Another fucking game.
She’s standing in the foyer, waiting for my response—I either tell her to change, to which she’ll refuse, or leave without her, and she’ll get out of this business meeting.
But she’s not going to get either from me.
“You look beautiful,” I tell her, plastering a smile on my face.
It’s not a lie. She could wear a brown paper bag, and she’d look beautiful.
“Is there a particular cowboy I should be worried about?”
I arch a brow playfully, and she furrows hers, confused as to why I’m not reacting the way she expected.
“Just remember what I threatened after the bar incident.”
I smirk and grab my keys out of the bowl, then head out to the garage. On the way, I text Malcolm Johnson that there’s beena change of plans. He and I go way back. We both attended the University of Miami and were roommates for the last two years of college.
Kane
My future wife is playing games. Country club is out. Let’s go to The Terrace.
Malcolm and I co-own The Terrace, so while it does have a dress code, we won’t be kicked out for her not adhering to it.
“Umm, where are we going?” Brielle asks when I head south instead of west toward the country club.
“To brunch with a business associate of mine. His name is Malcolm Johnson and his wife?—”
“Malcolm Johnson, the NFL player?” She gasps.
“Yep, we went to U of M together, and his wife is a good friend of mine as well.”
Brielle peers down at her outfit and cringes, and I almost consider turning around so she can change, but she made her bed, and now she’s gonna lie in it.
Twenty minutes later, we arrive at The Terrace, and Malcolm and his wife, Genevieve, are standing by the valet, waiting for us.
Brielle takes one look at how elegant Genevieve looks and glances at me. I quirk a brow, waiting for her to admit she fucked up, but instead, she inhales deeply, shakes her head, and steps out of the car.
Malcolm immediately notices Brielle’s outfit and contains his smirk, but Genevieve can’t hide her confusion.
“Mal, Viv,” I say, giving each of them a hug. “I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Brielle Antonova. Brielle, these are my friends, Malcolm and Genevieve Johnson.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Brielle says sheepishly. “I did a project in college on MK Holdings. A billionaire by the age of twenty-two.”
She shakes her head in awe, and it takes everything in me not to snort out a laugh. Because my wife is fangirling over my best friend—not because he used to play professional football, but because of his business decisions. Could she be any more fucking perfect?
When the hostess clears her throat because we’re standing in the doorway, Brielle blushes and takes a step back, nearly bumping into me.
“Sorry,” she says. “It’s just that your portfolio is so inspiring, and I’m hoping to one day open a Pilates studio of my own. Your marketing plans and investments …”
What? How the hell did I not know that?
Of course you wouldn’t know that. The woman can barely stand being in the same room as you. She’s not going to willingly share her goals and dreams with you.
“You know,” Malcolm says with a small laugh, “MK Holdings isn’t all me.”
Brielle’s brows furrow, and Genevieve laughs.
“It’s half mine,” I tell my future wife with a smirk. “I’m theKin MK.”
