The Billionaire’s Big Gamble

Sneak Peek

“I was supposed to find a girlfriend tonight.”

Okay, I did not see that one coming. And it’s pretty rare for me to be surprised by people these days. The arrogant demeanor, the blinding Rolex, the sexy, flirty smile…this isn’t someone who is on the prowl for their soulmate, that’s for sure.

“I need a loving and stable ‘significant other,’ if you will, in a month. And I need her to, like, actually at least appear that she gives a shit about me. I have this majorly important meeting in Vegas to acquire a Casino for my business.” He waves his hand dismissively. “It’s a whole thing. But the point is, this old ass couple won’t sell it to me if they know I’m single. They’re all about marriage and partnership and blah blah blah. So, yes, I came here to find myself a girlfriend.”

I frown and shake my head. “Wow. That’s quite the goal you set for yourself. Too bad you didn’t find me sooner.”

His eyes glint a little, and that dirty smile plays at his lips. “And why’s that?” He leans in.

“Because I’m a relationship expert.”

He laughs sharply, his eyes widening as he leans back. “You’re a what?”

I cross my arms, straightening my shoulders and fully gearing up to defend and explain my job title. This certainly isn’t the first time it’s been questioned. “A relationship expert.”

“Like a love guru?”

I lift a shoulder. “More like a love scientist.”

“That might be the…” He swirls his drink, thinking hard for a second about what to say next.

“Stupidest thing you’ve ever heard?” I finish dryly.

He opens his mouth slightly, his parted lips looking annoyingly kissable. “Your words, not mine.” He motions for the bartender to bring us a couple of shots. “You like whiskey, Haley?” He holds up a hand before I can respond. “Never mind, don’t answer that. You’ll like this.”

I laugh softly.

Two little shot glasses of dark liquor are placed in front of us, and Jayson holds one up and smiles at me. “Cheers. Now, you seriously have to enlighten me on what the hell a ‘relationship expert’ actually does.”

I knock back the shot, careful not to wince at the hot burn in my throat. “Well…” I set the glass down and already feel a rush of warm tingles through my body. Expensive alcohol must work faster. “I coach people—women, mostly—on how to find love. I help them become the best version of themselves, analyze and correct what they’re doing wrong in their dating habits, and study their compatibility brackets so they know exactly the right type of guy to go after. The biggest roadblock for so many women is that they’re just going after the wrong guys. And it’s driving them to act in…less than ideal ways.”

He raises his brows slowly, processing what I’m saying. There’s a genuine glimmer of interest in his gaze, but I mean, that could just be him wanting to get in my pants. “What the ever-loving hell is a compatibility bracket? Now, this I have to know.”

I shake my head and laugh. “So many people have this overly grand idea of love.” I wave a hand in front of me, gesturing vaguely. “Love being this powerful, enchanting, indescribable feeling. Like some sort of magic that just happens to you. Like Cupid’s arrow. But all of that…” I purse my lips and sip what’s left of my gin and tonic. “That’s all just made-up bullshit to sell movie tickets and romance novels.”

He draws back, running his thumb along his jawline and studying me with confusion. “So you’re a love guru who doesn’t believe in love. You really do get more fascinating every second, Haley.”

“I believe in love. I believe love is, like, a recipe. If you have all the ingredients, like compatibility, timing, and attraction, and you use them in the right ways, you will be able to find a strong bond. You can create a love and partnership that has the potential to grow and last. I told you.” I look up at him and lift a brow. “Science.”

“Theoretically, then”—he swivels his barstool so he’s fully facing me now, his knee barely grazing my thigh and sending a little chill up my spine—“if it’s all just a scientific formula, and you’re like Marie Curie over here, couldn’t you just manipulate your compatibility table or whatever and get anyone to fall head over heels in love with you?”

The teasing sense of sarcasm in his tone somehow challenges me and turns me on at the same time. I swallow my hot attraction and eye him sternly.

“Bracket,” I correct. “And, yeah. I probably could. If I got to know the person well enough and I could become their perfectly compatible match, then sure. Love would occur inevitably, at least on their end, since I’d be sort of, well, faking it.”

He wets his lower lip and inches closer to me, his leg pressing against mine. Heat rushes over me, and I hold his steady gaze. God, he’s so fucking hot. He knows it, too. And somehow that makes him hotter. I should not be this attracted to arrogance; it’s certainly not in my bracket.

“What about me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper as a playful, sexy smile teases his lips. “Could you get me to fall in love with you?”

I let my eyes take a long, slow trip over the specimen of a man that is Jayson Vice. The tight, expensive looking button down hugging ripped, hard muscles and broad shoulders. The black pants…just casual enough to show he doesn’t care, but nice enough to be impressive. I try my best not to let my gaze linger on the tempting bulge in those pants.

I can read him like a freaking book. He’s flashy with his money, probably likes to gamble. Yachts, parties, women…he lives the lifestyle. He’s rarely ever told the word no, and why should he be? He works hard and plays harder. He’s competitive. Hates to lose. Never does.

I meet his eyes again, taking a slow breath. “Yes,” I say confidently. “I could make you fall in love with me.”

He gives a shocked laugh, leaning back as if he’s admiring my bold certainty. And then, he draws close to me, close enough where those swarming butterflies come back through my chest and thoughts of what’s underneath those casually cool black pants captivate my mind. He opens his mouth, holding my gaze with sexy intensity.