Parker sat bolt upright, nearly knocking Ere off his lap.
"Holy shit."
No more red tape. No more worrying about the IRS breathing down his neck. No more worries of feds lurking whenever he dropped insane billions.
The thought made him want to laugh. Hello, CIA, FBI—catch me now, suckers.
Ere blinked up at him, unimpressed. This idiot's really celebrating being able to commit financial crimes.
"Don't judge me," Parker grinned, standing up and scooping her into his arms. "You'd flex too if you were this loaded."
She just yawned dramatically.
****
By the time Parker arrived downstairs, the exclusive dining section was already set up—dim lights, soft music, the kind of place where rich people whispered instead of talked and the wine cost more than some people's mortgages.
Ava Klein was already there, perched in a high-backed chair with her phone face-down and a glass of sparkling water in front of her. She caught sight of him—and then Ere—and did a double take.
"...A cat?"
