“Too long. But it’s only temporary.” At least, he’d meant for it to be temporary. It was taking a little longer than he’d intended to get back on his feet.
“What’s the long-term plan?”
Beckett braced himself against the edge of the counter. “Are you trying to ask me about my intentions with your brother, Sebastian?”
“I’m trying to ask you what your long-term plan is.” Sebastian folded his arms across his chest.
“I want to have my own restaurant,” Beckett answered.
“That’s not cheap.”
“That’s why I don’t have one yet.” He gave Sebastian a tight-lipped smile.
“Is that why you’re with my brother?”
“Excuse me?”
“His money,” Sebastian explained, like it should have made perfect sense.
“I don’t care about your brother’s money,” he snapped, arranging the plates on his arm. “In fact, I wish he didn’t have it.”
Sebastian cocked his head to the side, barely stepping out of the way as Beckett brushed past him. He set the plates on the table, where Rhys and Remington were already seated.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Rhys said quietly, pulling Beckett down into the seat beside him.
“It’s not a problem.” Beckett looked around the table. “We don’t have drinks.”
“I grabbed some wine.” Sebastian reappeared, with a bottle of wine tucked under his arm and four glasses clutched upside down between his fingers. He set everything on the table and dispatched the cork with relative ease.
Beckett wasn’t sure if Rhys was picking up on the tension radiating off of him or if he was just as nervous about the meal as well.
“So, this is weird,” Remington finally said with a small laugh.
“Oh?” Rhys busied himself with his food.
“You’re not the most social man I’ve ever met, Rhys,” Remington said, raising his wine glass like he was toasting them.
“I’m…I’m not the same as I was before.”
Beneath the table, Beckett gave Rhys’s thigh a reassuring squeeze. He was just as nervous after all. That made Beckett feel slightly better as Rhys was normally unshakeable.
“Some old habits die hard, I think,” Sebastian said under his breath, and Rhys turned his head sharply.
“Do you care to elaborate your point?”
“It’s fine,” Beckett whispered. He already knew what Sebastian was implying. Beckett knew enough about the kind of people Rhys had picked for himself before to know what the insinuation was.
“It’s not,” Rhys said to him, before looking back at Sebastian. “I think you need to elaborate.”
“Come on.” Sebastian waved his hand dismissively. “It’s clear what’s happening.”
“Sebastian,” Remington warned.
“And what’s happening?” Rhys pressed, setting his fork down and leaning over the table toward his brother.
Sebastian’s stare darted toward Beckett, like he didn’t dare say the words out loud. But he didn’t have to. They all heard the accusation.
“You’re unbelievable,” Rhys said. He snatched his napkin off his lap and threw it off the table. “My whole life I’m accused of being a manipulator. A hypocrite.”
