Married To Ex's Billionaire Father

DOMINICK

L

os Angeles is fucking lit tonight

. That was the only thought in my head as I stood twenty-seven stories up on the roof deck of the city's newest and hottest high-rise hotel, overlooking our famous skyline. Jenner, my middle brother, was the attorney who had represented the closing, and everyone who was anyone had come out this evening to celebrate the grand opening.

Not only was this a huge win for Jenner, but for The Dalton Group as well-the law firm my parents had started over twenty years ago, where my brothers and I were now partners. We represented some of the largest-earning corporations and individuals in the world. In my case, concentrating solely on entertainment law, I was surrounded by many of my clients, this event like a mini version of the goddamn Oscars.

"Jenner has come a long way," Brett Young, my best friend, said. He was next to me on the balcony, nodding toward my brother, who was schmoozing with the CEO of a massive online retailer. "I remember when we were in law school, that motherfucker still had zits all over his forehead. Now, instead of carrying textbooks, he's got multimillion-dollar contracts in his hands, closing transactions like this one every day, from here to fucking Dubai."

Brett pointed at Ford, my youngest brother. "And the baby in the family? Man, I definitely didn't anticipate him being the first one in our group to father a child." He smirked. "Certainly not before me or you." His eyes caught mine. "I think you wake up every morning, hoping like hell that some woman doesn't come banging on your door, asking for a paternity test."

I laughed in agreement. "Isn't that the fucking truth?"

Before Brett had met James Ryne, one of the highest-paid actresses in Hollywood, he had lived the same lifestyle as me. Bachelor brothers was what we used to call ourselves. But now, they were engaged, and he was more whipped than a sub.

He clinked his glass against mine, and we downed what liquor was left. Immediately, a waitress appeared to hand us refills.

He held his scotch over the side of the railing, balancing the liquor in the air.

I did the same, sighing as I gazed at all the twinkling lights below. "It's been a hell of a run for us so far, and we're only getting started."

When Brett and his buddies had opened The Agency-a firm of agents representing actors, athletes, and musicians-I had just passed the bar, and we would refer clients to one another. Now, all these years later, we sat in many of the same meetings, negotiating deals for the top earners in the business.

"You've got that right, my friend. Wait until I tell you about this new actress I just scouted and how much money she's going to earn us ..." His voice faded as he grabbed his phone and read the screen. "Fuck."

"What's wrong?"

Still staring at his cell, he said, "You know our client Naomi, who I cast for that reality TV show that's filming in two weeks? Her manager just texted and said she's in the hospital with two herniated discs in her neck and another three in her back." He slowly glanced up at me. "Ski accident in Vail this morning."

"Jesus, is she all right?"

"She's going in for surgery tomorrow. She'll be bedridden for the next nine to twelve weeks, which means she'll miss all of filming."

"That shit is painful. I hope she pulls through." I took a drink. "I also know what that means for you-you have to find someone to replace her."

He typed a reply, calling over a waitress the moment he put his phone away. "Another round for both of us and two tequila shots." As she walked toward the bar, he said to me, "Getting drunk is the only solution to this."

"Tell me exactly what you're looking for. Maybe I can help."

"If you remember, the show is about well-off, young girls, living the LA life. Private jets, VIP club treatment, walk-in closets that have as many Birkins as my fiancée. The studio will provide all of that. I just need the right face."

I quickly glanced around the roof, taking an inventory of the different looks and talent up here. "What kind of face?"

He twirled the glass in his hand, the scotch swirling like a tornado. "Early twenties, gorgeous. She needs to have perfect tits and a body to fucking die for. Personality-wise, I need someone who can put the cast members in their place-not a villain, but someone with spark."

Not finding what I was looking for, I mentally ran through my roster of actresses who focused only on reality television. Daisy Roy was the most talented one I had. Even though she was a villain off camera, she was the girl next door on-screen. She was good-looking, but she didn't possess the heat he was after.

I shook my head. "I can't think of anyone."

"I was afraid of that."

The waitress returned, setting the four glasses on the balcony's wide brick edge.

We went straight for the tequila, downing the shots before we moved on to the scotch.

Brett held the fresh drink against his chest, tugging at the strands of his hair. "We start filming in two weeks. I need someone-yesterday."

I grabbed his shoulder, shaking it to loosen him up. "Don't stress, brother. When I get to the office tomorrow, I'll dig through my clients and see who I can find."

The words had barely left my mouth when I turned toward the thick crowd and linked eyes with the most beautiful girl. Goddamn it, she was more stunning than any woman I had ever seen. Long, dark hair with pouty, thick lips and a light-blue stare that was so intense that I could see the color from all the way over here.

But the connection didn't stop with her looks.