Some would call it sacrilege.

I’m living in Paris for a whole month. The city of light and lovers—and the home of the newest jewel in the Avanti nightclub empire, where I’m gigging as its grand opening DJ. I’m living a dream, but I don’t want it. I’m only in this for the huge paycheck, and if I’m lucky, I’ll forget I’m in the same city as the father who walked out me years ago. I’m only interested in the music and the money.

But fate’s set up a different plan.

Out of all the nightclubs in the city to invest in, Lucien Paget picked Avanti. Now, the billionaire with the gaze of a demon and the body of an archangel has decided on a new challenge for himself. Me.

It’s pretty hysterical, this little “offer” of his—made even funnier by the money he insists on throwing behind it. But it’s his fortune, and if he wants to invest it in a few dates with me, who am I to argue? He probably thinks his impossible beauty and debonair charm will topple me into true love. Well, the joke’s on him.

Then why am I not laughing?