Page 82 of Strictly the Worst

“Hoo boy. That’ll be a mess when you end things.” Ryker lifts a brow. “This is why I don’t get the whole corporate culture, non-fraternization thing. Just join a band. Everybody sleeps with everybody then we all move on to the next one like we’re on a merry go round.”

“There’s no non-fraternization clause at my work.” Because yes, I’ve checked. Mostly because I know how much Tessa needs this job. I’m not going to do anything that puts her livelihood in danger.

“Yeah, but you know why there should be, right?” Ryker smirks. “You’ve seen Mad Men. All that fucking drama when it goes wrong. Which it always does.”

Drama. There’s that word again.

The one thing that Tessa doesn’t want is drama.

I finish my coffee and check my watch. Shit, it’s later than I thought. “I’ve gotta go,” I say, standing.

“What’s the rush, my man?”

“Got a final fitting for my groomsman suit,” I tell him. “My brother’s getting married.”

“Which one?”

Once again, I’m surprised that Ryker remembers this stuff. We spent a weekend together filming almost two years ago. And yeah, we get together for a drink whenever he’s in New York, but the man must have an encyclopedic brain.

“Holden. The doctor.”

“Jesus. They’re all getting shot down one by one. What is this, the third wedding in recent years?”

“Fourth.”

Ryker lets out a low whistle. “Aren’t you the fifth brother?”

Wikipedia needs to use this man’s mind as a server. How does he keep that much information in his brain when at least half of it has to be pickled by alcohol. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“So it’s your turn next then.” He starts to laugh. “Can you imagine it? Linc Salinger, settling down and saying I do.”

But I’m not laughing. Because I hate that even Ryker thinks I have a reputation. If he thinks that, what chance do I stand with Carmichael?

“Gotta go,” I say. “See you later.”

“Not if I see you first.” Ryker stands and gives me a hug. “And by the way, Salinger. Your girl is beautiful. Now go sort your fucking life out.”

“I need you to fly to London tomorrow,” Roman tells me as we take the elevator up to his office. I’ve just come back from the suit fitting. At first, Holden tried to coordinate it so we’d all be at the tailors at the same time, but in the end we each made our own appointments.

Which is good. Because I still haven’t quite gotten over the bachelor party. I need another week or two before I meet up with my brothers again.

“Tomorrow?” I frown. “Why?”

“Because a client is pissed.” He looks at me with a ‘why else?’ expression. “I’ve asked my PA to book your flights. Should only take a couple of days. You can check in with Celine in Paris on your way back.” He grins at me. “You can spend the weekend there. Enjoy the city in spring.”

I’ve been to Paris about twenty times in the past two years. I love the place, but the thought of going there now makes my stomach twist.

The elevator pings and the doors open. Roman steps out and I follow him.

“Let me see if I can talk to them by video,” I say, trying to smooth the sting of my words. “Save the cost of a flight and the environment all at the same time.”

“If I wanted to do it by Zoom I’d do it myself,” Roman tells me. His voice is even but I can tell he’s annoyed.

I’m his troubleshooter. Always up in the air. Linc the traveler.

But I want to stay right here for a while.

“I have an appointment,” I tell him. “I can’t change it.”

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