“Just think about it,” Vince suggested, then added, “Come on, let’s get back before they start talking.”
Seven nodded. “Yeah, okay.”
2 months after that night
“You’re scaring my patrons with your scowling, grumpy pants.”
Enzo huffed out an irritated breath through his nose, but didn’t bother to look at his brother. He just took another sip of his drink, eyes trained on the booth across the bar.
“Clearly not all of them,” he muttered.
He heard his brother snort, but refused to relinquish the target of his quiet brooding long enough to shoot him a nasty look.
“Are you giving up life as a defense attorney to become a full-time stalker now?” Vince asked, obnoxiously cheerful.
He pushed his empty glass towards his brother, who stood on the other side of the bar. When the bartender began to walk towards them, Vince waved him off, filling Enzo’s glass himself. When his glass was full once more, he brought it to his lips. Hisjaw tightened as Seven laughed at something the man beside him said, slapping his arm playfully.
Enzo’s gaze locked onto Seven’s hands, watching as he waved them around, regaling the other man with some elaborate story. After knowing each other for just two months, Enzo knew Seven was an excellent storyteller. He held court each morning, half the staff gathered around his desk in the bullpen, morning coffee in hand, while he regaled them with some tale that would have been boring on anyone else’s lips.
It wasn’t that Enzo didn’t want Seven to have friends. He did. He wanted Seven to have whatever Seven wanted. But Enzo was selfish. He wanted to keep those stories for himself. He wanted to keep Seven’s smiles for himself. He wanted to keep Seven for himself. Which wasn’t fair. It was unreasonable to want him while also refusing to date him, even if he was doing it for Seven’s benefit. Even if Seven had clearly moved on.
“Why is he here so often?” he grumbled, pretending he hadn’t heard his brother’s question. “He’s not even a member.”
Vince shook his head in Enzo’s peripheral vision. “You’re almost forty, but you’re really just a mean teenage girl in your soul.”
Enzo flicked his gaze to his brother for a moment, but it was back on Seven within seconds. He looked so good. He was still dressed in his clothes from the office—gray pants with a herringbone print that clung in all the right places, and a green shirt the same color as his eyes. He’d lost the tie and rolled up his sleeves, revealing smooth forearms and golden skin.
“I’m serious,” he said. “This place costs six figures. Has he found himself a rich playmate already?”
He hated how bitter he sounded, but he couldn’t help himself. The thing was, he didn’t know for a fact that Seven spent a lot of time at Lost Eden. But the four times he’d stopped in to see Vince over the last month and a half, he’d found Sevenholding court, just like at the office. His little social butterfly. Except, he wasn’t his. He didn’t know why he kept forgetting that.
But if Seven was there every time Enzo was there, it had to mean Seven was there all the time, even when Enzo wasn’t. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Maybe Enzo should come by more. Keep an eye on things. Just in case.
He took a swig of his whiskey, pushing the thoughts from his head. He’d never been a jealous person. He’d never been a possessive person. Except when it came to Seven. Enzo had no claim to him. He had no right to feel any type of way about Seven and what he chose to do at the club. But if he was honest with himself, he wanted to hide him away in the deepest, darkest part of his heart where nobody else could find him.
“Maybe if you came by more, you’d know for sure,” Vince said, almost like he was reading Enzo’s mind.
Enzo didn’t have any reason to spend time at Lost Eden. He’d only ever gone there to find someone to play with. But now, the one person he wanted to play with no longer wanted to play with him. Which was Seven’s prerogative, obviously. He was a grown man. He could do what he wanted. He could play with whoever he wanted. And despite what had happened at his mother’s house six weeks ago, it was obvious to Enzo thathewasn’t what Seven wanted.
Enzo couldn’t even blame him. He’d earned his time in the penalty box. He just hadn’t thought he’d be permanently benched.
“I don’t have time. Work’s been crazy lately.”
Vince snorted. “You don’t have to lie to me. Just say you only come here hoping I’ll dish about your latest obsession.”
Enzo didn’t know what to say, so instead, he studied the opulent club with its many golden chandeliers, black on black damask wallpaper, the deep burgundy of the booths. Black andgold suited the place. The aesthetic reflected everything the club claimed to be. Decadent. Expensive. Discreet. But most importantly…exclusive. And that was what made membership such a coveted prize. There was a three-year waitlist that hadn’t budged in at least that many years.
Enzo’s gaze climbed to the logo on the wall behind Seven’s booth. A golden apple with a cross stabbed through it. It gave the club an occult vibe that made bored, wealthy people feel like they were doing something illicit, even though everything was one hundred percent above board.
Aside from the money laundering, of course.
“Are you not going to tell me how my intern can afford a membership to a club that charges half a million dollars? Iama silent partner,” Enzo reminded him.
“Not nearly silent enough,” Vince said with a nasty smile.
Once more, Seven burst out laughing. Was this other dude some kind of fucking comedian? What was he saying that was so fucking funny? Enzo’s nostrils flared as the man beside Seven dropped his hand below the table. Seven didn’t stop him, but he did look around, his shoulders stiffening. Enzo soothed himself by imagining beating the man to death with his own severed arm.
“He got the family discount,” Vince said, now watching Seven and his companion with the lazy indifference of a lion looking over his lands.
