Holing up in his office had proven only marginally successful in keeping the sharks at bay. There was no shortage of people offering him unsolicited advice, each one thinking they knew far more about what was best for him than he did.

Maybe a couple years ago, he would have agreed with them. The bottom line was, a marriage to Chelsea Chamberlain did make good business sense. It would give both companies a crucial advantage, especially in the European markets, and everyone involved stood to make a shit ton of money.

His cutthroat instincts were humming with the potential to turn a multi-million-dollar venture into a billion-dollar one. It should be a no-brainer, yet he was balking. Why?

Because, for some unfathomable reason, he didn’t want to do it. He blamed his grandfather, who had somehow managed to make him believe it was possible to have it all. Not only had the man made Dumas Industries into an international success, he had also been crazy in love with his wife of fifty-two years.

Chelsea was classically attractive and had the countenance of a royal. Her bloodlines ran more blue than red. She spoke five languages fluently and had studied at the best schools money could buy. Her family had more money and more connections than his, and that was saying something.

Personality-wise, they were very much alike. Cold. Calculating. Ruthless. She had no more use for hearts and flowers than he did, and didn’t care for one minute that there were no genuine feelings between them. She, like him, had been raised with one goal: to win. To always come out on top, no matter who you had to step on in the process.

Now that no longer seemed enough. He wanted more.

He wanted to love his job. He wanted to get up every morning and look forward to whatever the day would bring, not dread it. He wanted the freedom to make his own decisions, without political ramifications, without bending to the will of the one-percent who controlled not only Dumas Industries, but most of the big companies around the world.

Sate gave him all that and more. He had turned his vision into a profitable reality and had complete autonomy.

Originally, he had purchased the small island with the intent of creating his own private getaway, but then he got to thinking and the ideas grew. Why build a house when he could build a resort? Why build a state-of-the-art kitchen when he could build a five-star restaurant? Why buy another big yacht when he could purchase a fleet of smaller, sleeker models and charge handsomely for the privilege of using them?

His entrepreneurial spirit had soared. If he, the man who had everything, needed a place to escape, then others did, too. Being the master of his own domain held a lot more weight when that domain involved clients willing to shell out big bucks to feed their need for top-shelf treatment.

The best part was, it was all his. It had taken him years, but he had done it all outside of the DI umbrella.

He sat back in his chair and rubbed his tired eyes. He wished he was at Sate now, handling business via SAT link while sitting on his private penthouse balcony and sipping something cold and potent instead of in his corner office, surrounded by dark paneling and yes-men. If it hadn’t been for Chelsea’s unannounced arrival, he still might be there, finding more excuses to avoid his father and this merger. If it hadn’t been for Chelsea’s personal staff waiting in the lobby to snap misleading pictures as he escorted her out, his “engagement” wouldn’t be broadcasting on local and national news.

And he had been having such a good time, too.

Visions of Vexy flashed in his mind as they did so often these days, making his pants grow snug beneath the desk. He pictured her eyes, filled with desire and intent as he filled her, teased her, made her beg.

He reached into his desk and retrieved the red thong he had found in his pocket, the one she had left him as a souvenir. The one he had carried around with him ever since.

He didn’t even know her name. Oh, it would be easy enough to find out. One call to Dominic and he would have all her contact information. He had been tempted to do just that many times over the past two weeks.

But, he hadn’t. She had snuck out for a reason. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that reason was. Had she simply scratched her itch and moved on? Did she have a wealthy, powerful husband to return home to?

Spencer sighed heavily. Maybe he was getting sentimental in his old age. Maybe he was experiencing the first wave of a midlife crisis. The big 4-0 was looming just around the corner.

He tapped a few keys and brought up Sate’s website. If he couldn’t be there physically, he could at least take some pleasure in looking at his baby.

Swells of pride rose in his chest when he saw the gleaming resort rising from the volcanic rock that had formed the island millions of years earlier, surrounded by pristine white sand and crystal-clear azure seas.

Even better, the site was showing a 4.95 out of a possible 5 approval rating.

He opened the reviews, craving some good news.

The most recent was a glowing five-star, extolling the virtues of the excellent staff, fine cuisine, exemplary setting, and exceptional amenities. Spencer was smiling by the time he reached the end; the PR firm he had paid top dollar hadn’t written a plug half as good.

He paged down, finding the name of the reviewer listed as Kayla O’Connell, a senior agent for the You Deserve It Travel Agency. Spencer chuckled at the name, then clicked on the link with the intent of sending them a personal thank you.

He was surprised when the agency’s website popped up and revealed that it was located in Brandyville, Pennsylvania, less than twenty miles away from Pine Ridge.

He was even more surprised when he clicked on the Our Agents menu item and got his first look at the woman who had written such a stellar review.

Kayla O’Connell. Vexy.

And she was less than twenty miles away.