Novels by Lucy Ann Ols

The weight of Julian’s hand on Tristan’s hip felt like a brand, a warm pressure that didn’t vanish even as they reached the edge of the VIP lounge. Tristan felt his pulse thrumming in his throat, his skin prickling where Julian’s thumb continued its slow, rhythmic brush against the velvet of his blazer."I need to wash my face," Tristan whispered, his voice slightly breathless. "The adrenaline is starting to make me twitch."Julian didn't let go immediately. He leaned in, his silver-gray eyes searching Tristan’s for a second too long. "Don't be long. The auctioneer is about to take the stage, and I’d prefer my 'consultant' by my side when the bidding starts.""Five minutes, Jules," Tristan teased, testing the nickname again.Julian’s jaw tightened, a flicker of something—not quite anger, but certainly not indifference—crossing his face. "Go. Before I decide to fine you for over-familiarity."Tristan escaped to the marble-clad sanctuary of the men’s room. He leaned over the sink, splas

Tristan was still wrestling with the zipper of his black velvet blazer when the buzzer to his apartment shrieked, a sound like a dying bird. He checked the time. 7:45 PM."He’s early," Tristan hissed, tripping over a discarded sneaker as he lunged for the intercom. "So much for being the one in control."He buzzed the visitor in and threw a frantic glance around his living room. The 'eclectic' mix of thrifted mid-century chairs, half-finished floor plans, and a literal bicycle hanging from the wall suddenly felt very, very small. A moment later, a heavy knock sounded on his door.Tristan took a breath, smoothed his lapels, and opened it.Julian Ravencourt stood in the hallway like a dark god who had accidentally wandered into a cardboard box. His black-on-black suit was so sharp it looked like it could draw blood. He took one look at Tristan’s entryway and his lip curled in a way that was almost impressive."Is this the residence, or did I accidentally stumble into a storage unit for

The elevator doors hissed shut, sealing the two of them into a box of brushed steel and the cloying scent of caramel-scented disaster. Julian’s hand stayed on the control panel, his finger hovering over the emergency stop button. He pressed it. With a mechanical groan, the lift jolted to a halt between floors."Tell me, Mr. Everhart," Julian murmured, his voice a dangerous purr. "Do you have a death wish, or do you just have a very good lawyer?"Tristan swallowed hard, his heart drumming a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He looked at the massive coffee stain on Julian’s chest and then up at the man’s glacial eyes. "Neither. I just have a really good eye for branding, and right now? Your brand is tanking."Julian’s eyes narrowed. "You’re standing in a stalled elevator, covered in polyester, having just assaulted a CEO. I’m not sure you’re in a position to give career advice.""It wasn’t an assault! It was a very aggressive delivery," Tristan shot back, trying to channel the same brava

The morning after the gala felt like a neon-lit hangover, despite Tristan having only had three glasses of champagne. The adrenaline of walking out on Julian Ravencourt’s arm had carried him through the night, but the cold reality of Tuesday morning was a different beast entirely."You’re actually going to do it? Tristan, he’s a literal shark. He eats decorators for breakfast and spits out the bones," Leo said over the phone, his voice crackling with disbelief.Tristan tucked his chin to hold his phone against his shoulder as he struggled into a slightly oversized, neon-orange polyester vest. "I’m not a decorator today, Leo. I’m 'Express Logistics.' And I’m not being eaten. I’m being persistent.""There is a very thin line between persistent and 'restraining order,'" Leo warned. "What happened to the 'flavor' and 'substance' thing? You already won! Nathaniel looked like he was going to vomit his own heart when you left with Ravencourt.""Winning isn't enough," Tristan muttered, adjust

The Grand Ballroom of the St. Regis was a shimmering cage of crystal chandeliers and whispered scandals. Tristan Everhart adjusted the silk lapels of his midnight-blue tuxedo, his heart fluttering with a mix of champagne bubbles and genuine nerves. Beside him, Nathaniel Westbourne looked every bit the rising star of the financial world—sharp, polished, and terrifyingly handsome."Can you believe it’s been three years, Nat?" Tristan leaned in, his voice low and warm against the roar of the crowd. "It feels like yesterday we were sharing that shitty takeout on your apartment floor."Nathaniel didn’t look at him. His eyes were scanning the room, hunting for someone. "Hm? Yeah. A lot has changed since then, Tristan.""I was thinking," Tristan continued, reaching out to brush a stray hair from Nathaniel’s forehead. "Maybe after the auction, we could slip away? I have a bottle of that vintage Bordeaux you like waiting back at my place."Nathaniel finally turned, but there was no warmth in h