“Oh, hey, hotshot!” Morgan says as he finally sees me. He pours me a glass of wine before he notices my whiskey. “How come Dad always shares his best stuff with you? I wasn’t offered whiskey.”
“Refine your palette,” I say dryly. “Dad doesn’t want to waste good stuff on a man who thinks white zinfandel is sophisticated.”
I lower myself into the seat next to Charlie as Morgan narrows his eyes at me. “Pfft, whatever. You look exhausted, man. What have you been doing?”
“Making my millions, what else?”
Charlie punches me in the arm. “Can I come work for you?”
I glance at him with a fond smile. Charlie is smarter than anyone else in the family. He’s also the apple of our mother’s eye, but neither Morgan nor I can hate him for it. He’s too damned likable.
I can’t imagine anything worse than employing him at my company, though; he’d have my job in under six months.
“Not right now, little buddy. Only when your balls drop.”
“I’m almostthirty,” he grumbles without much heat and sips his wine. “Seriously, you look tired. You’ve aged.”
“Exes’ll do that to you,” I reply bitterly.
“Sinclair and Meg need to get a goddamn room,” Morgan mutters loyally, and I give him a grateful half smile. “I would have been smacked sideways for french-kissing a girl in the kitchen.”
“Dinner’s ready!” My mother’s voice is loud. She bustles into the dining room, grumbling about everyone being late for dinner as usual, and then stops dead when she finds us all already sitting around the table.
“Oh! Miracles will never cease!” she says happily. “Morgan, come give me a hand with the dishes, would you? Eddie! Come eat.”
Morgan rises to his feet wearily, and over the next minute or so, he and my mother carry way too many beautifully cooked plates of food into the room.
I am in awe of the effort my mother has gone to on our behalf.
I have never been able to cook, and if I didn’t have a combination of meal delivery services and my private chef, I’d eat crackers and cheese every night without fail. My stomach rumbles loudly as Morgan takes a seat and begins to help himself before Dad’s even sat down.
“Would you learn some manners, you heathen?” I say, snatching the spoon out of his hand. “You’re not the King of England. Wait for Dad.”
He huffs at me, but I catch my mom’s approving smile and keep hold of Morgan’s spoon as everyone takes their seats. Sinclair sits two seats away from me, putting a nauseating arm around Megan’s shoulders. I stare down at my plate, feeling faintly sick.
How did this go so wrong?
It wasn’t so long ago that we were engaged to be married. It was the happiest I had ever been, or so I thought. But six months before the wedding, Meg took me aside, tears shining in her eyes, and told me I was too ‘cold and unfeeling’ and that she needed to ‘step back and find herself again’.
Whatever the fuck that means.
Then, three weeks later, I walk in on her and Sinclair going at it like rabbits in the bed we once shared together. Sinclair is the biggest man-whore on planet earth and is destined to inherit a fortune that rivals my own. And to make matters worse, he’s family.
There’s no escaping him. And now, there’s no escaping Megan either.Thank fuck I’m at least getting laid.
My mind moves to the following day and all the things I want to do to Amelia. I can take my frustrations out on her, and no one will get hurt as a result.
“So how’s business, son?” my father asks me. It’s a question that starts off every meal, but we both know he doesn’t really want the details.
“Good,” I say shortly.
“You still buyin’ that little company?” he asks, his lips tugging up at the corners.
That ‘little company’ is worth over fifty million dollars.
“So far. Yes,” I reply.
“What’s the delay?”
