entirely.”

I cross my arms over my chest and lean back in my leather chair. Connor takes that as his cue to continue.

“The original documents they supplied overestimated the area of influence by quite a bit.”

Wonderful. I hate when this kind of stupid, amateur shit happens in my own company. “What’s the game plan?”

“We can pull out of the merger if you don’t want to take the risk.”

“Do you have new numbers?”

“Working on it now.”

“Get them to me by 5:00. I’ll decide then.”

Connor gives me a curt nod and heads for the door. “Hey,” I say when he’s almost at the threshold, and he turns back to look at me. “I signed off on it, didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t pull any punches.

“Thanks.”

Connor opens the door, steps through, and closes it gently behind him.

Christ.

A few months under the spell of a woman like Emerald and I start to lose my edge.

My chest tightens. I’m not going to become some weakass idiot who can’t handle his business.

I want to text Stuart to tell him to bring the car around. I want to hit the gym across the street from my penthouse until my muscles are screaming, then stand in a steaming shower until all of the tension knotting in my shoulders is gone.

But backing down from business isn’t an option for me. Not ever again. And definitely not for anything less than the absolutely perfect woman. After Emerald, I’m convinced there is no such thing. Resorting to hit-it-and-quit-it doesn’t seem like such a bad idea anymore.

So I don’t text Stuart. instead, I pick up the phone and tell Emily to schedule status meetings with all the section presidents. I don’t apologize for anything. I’m done being sorry.

They’re probably calling me a tyrant behind my back, but that’s too bad. Most of Brandon, Inc. will be working late tonight.