The Grand Pact (The Grand Men #1)
J.C. Hawke
For the ones who need a little holding up
The over-thinker
The planner
The comfort seeker
PROLOGUE
Elliot
Lowerwick Estate, London: Antlis Memorial Ball
“Going once, twice, sold.” My jaw tics as the hammer comes down on the wooden stand, echoing through the speakers with a resounding thud.
“Well,” Charlie utters, nestling his hands deeper into his tux pockets. I twist my head to look at him fully, my face stoic. I find him watching me from my right, his lip twitching with a knowing smile. “Wasn’t how I saw that going at all.”
My back is to the stage, and as I lift my hand to catch a bartender’s attention, I feel multiple sets of eyes settle on me.
Lance Sullivan, my head of finances, slides his drink across the bar and into my hand, grinning at me just as wide as my best friend. “Nah, can’t say I’m shocked, to be honest.”
They’re referring to the ten thousand pound bid I’ve just placed—and won—on our friend Lucy.
The prize?
A date with her.
Fucked-up thing is, no one would bat an eyelid if it were Charlie or Lance bidding.
Bunch of nosy fuckers, the lot of them.
When the girls announced there would be an auction, I knew it wouldn’t end well. Both Lucy and Nina auctioned off dates with themselves, and while I watch on as Nina’s date ends up with a business rival of mine and Mason’s (Mason, who just so happens to be Nina’s ex and also the guy now putting her over his shoulder and leaving the marquee), I’m glad I didn’t let Lucy go cheap.
She wasn’t going to be a laughingstock.
Charlie slips a hand across his face, thumbing the side of his mouth as his fingers pinch at his cheek. A laugh slips past his distorted lips, and I roll my eyes. “Tonight has been wild.”
“Fuck off. Pricks.”
My eyes are trained on the amber liquid that lies unmoving at the bottom of my glass—still and calm.
I can still feel lingering eyes on me. Do I care? No. They can make their assumptions—including my friends. “I wasn’t going to have her made a fucking joke of.” I lift my eyes, giving them both a look loaded with warning. I don’t need to explain this to them. “You think I was going to leave it go to Vinny. Really? He’s nearing retirement.”
Vinny is Mason’s head of security and driver, and who fucking knows what else. The man practically brought us all up and is like a dad to Mason these days.
“Hey! I think Vin is well fit!” Megan grins wide as she slips her arms around my waist and smiles up at me. I peer down at her over my shoulder. “Mr Montgomery, we’ll need a signature. Scar!” she yells, looking around for her friend. I reach out and take the clipboard from her hand, signing my name and adding to my original bid.
It wasn’t my intention to bid on Luce, but it made complete sense to me that I did. She deserves more than the lousy numbers thrown around the room in jest, and with Megan and Scarlet in charge of the money and bidding, I knew anything could have happened.
I knew the moment I tipped my head that they would make it out to be more than what it is.
My gaze finally seeks her out, and fuck, I shouldn’t be mad at her, but I can’t help the frustration that comes from her choice to stay with a man like Miller. Like now, she doesn’t come to us like she usually would. Instead, she steps down from the stage and makes her way through the crowd and over to her drip of a boyfriend.
I watch as he turns to face her, a smile slipping into place and masking the annoyance he has with my ostentatious bid. He hates me and what I’ve just done, but he wouldn’t tell her that.
Her head twists as if sensing my stare, and as our gazes lock, her icy-blue eyes widen a little before she catches herself.
“Excuse me,” I tell my friends, slipping from Megan’s hold and stepping through the crowd.
I can see the panic flittering over her face, and I watch as she leans in to say something to Miller, brushing a blonde curl behind her ear to keep her hands busy.
“A word, Luce,” I say as I near, tipping my chin at her as I slide my hand around her waist and into the back of her dress. I smooth my hand over her silky skin, smirking slightly when it grows pebbled beneath my fingertips.
“Uh, sure,” she mutters, blushing. More from embarrassment than my touch if I know her like I think I do. “Miller, you don’t mind, right?” she asks, looking sheepishly over at him.
What do you get when you take two overly polite people and put them into a relationship?
“No, of course not. I will go… over there.” I follow his finger to the few chairs that line the wall of the marquee.
A fucking train wreck.
Lucy watches him as he slips away and over to the seats.
I watch her.
Her dress is gold with sequins covering every inch of it. It’s high at her neck but low at the back, leaving me with an in.
“Walk with me.” I propel her forward with my hand on her back.
“I’m pissed at you, you know.”
“I know.” I smile. “But I’m pissed at you, too.”
“At me?” she retorts, turning to look up at me as she shuffles through the crowd. “How could you be mad at me?”