The room went silent.

“Remember you’re a Holden. Never let another man tell you what to do.”

His father’s words rang in Joseph’s ears as they had done since he had sat an eight-year-old Joseph down in his study and told him that one day he would be the head of a great empire.

Yet he’d sat like a kid, his cheeks flaming, because some yeti off the mountains had ordered him to. He knew he’d made a huge mistake. He’d lost face in front of a room full of alpha men. He could see that in the smug expressions in the room. Now he’d have to work twice as hard to regain the power.

He was the client, the top dog in the room. Correction. He should have been the top dog. He was the billionaire; they were merely muscle. So why did he feel like a kid playing dress up in his father’s shoes?