Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 652(@200wpm)___ 522(@250wpm)___ 435(@300wpm)
I tipped an imaginary hat. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I have actual work to do.”
Just then, Zach’s security team burst into the garage. Igor and Dane automatically moved toward Oliver. It wasn’t the first time Zach had kicked him out on the basis of Oliver being a real-life troll.
Oliver followed me out the door. “Don’t worry, fellas. I’ll see myself out.”
We proceeded to our designated cars, which we’d driven despite the fact that the three of us lived on the same street. Before Oliver slid into his passenger seat, he released an ask me what’s wrong sigh. I knew humoring him would be a mistake, but not doing so would break a three-decade tradition.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know how to say this, Rom.”
“With as little words as possible and quickly.”
“The day your wife threw her little party …” He hesitated, scanning me. My guard immediately went up at her mention. “She hit on me.”
“Hit on you?” I repeated. “Do you mean to say hit you? That would make more sense.” And also fit into her general character.
“She offered herself to me.” He rested an elbow on the open door of his Alfa Romeo. “Said she’d do it just to spite you.”
That, I could believe. Now that I also remembered Dallas had agreed to be shared with my friends—a dare I’d given to taunt her that had blown up in my face—it started to make more sense. The back of my neck heated. My fingers tingled to strangle him. Feelings that had remained dormant for years crept back, dark and suffocating and full of resentment.
“And how did you react?” I finally spat out.
Oliver flashed his teeth. “I told her to call me after your impending divorce, of course.”
That was all it took for me to launch at him. In seconds, I plastered him to the asphalt, fists bunched around the lapels of his collared shirt.
I tugged him until our noses squashed together, shaking with rage. “If you ever as much as fucking look at her ag—”
Before I could finish the sentence, faint clapping came from behind my shoulder. Zach emerged from his garage. “Fine, von Bismarck. You win 50K. Try not to blow it on prostitutes.”
Oliver pushed me off him and stood, brushing his clothes clean. “But prostitutes are my passion.”
I straightened, glancing between them, unimpressed. “What was the bet?”
Zach signaled toward Oliver with his chin. “Von Bismarck here said you’d react more drastically than you did after what happened with Morgan.” He paused, tilting his head sideways. “Christ, Costa, I’ve seen more reserved teenyboppers at a One Direction concert. You’re a fireball of emotions where she is concerned.”
“She didn’t really hit on me, buddy.” Oliver clapped my shoulder, leaning forward to catch my gaze. “Though you should probably know … if she ever does, I’ll hit that so hard I’ll leave indents the shape of my dick all over her body.”
Sometimes, I wished Oliver still had a mother, just so I could fuck her and taunt him about it for eternity. I shook him off, deciding against all odds to end the evening without being arrested. Although I was about to meet Senior, so perhaps I still wasn’t in the clear.
“It’s different,” I ground out. “I’m not jealous. I’m protective of her. Dallas did nothing wrong, other than existing.”
“Denver did plenty wrong.” A sad smile stretched across Zach’s face. “You just keep forgiving her for everything.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Dallas
“… cost north of six figures to fix …”
“… need more cameras in the East Wing …”
“Does anyone know where the damn penis on the Roman statue in the middle of the fountain went?”
The words jumbled together, pinging against each curve of my skull. They came from every direction. From voices I didn’t recognize. In elevated pitches that suggested disbelief over the whole ordeal. I popped a single eye open, blinking away blurry white dots. An army of restoration specialists sprawled across the entire living room, where I’d fallen asleep last night during a binge sesh of Friday Night Tykes.
They’d come in and out of the mansion over the past few weeks, doing their best to rehabilitate the historic property to its original condition. Apparently, the tiny get-together I’d hosted had left major damage. Silver lining—at least Romeo made acquaintance with people who knew how to party.
Hettie materialized before me, a goblet of green juice stretched between us. I accepted the glass and downed it in two gulps. My brain throbbed from hours of trying to sleep through a symphony of saws, forklifts, and nail guns.
“Romeo left a box on your bed.”
I sank back into the couch cushion, uninterested in whatever my husband had to give me unless it required frequent diaper changes and its first word was Momma.
“He mentioned something about you not getting to choose the books you wanted before the charity gala.”