Page 35 of Tied Up in Riches

“I don’t know.” Dean chuckles. “You tell me.”

“What do you mean?” I take a sip of my scotch.

“You’re acting weird.”

I raise a brow.

“Are you ready for your vacation?” He eyes the same suitcase I pack and set out the night before a trip nearly every week.

“Yeah, sure.” I shift the glass over the table, leaving a trail of condensation over the wood.

“Did you pack condoms?” My eyes snap back to him. “I mean, clearly you’re fucked, so . . .” He smirks. Fucker.

“It’s a business arrangement.”

His eyes raise in question. “Is she paying you to date her?”

“What? Of course not.”

“If there’s no transaction, then it’s not really business.” He smirks.

“Semantics,” I mumble.

“Uh-huh.”

I narrow my gaze. “Drop it.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying you’ve never had the urge to spend longer with a girl than the time it takes for coffee to get cold.”

Don’t I fucking know it. “Yeah.” I toss back the rest of my drink. “I’m good.” I get up, walking past Dean to put my glass in the sink.

“And you never take time off work,” he razzes me behind my back.

I press my palms into the counter and take a deep breath. “It’s just a vacation. I’m not getting married.”

“Take a few in case. You never know.”

I push away from the counter, taking a moment to stare blankly at my friend before whacking him upside the head. I swipe my Nalgene bottle from the marble by the loop and make my way to my office couch to attempt sleep, leaving a chuckling Dean behind.

Chapter sixteen

Brooke

“Is it hot, or is it just me?” My words come out frustrated as my arm gets stuck in the sleeve of my zip-up sweater. I yank hard to no avail. Marcus gently balances his laptop bag on his suitcase where it sits on the concrete in the Uber curb-side pickup area of Bradley International.

“Here, let me help,” he says calmly, locking his hands onto my flailing arms. His touch makes me feel like I’m suffocating more, but I let him pull the sleeves off before taking the jacket from him and tying it around my waist. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, why?” I lean forward, glancing up the street to see if our Uber is here.

“Because it’s 55° out and you’re sweating.”

I redirect my glance to his outfit. He’s wearing a black pea coat over his go-to gray jeans and black T-shirt. His deep brown hair is pulled back neatly as if he just did it, rather than slept on a plane for five hours. Not that he slept. I don’t know what he did besides pay for the three glasses of wine I drank to put me to sleep. “I’m . . . ugh. Just not looking forward to this is all.”

“How many more minutes until the Uber gets here?”

My brows scrunch. Uhh. Okay. I guess he’s going to ignore me. I glance back at my phone. “Still twelve more minutes.”

“Okay.” He scans the area, eyes locking on a walking path that runs between the parking garage and the road separating it from the airport terminal. Marcus slings his laptop bag over his shoulder, then aligns both our suitcases so he can grab the handles with one hand. With his free hand, he reaches for me. “Come on.”

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