Miami After Hours

“Do you really think that’s why he hired you?”

“C’mon, Angela,” Myrna stated, reaching for her bottle of Evian water. She unscrewed the top and drank liberally. “We both know my looks got me the job. But they won’t get me my dream job. You’re so lucky.”

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Angela replied. “But it wasn’t always this way.”

“What do you mean?”

Angela wasn’t about to share her story with Myrna, who was known to gossip in the office. She couldn’t tell her that her parents, both academics, saw Angela as a disappointment because she wasn’t more like her sister, Denise, who was working on her PhD. “I mean that sometimes you have to start at the bottom and work your way up.”

“Is that what you did?” Myrna snorted. “Yet somehow you caught Daniel’s eye.”

“Not in the way that you mean,” Angela said. “He has a new project that he wants me to work on with him.”

“And is that all he wants you to work on?”

Angela raised a brow. “What are you talking about?”

“C’mon, you must know Daniel Cobb has a reputation. He’s quite the ladies’ man, or so I’ve heard.”

“And from whom have you heard that?” Angela queried.

Myrna shrugged. “Around. People talk. And word on the street is that Daniel has an aversion to commitment. So all I’m saying is that I hope this venture is on the up-and-up and that you need to be on your guard. A man as suave and charming as Daniel Cobb just might sneak up on you.”

Angela sat back in her seat. She highly doubted that. She had her eye on the prize. Getting out of her small yet expensive apartment and into one of the luxurious condos she’d set her sights on two years ago when she’d begun saving. And no man, including Daniel Cobb, was going to get her off her game.

Chapter 2 (#u944d82b8-863f-502e-a76f-1011129c0662)

Daniel eased his red Ferrari up to the valet station outside a fifty-five-story tower in Brickell, Miami’s financial district, the following day.

A valet greeted him, relieving him of his keys, and Daniel strode inside the formidable tower to the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor, where he was set to attend the monthly meeting for Prescott George.

Seven years ago, he’d been invited to join the illustrious men’s club by the president, Ashton Rollins. In the seventy-five-year history of the organization, no one actually called it Prescott George. They all referred to it as the Millionaire Moguls Club. Why? Because anyone who was anyone knew that the discreet and powerful club only invited old money and a handful of the nouveau riche to join them. That’s not to say the Millionaire Moguls didn’t give back.

Their motto was From Generation to Generation, Lifting Each Other Up. The club regularly gave college scholarships to needy students and funding to inner-city organizations. It’s why Daniel was here today. They were settling on the charity organization that would be the beneficiary of Prescott George’s upcoming annual fund-raising gala.

As he stood in the elevator, Daniel was sure there were going to be fireworks in today’s meeting between Joshua DeLong, the charity outreach and public relations chair, and Ashton. The two men were like oil and water; they didn’t mix. They had numerous differences, not the least of which was the source of their fortunes, and in that regard Daniel compared himself, as well. Ashton was a rich kid who’d been born into money, unlike Daniel, who’d earned his, and Joshua, who, rumor had it, had stolen his fortune. As a corporate raider, Joshua had a way of taking what he wanted, regardless of if it was from the misfortune of others. Still, he was a likable guy with loads of charisma.

And then there was Ashton.

Daniel wasn’t Ashton’s biggest fan, either, but his animosity went deeper, much deeper, and further back into their shared history.

The ding of the elevator indicated they’d reached the top level and Daniel exited. The doors opened into an old boys’ club. Or at least that’s how Daniel saw it. The wood-paneled walls and leather furniture were certainly of a bygone era and could use some updating. Daniel’s mission was to change that.

A beautifully stunning chocolate sister was at the mahogany receptionist desk and greeted him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Cobb. The meeting hasn’t yet convened in the conference room.” She nodded her head toward the corridor where the rest of the club was gathered.

“Thank you, Tiffany.”

“Can I get you anything to drink? A scotch, perhaps?”

Daniel never drank during the day. He liked to keep a cool head. “No, thank you.” As he strode down the corridor to the conference room, he noted the prominent portraits of George Rollins and Prescott Owens, the club founders, that lined the walls. Daniel was certain that was one of the reasons Joshua disliked Ashton—because he hadn’t earned his title of president. He’d inherited it from his grandfather George and his father, Alexander Rollins.

