Million Dollar Devil (Million Dollar #1)(2)

“Are you? That prick you were dating was hardly a diamond. Rich, yes, but not very well mannered. Standing up my daughter on the day he was supposed to meet his possible future father-in-law . . .”

“And that’s why we’re not dating anymore. I won’t settle for anything but the best, just like you’ve always told me, Dad.”

He nods complacently and straightens his tie. I think I get my OCD from him. I can’t ever survive a meeting without him straightening his tie several times. “You’re perfect. You deserve the perfect man,” he assures me.

My dad has always told me that I’m perfect—and every part of me, down to the pristine designer pumps I’m wearing, is a testament to how much effort I put into looking the part.

I smile at his compliment, wishing he’d spoken it with a little more warmth and that the words perfect . . . for a daughter . . . didn’t ring in my head.

I want my father to give me one of those proud looks I rarely receive from him. I want him to say, “My daughter is the fucking best, best daughter, best at everything.” I want to give him a reason to smile. I know that he’s looking for his replacement for when he decides to step down—and I don’t want him to hire a CEO who didn’t grow up with our company like I did, who doesn’t breathe and live Banks LTD like I do. I’m a Banks, and if someone inherits my father’s legacy, it should be me.

“If you want to prove to me that you can be a competent CEO, then this should be the greatest launch of any line we’ve ever launched, Lizzy. I won’t go for a half-assed job.”

“Got it. There would be no better CEO for the company when you decide to retire than me, Dad.”

“Good. I’m willing to give you this opportunity to show me you’ve got what it takes, but if you fail me, I’ll be up front with you: I’ll start prepping LB for the job.” Letting this last unwelcome tidbit sink in, he claps his hands together as if that’s that. “So, who is the face of our new line?”

Springing into action, I reach into my briefcase and pull out a set of folders. “I’ve got a list here of attractive, successful bachelor entrepreneurs who embody what our line represents—vitality, masculinity, power, money, class.”

“Ferdinand Johnson. I like him,” he says as he inspects the first photograph, turning it over to read the details I’ve put on the back.

A winning smile appears on my face as pride starts to swell in my chest. “I’ve got an appointment with him at three.”

“Gregory Hutchinson. He could do.” He nods in approval again, and more pride swells.

“I’m meeting him at one thirty.”

He lifts a brow, clearly impressed, but saves any compliments. I never did receive coddling from my dad. My mom left us when I was only four, and I grew up in a world full of men. I’ve done my best to thrive in it. Butting heads with the best of the best.

“Leave it to me,” I tell him as he reviews the rest of the photographs without any comment.

“I will. But be warned, Lizzy: I won’t cut you any slack because you’re my daughter. Work is work, as—”

“As you’ve told me before, yes, Father,” I quietly concede, pulling the photographs into my neatly labeled folder and easing it into my briefcase.

I step out of the room, my heels clicking steadily on the floor as I stride down the hall. I’m summoning confidence with every ounce of my being as I pass his two secretaries and give them a grateful smile. It was difficult enough to get my dad to give me a meeting, and it was equally difficult to schedule a meeting with each of these eight millionaires. But somehow, I’m going to pick the very best and convince him to be my model. Our model. This launch is my baby, and it’s my personal challenge to make our men’s designer suits synonymous with class and elegance—a staple for the best males of our species.

My dad wants the perfect man. I plan to deliver.



“I’m sorry, Lizzy, but no amount of money will get me to agree to this,” Ferdinand Johnson said as he finished his coffee, set his napkin aside, and left me staring blankly at the bill.

“The only way I’d agree to this is if you tripled the offer,” Gregory Hutchinson said. “And maybe not even then. It simply isn’t worth my time.”

Keith Halls hardly let me finish. He spent the entire time talking to my cleavage, even though it was discreetly buttoned away behind my silk blouse to show I meant business. I fended off the urge to say Eyes up here about a thousand times.

And the others?

The others weren’t any better . . .

“‘Thanks, but I don’t have any time to play Ken to the Barbies out there’? That’s what he said?” My best friend, Jeanine, is on the other end of the line as I walk out of my last meeting at 8:30 p.m.

“YES! And that was only one of them. Jeanine, it was a massacre. I . . . I’m truly shocked by how rude, arrogant, and plain uninterested they were! What the hell am I going to do now? It’s the first shot—the only shot—my father has given me, and I’m completely stumped here!”

Eight appointments. Eight. Nobody cares to be the face of our new Banks LTD men’s suiting line. Nobody could give a shit about it. One asked for five million. Another kept glancing at his watch. Another listened to me, nodded, and simply asked, “Are we done yet? I’m playing tennis in half an hour.”