Page 1 of The Playboy

PROLOGUE

Seven Years Ago

Macon

“Six beers deep before noon. Now, that’s a style I can get behind,” Cooper, my middle brother, said as he stood in the doorway to my room.

He was wearing a black suit and light-blue tie. His golden-brown hair was styled and gelled and looked so put together that I almost had to shield my eyes.

He walked in and slid the chair away from my desk. Rather than turning it around to face me, he straddled the wooden seat and sat backward.

I could smell his cologne and cleanliness all the way across the room from my bed.

“I suppose I can stop being such an ass and offer you one.” I grabbed a beer from the twelve-pack on the nightstand. “Here.”

“I’m good. I’m headed to work in a few. Uncle Walter would lose his shit if he smelled beer on my breath.”

Uncle Walter, my father’s brother, was the founder of Spade Hotels—a high-end, super-exclusive luxury hotel brand with locations all over the world. Until my father had retired, he’d been partners with Walter. My uncle eventually bought him out, but that didn’t stop the next generation from working for the family business. My oldest brother, Brady, had an executive role. Now that Cooper had graduated from the University of Southern California, he was employed there too, and he’d be moving into his own place in a few weeks.

I was the baby of the family.

Once summer was over, I’d be starting my junior year at the University of Colorado, and like my older brothers, I’d follow in their footsteps upon graduation and join the brand within the next two years.

“Suit yourself,” I replied. “That just leaves more for me.”

Instead of putting the beer back in the pack, I twisted off the cap and took a sip of drink number seven.

Cooper rested his arms across the top of the chair. “You want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?” I flung the metal cap across the room, aiming for the small trash can by the desk, hearing it clink to the bottom when I made the shot.

“The reason you’re drinking, in bed, and it’s not even”—he looked at his watch—“eleven in the morning.”

“No, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Come on, Macon. What the fuck is going on with you? You’re grumpier than normal. You took off all day yesterday, didn’t answer your phone, and you didn’t get home until, what, two this morning? And now, I find you like this.”

I stared at the trash can that held all seven metal beer caps.

But inside, it also held something else.

A picture.

One that had traveled with me to school the last two years.

One that I’d brought home for the summer and planned to pack up and take to Boulder when I headed there for the fall semester.

Would have—but not anymore.

My parents’ housekeeper would be coming in sometime this week, and she’d empty my trash can, dumping the picture into the bin that would be pushed out to the curb.

I couldn’t wait for that day.

I never wanted to see that fucking picture again.

I took a long drink, wiping the leftover liquid off my lips. “What do you mean,like this? Drunk?” I sighed. “I’m far from that.”

“You’re making this difficult when it doesn’t have to be.”

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