Page 49 of Tied Up in Riches

“I guess I’ve never really thought about it before. Beau might have liked to control me, but he was as vanilla as they come in the bedroom–in and out, get the job done.”

My best friend makes a face. “I hate him.”

“You and me both.”

“So, anyway.” He waves his hand like he could flick away the memory of Beau. “You want Marcus to tie you up?”

I slap his shoulder. “HEY! That is not what I was saying.”

“Wasn’t it, though?” He smirks.

“I just . . . I have a feeling maybe he’s into that kind of thing, but he’s my boss. So I shouldn’t even be thinking about it at all.”

“Or you could keep thinking about it until it manifests. That sounds like a way better plan to me.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m being serious, Cam.”

“Yeah, I am too. Do you think you could handle it? Being restrained and having no control.”

“That’s the part that freaks me out. The thrill sounds fun. The having no control part . . . well you know how much that scares me.”

“That I do. There’s only one way to find out, I guess.”

“Yeah, yeah. Enough about me. Tell me about your date last week.”

Chapter twenty-one

Marcus

My internal alarm clock wakes me up, but since we’re on the East Coast, I know it’s later than normal. Missing my routine yesterday morning, I opted for a late night workout and remote work instead of drinking with Brooke and her friend. He’s too intense for my liking, and I imagine alcohol would only make his pushiness about my pretend relationship even more profound. By the time I turned out the lights a little after two, Brooke still wasn’t back, and I lay awake, telling myself I wasn’t worried until she stumbled into the room an hour later.

She was trying so hard to be quiet that it was nearly comical, but things got serious real quick when she stripped her clothes off. I couldn’t tell for sure in the dark, but with the way she was fumbling around in that trying to be quiet but in fact making a ruckus way that only happens when you’re drunk, I think she attempted to look for my T-shirt to wear before she eventually gave up and crawled under the covers in only her bra and underwear. A rush of jealousy twitched through me, regretting missing out on having fun with her. An urge to be part of her night, to contribute to her happiness nearly convinced me to let her know I was awake. I opted for sleep instead, but it was a long, restless night anyway.

I check the neon blue glow of the hotel clock on the other side of Brooke. 7:58 a.m. The light illuminates the sleeping girl next to me, the sheets pooled at her waist–a blatant reminder that she wore only her bra and underwear to bed. Fucking hell. The curves of her breasts are mouthwatering, my hands begging to trace her soft skin before exploring her body under the sheets. There’s no use in trying to go back to sleep now. I slide out from the covers, slipping into the bathroom for a much needed cold shower. Brooke showed no sign of wanting our arrangement to be any different when Cam mentioned it, so I have to assume that’s where her thoughts remain.

My thoughts, however, wander back to yesterday and our phone call with Emma. I would have completely froze if I were in charge of the situation. If you have a boardroom full of entitled executives or an app that’s crashed and no one else can fix it, I’m your guy. But not even an entire shelf of mindset books has prepared me for emotional breakdowns without feeling extremely out of my depth. But Brooke . . . she’s a natural. She’s so effortlessly kind and thoughtful in a way that makes me want to be the same.

By the time I finish showering, I realize Brooke probably won’t be awake for a few more hours. Knowing today will be long, I set myself up for success. Using my phone light, I shuffle through the dresser, finding my gym clothes and pulling them on, checking over my shoulder to make sure Brooke is still sleeping. I slip through the door, the only sound the soft and controlled click as I close it behind me and pray I can kick start my endorphins enough to get me through a day of Brooke’s mom and whoever else we have the pleasure of spending time with.

Nearly two hours later, I quietly press open the door to our room, a pep talk from Grant Cardone–about how it’s not selfish to want more money, more life, more everything–low and powerful in my left earbud.

The lights aren’t on, but sunlight coming through the opened curtains floods the room, giving me a good view of Brooke. She’s sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed in jeans and a tank top, her Hydroflask resting in between her thighs. She’s bent over, sucking from the straw while staring at her phone. The door clicking behind me brings her to the present, and she glances up. “Hey,” she says, hangover evident in her voice.

“Good morning.”

“You didn’t happen to bring a suit did you? Or like something that could pass for black tie.”

I slip the AirPod from my ear and into the pocket of my athletic shorts. “It needs to be steamed, but I did.” I nod toward the closet where I’ve organized a few of my things.

Her eyes flick toward her suitcase on the floor, her things strewn on the carpet around it. I’m surprised by the lack of irritation it causes me. As long as my things are organized, I’m good. And when it comes to the work she’s been doing for me, everything has always been in order. “I didn’t plan that well.”

I chuckle. “You told me like eight times how fancy this country club was and how much time we’d have to spend there to see your mom.”

With a dramatic groan, she flops back on the mattress. “I knooooooow.” She rolls to her side, pulling her water bottle straw back to her lips. “I need to go shopping today. The event tomorrow night is a Casino Night fundraiser. I can’t get away with jeans for this. My mom would kill me.”

“Can I shower first?”

“Of course. You don’t even have to come. I’m sure shopping isn’t on your list of fun vacation activities.”

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