Page 1 of Titus

CHAPTER ONE

I didn’t just throw luxurious parties. I hosted power gatherings where billions moved quietly. Tonight had to be executed flawlessly, and so far, it had been, even if my scheduled event coordinator had somehow been replaced by Catalina Veléz without my knowledge—something I would address with my staff the moment this event was over.

And make no mistake, whoever was responsible for that last-minute change had better pray this woman impressed me more than she appeared to challenge me.

The Mediterranean stretched black and endless beyond the glass walls of the observation lounge, broken only by the approaching lights of investor tenders gliding across the water.

Tonight wasn’t just a party; it was my personal evaluation of the billionaire investors boarding this yacht, and it would determine whether I wanted their names associated with my growing empire.

My brother Wyatt stood behind the bar, pouring bourbon as if it were a casual evening rather than a gathering that could determine the future of our company.

Typical.

“I would appreciate it if you could compose yourself and act like you are a part of this family’s empire,” I said as I walked toward him, “instead of like the yacht’s bartender, hermano.”

He rolled his eyes, taking a sip of bourbon. “What? Billionaires aren’t allowed to pour their own drinks now?”

“You’re not pouring drinks,” I said flatly. “You’re playing bartender in front of people who control global economies.”

“Even better,” he said. “Maybe I’ll get tips.”

I stared at him.

He grinned, then added, “Unless you’re just cranky because it’s been a while since you’ve⁠—”

“Save the crude comments for when you’re in a nightclub,” I interjected. “The staff will serve you, or you’ll disembark the yacht.”

Wyatt blinked once, then slowly grinned wider. “Wow,” he said. “Someone hasn’t seen a naked woman in a while.”

I exhaled slowly. “I’m serious.”

“Oh, I know,” he said cheerfully. “Which makes it even funnier.”

He stepped away from the bar, clinked his glass lightly against my Rolex, and walked toward the sofa where our brother Colton was lounging like a king observing court entertainment.

“I’m not arguing,” Wyatt said over his shoulder. “You are.”

Colton looked between us with lazy amusement.

Unlike Wyatt, who enjoyed playing the jester, Colton was quiet, controlled, and calculating.

Wyatt thrived on chaos, and Colton thrived on strategy.

And both were extremely good at what they did, which was the only reason Wyatt was still on this yacht instead of floating somewhere in the Mediterranean.

Spencer Monroe stood at a high-top table near the windows, reviewing the guest list on his tablet. Jim Mitchell’s vice president looked the same as always—calm, precise, and impossible to read. That was exactly why I wanted him here tonight.

Spencer represented Mitchell and Associates, our West Coast development partner, and I wanted him to see the newest investment I was undertaking firsthand.

The good news was that men like Spencer didn’t attend events like this for entertainment. They came to evaluate, which meant something my dipshit brother Wyatt had said to Jim before flying to meet us in Monaco must have stuck.

Time would tell, though. I wasn’t giving up on Mitchell going all-in just yet.

Spencer turned the tablet toward me. “Your guest list is... ambitious.”

Colton chuckled.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”