Love so Hot (Misfit Millionaires #1)

Chapter 1

"Victor! Victor Stone!" The voice pierces through the clamor like a bullet. I don't even need to turn to know a sea of microphones and cameras is cresting towards me as I step out onto the steps of city hall. They're like sharks, scenting blood in the water - the blood being any snippet they can twist into a headline.

I pause, pivoting on my heel to face them. It's part of the game, after all. "Yeah?" My voice is cool, detached, just another day at the office for Boston's latest property magnate with something to prove.

"Can you tell us a little about the new development you're proposing?" one reporter fires off, shoving his mic into my space.

"Sure." I give them my best practiced smile, the one that doesn't quite reach my eyes. "It's the future of urban living. Shops, apartments, condos. This project's going to breathe new life into an area that's been begging for it."

"Victor, what about the protests?" Another reporter chimes in, her finger directing my gaze across the street. I follow her indication, noting several determined faces behind colorful placards. Dissenters to my grand plan. Annoying, yes, but not unexpected.

"Look," I start, sliding my hands into my pockets and leaning back slightly, projecting confidence. "Whenever there’s change and progress, there are always those who'll oppose it. It's natural."

"But—" she tries again, but I'm already turning away. My ride's here, black and sleek against the curb.

"Sorry, gotta run." I leave their questions hanging, unanswered, in the crisp autumn air.

As the door of my car swings open, I catch one last glance at the crowd. Among the sea of disgruntled faces and cardboard chants, her eyes snag mine - fierce, unyielding. They're a warm brown, set in a face framed by untamed chestnut curls that spill over her shoulders. She's beautiful, infuriatingly so, considering she's brandishing a sign that reads, "Victor the Vulture, Scavenging Our Future."

It rhymes. Clever.

"Let's get out of here, Marco," I mutter, sinking into the leather seat. Marco, my driver, is a stout man with hands like ham hocks and a steady gaze that rarely shows surprise. His nod is all the acknowledgment he gives before the engine purrs to life, and we glide away from the scene.

The city blurs as we merge onto the freeway, and I fish my phone out of my pocket. Three new texts, each a jab at my televised moment of glory. Lawrence's fiery temper translates into his message:

"Saw you dancing with the wolves. Don't let them bite!"

Roman, ever the joker, sends a string of laughing emojis.

"Victor Stone, Worcester's most eligible bachelor and now, public enemy number one!"

Sebastian's dry wit rounds it out:

"Making friends, I see. Your PR should be fun tomorrow."

I can't help but smirk; those guys always know how to drill into the thick of it. We met in the foster care system, a band of misfits tossed around until fate threw us together. It was Giovanni Maldonado who took us under his wing, showed us the ropes in the business world. When he decided to trade skyscrapers for palm trees, he left his empire to us, each taking a piece. Trust fund kids we are not, but we've managed to carve out our own kingdoms nonetheless.

They might be teasing, but deep down, their words help ground me, a reminder that in this cutthroat world, there are still a few people I can count on.

My thumbs fly across the screen, a futile defense in the making. "Trying to bring some class to Worcester. That's all."

"Class or ass?" Lawrence fires back almost instantly. "The way those signs are personalized, you'd think they know you better than we do."

"Maybe you should sign one," Roman chimes in, "Make it a collector’s item when you're famous—or infamous."

"Stick to flipping burgers, Roman," I retort, my smirk fading into the leather of the backseat. Roman bought Giovanni out of his restaurant franchise business, as each of us did for our respective industries.

When Giovanni decided to leave Boston and the legitimate business world, each of us were well-positioned to take over. I'd been overseeing all of Giovanni's real estate portfolio's for the past five years. At 35, I was what some considered to be a young CEO, but the press never bothered me.

I'd picked the last name "Stone" when I became of age. I'd never known who my parents were, so the last name they'd given to me in the system was made up anyway. "Stone" was my reminder to never let anything penetrate my defenses. I'd made that mistake in life once. I'd never do it again.

Sebastian's text is a gray bubble of reason in the colorful exchange. "Remember, perception is reality in our world. Handle with care."

"Since when did you become Confucius?" I ask, raising an eyebrow even though he can't see it. Sebastian had recently become the majority shareholder of [company name], having bought Giovanni out of his majority position now that the company had gone public. Since we were kids, he'd always been the most measured among the four of us.

"Since you started needing a PR crisis intervention every other month," Sebastian replies without missing a beat.

"Ha-ha," I type, the sarcasm dripping from each letter. "You guys done? Or should I schedule an interview on your behalf?"

"Aw, Victor's going to cry," Lawrence quips. "Don't worry, I'll send you a teddy bear."

"Make it a hockey stick," I shoot back. "I'll need something to play with after I retire at thirty because of all this 'great' PR."

"Careful, Vic," warns Roman, "You might actually start having fun again."

"Fun's overrated," I reply, though a part of me knows he's not entirely wrong. It's been ages since I hit the ice, felt the chill in my lungs, the freedom in the glide. But that was another life, and a dream that was stolen from me.

"Anyway," I type, eager to wrap up this roast session, "I've got a city to beautify. Keep the day jobs, boys."

"Sure thing, boss," Lawrence texts, followed by a salute emoji. "Just don't forget us little people when you're king of the hill."

"Never," I promise, locking the phone and staring out the window, their jesting words echoing in my mind, oddly comforting among the chaos.