According to the history books, only a member of the Rollins or Owens families had ever served as its leader. And the old-timers were committed to keeping things that way. But Daniel and Joshua were new-school, nouveau riche and ready to bring the Millionaire Moguls into the twenty-first century.

And the Millionaire Moguls Club would do so kicking and screaming.

Daniel arrived at the conference room to find nearly everyone there. Ashton was at the head of the long rectangular table, and Joshua flanked him on his left, refusing to budge. Daniel smiled. He was sure Ashton would love some breathing room from his nemesis. Daniel took a seat, flanking Ashton to his right.

Comparatively, Ashton and Joshua couldn’t look any more different. Ashton appeared every bit the preppy in his Ralph Lauren suit and classic striped tie, while Joshua wore a navy blazer over a white T-shirt and dark jeans. Daniel knew Ashton hated when members didn’t look the part, and he suspected Joshua dressed intentionally to get under Ashton’s skin.

Ashton used his gavel to bring the meeting to order. Surprisingly, it went much smoother than Daniel had expected. They discussed old business, one item of which was Daniel’s. As chair for the anniversary gala it was his job to ensure that finances were in order for the event. Then there was new business. For once, the board members were all in agreement that this year’s beneficiary would be The Aunt Penny Foundation, especially after Joshua’s compelling pitch on its behalf.

And on cue, Joshua couldn’t resist ruffling feathers before the meeting concluded. “I think we should give some thought as to how we capitalize on this for the club—you know, get a little name recognition.”

“Of course you would want to capitalize on another person’s misfortune,” Ashton replied.

Joshua glared at him sideways with those piercing blue eyes. Daniel suspected that with his curly fro, Joshua was of mixed race, but had never asked. “Perhaps capitalizing was the wrong word choice. But we need to take advantage of the positive press this could bring the Millionaire Moguls.”

Ashton pointed his finger at him. “First off, we’re called Prescott George,” he responded. “Second, we keep our charity activities private. We don’t give so we can get recognized for it.”

“I agree with Ashton,” another board member concurred. He was well into his fifties and of the old regime, who were staunchly against change. “We don’t give to get praised.”

“I’m with Ashton,” another member said. “It seems awfully disingenuous.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. Of course they all agreed, because no one wanted to go up against a Rollins. The Rollins family was well-established not only in their organization, but in the community. They were a Miami institution.

“Even if our efforts could help bring more donations to The Aunt Penny Foundation?” Joshua inquired. “Wouldn’t it be worth it?”

“Let’s table this discussion for another time,” Ashton said, effectively ending any further conversation on the matter. Because that’s what Ashton did. He was used to getting his way, as his father and his father’s father before him.

Daniel was tired of it, and as he glanced at Joshua, he recognized that he was, too. It was just a matter of time before the tensions between the two warring factions of old-timers and new blood came to a head.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Angela waited for Daniel’s return from his monthly meeting. She’d heard he was a member of the illustrious Millionaire Moguls, and she wasn’t surprised. According to Miami magazine, his net worth was upward of ten million, and with his flashy digs in Key Biscayne and his sporty Ferrari, she was sure he fit right in with the rich men of Miami.

She wanted to be just like him. And didn’t they say that imitation was the sincerest form of flattery? She didn’t need to be quite as flashy as Daniel, but she certainly wanted the freedom that came with being independently wealthy. And if she played her cards right, rubbing shoulders with Daniel Cobb just might do it for her.

As if his ears were burning, Daniel strode into the office with equal parts style and arrogance. She watched him check in with Myrna before glancing in her direction. He walked toward her desk purposefully.

“Did you have time to read the prospectus?”

“Yes—” She didn’t get another word in because he cut her off.

“Let’s go. We’re meeting the developer in thirty minutes, and with Miami traffic it’s going to be close.”

Angela quickly glanced around for her portfolio and purse, flustered as Daniel stared down at his Piaget watch, looking annoyed with her fumbling.

“Ticktock, Angela.”