Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
“Good fella you are for helpin’ them out, all the same. I’m not sure I would’ve been so keen in your place.”
“You know me. I’m all for helping out a friend.”
“Especially when there’s a pretty girl involved.”
“Lucy told you, huh?” I rub my hand up the back of my neck. Lucy would be the one person Oliver let in on his plans. The one person who would’ve been present. I mean, the three of us have always been tight—Oliver, Matt, and me—and we’ve become a quartet since Evie joined our squad. But Lucy is different, because she’s Oliver’s blood. They’ve suffered enough bumps in the road, so I know he wouldn’t have kept this from her.
“Aye, she did. What a harebrained scheme, eh?”
“It’s pretty nuts,” I agree, setting my shit-eating grin free. “So, what’s going on with the Dildo?”
“There are whispers of insider trading with the Deux Toi lot,” he grumbles. “And if that turns out to be true, we know the Qataris will pull out, and then we’ll all be fucked.”
“Leave the Qataris to me. As for the French crew, I’ll make a few calls and see if I can find out what’s going on.”
“Tongues are wagging, Phineas,” he says in an ominous tone. “And you know what a bunch of auld wives they are in this game.”
“I’m on it. I’ll stomp out any flames I find.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it. You know that shit’s not in my wheelhouse,” Matt adds, clearly relieved.
Maven Inc. is a private-equity company that primarily deals with real estate and property development, and within it, each of us has a niche. Oliver is the dynamics. Always ahead of the trends in both equity and capital investments, he has a nose for making money, which keeps our investors happy. Along with the rest of us.
My responsibilities lie with our investors and maintaining strong working relationships with them. And yes, that includes wining and dining the big players, which is why I’ve been dubbed the party boy. I prefer to say I’m paid for who I know, not what I do. And not for who I do, which the assholes rag on me unfairly for. You make a mistake one time . . .
Matt, meanwhile, is in deal origination. He’s front line—grass roots—and, truthfully, he does way more than he should. Which is why I heard construction noise on the line.
“So.” His tone turns expansive in that one tiny word. “Work aside, how’s the Oliver-mandated vacation going?”
“Technically, it was Evie mandated.” Oliver just stumped up the money. I find myself frowning. I don’t care that he paid Mila to be here, but I do know it weighs on her mind.
“You’re with the wedding coordinator, I hear.”
“That’s right.” There are no fucking secrets, though I’m not sure I appreciate his tone. “She’s great. Really great.”
“And pretty, no doubt.”
I frown, as though he’s said something wrong.
“But a week, Phineas? That’s not your usual MO.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on. A week with one girl?”
“I’m hardly railing a different woman every night of the week.”
“No,” he concedes. “You usually have Wednesdays off.” His joke falls flat, not that he pauses long enough to realize. “One girl in close confines for a week? Things are bound to happen.”
“Could that be a wee touch o’ jealousy in your tone?”
“That is a terrible attempt at an Irish accent. Never injure my ears thusly again. And no, fuckface, I’m not jealous. I have a third date with Isobel on Friday.”
“Third date.” I whistle. “You know what that means, don’t you?”
“That you can fuck right off with your insinuations. If I had to spend a week with you, I’d probably drown you in the swimming pool.”
“I’m not dead yet.”
“Anyway, some of us have got standards. I wouldn’t spend a week shacked up with a stranger, pretty or not.”
“Says Maven Inc.’s only bachelor.”
“I mean, I know you’ve done Oliver a grand favor—” His words halt, and I’m pretty sure I can hear the cogs of his brain turn over.
“I said what I said.”
“No.” One incredulous word. Then, “No fucking way!”
“I got married Saturday. Got the ring, certificate, and everything.” I lift my left hand, examining the thin gold band on the fourth finger.
“In me bollix!” he scoffs, which is followed by another pause. “It was all pretend.”
“Until we changed our minds and fell madly in love.” So I’m stretching it, but fuck him.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. And the little fuckin’ donkey! You’re being serious?”
“Congratulate me,” I say, kicking my bare feet onto the ottoman. “For I am a married man.”
“This is not an episode of Bridgerton!”
“What’s Bridgerton?”
“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters. “Let me get this straight. Oliver asked you to pretend to be him.”
“Yep.”
“And to pretend to get married to the wedding coordinator, who was pretending to be Evie.”
“That’s right.”
“But you got married for real?”
“Yep.” A pulse pounds low in my belly, and my eyes fall closed as an image flashes in my head. Her dainty fingers wrapped around my cock, sunlight bouncing from her gold wedding band. I’d almost busted a nut right there as the word mine echoed in my head.