Page 1 of Tied Up in Riches

Chapter one

Marcus

“Why does my coffee look like art?” My worn black mug with the “MC” logo from my first business venture warms my hands, steam seeping through an intricate leaf design in the foam as I hide a smirk.

“Because.” Maci, my best friend’s fiancée’s smile lights her face like a kid who washed a classic car with dish soap, thinking they were being helpful.

“What did you do?” I raise an eyebrow over the edge of my mug, taking a sip. Goddamn, that’s good. She would rather drink bacon grease than choke this down, but somehow she knows how to make the best damn cup. It also helps that I only drink Global Delights.

“Nothing. I made your coffee like I do every morning.” She turns away from where my hip leans against the kitchen counter to rinse out the French press. She’s not wrong. Every day since she moved into my house with Dean, my coffee is religiously ready at 6 a.m. sharp, unless I’m away on business. It’s like she thinks I’d kick her out if it wasn’t. They are welcome to stay as long as they’d like. I’ll be bummed when they move out eventually and not because I’ll be responsible for my own caffeine intake.

Becoming a millionaire was a result of my hard work and diligence. The fact that I keep it a secret is my choice, but my mentor instilled the belief that it’s better that way. There’s so much more to having money than how you make and spend your income. Money makes people deranged–lie, cheat, steal, manipulate, create misconceptions. They’re less likely to do those things when they don’t know about your wealth. Though, when you only trust a handful of people and don’t have time for more than a coffee date here or there, it can get lonely. Dean and Maci keep my house feeling like a home.

I mentally toggle through the items on my to-do list. I have five minutes to spare, and it won’t take Maci that long to crack and give me the real reason my usual jet fuel looks more like art.

Taking a slow slip of my latte, Maci senses my patience. She spins on her heel, reaching for the black towel looped around the oven handle beside me. Wearing one of Dean’s T-shirts and sleep shorts–an addition compared to the first time she spent the night here–she scans my outfit. It’s only six a.m., but I’ve already worked out and am ready for the day. Thank fuck I don’t have an investment meeting. One of my favorite parts of being my own boss is that I set the dress code, so gray jeans and black V-neck are appropriate for most days.

“Are you going to Jameson’s today?” she asks.

She knows I go to the bar almost every day that I’m home. I cock an eyebrow at her.

“What?” She scrunches her nose with a mocking smile. “Maybe you have big plans. Maybe a date?” Her voice raises with hopefulness at her last question.

I stare blankly.

“Or maybe you were planning to take the day off for once!”

“Maci.”

“Fiiiiine,” she fake whines. “You know my friend Brooke who lives in Thailand?”

Of course I do. I’ve listened to every story about Maci’s solo travel trip a hundred times. I give her a pointed look, leaning back against the counter and taking another sip of the magic liquid that will get me through the hours of paperwork that I’m not looking forward to today.

“She’s visiting in a few weeks, the beginning of May.” Maci bites the corner of her lip.

I chuckle. “This is your house too. You don’t have to ask if your friends can stay.”

“I know . . . It’s just . . . Since you and Dean converted the guest room into a gym, there’s no place for her. So, she’ll have to sleep on the couch. Or Dean and I can take the couch. It’s not a big deal. I just want to make sure you’re good with it.”

“It’s fine. She can have my room. I’ll sleep on the couch in my office.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to mess up your routi–”

“Positive.” There are very few people I would do anything for, and somewhere along the way, my best friend’s future wife became one of them.

“I’ll do all the dishes. And your laundry.”

With a slight shake of my head, I take a bigger gulp of my coffee now that it’s cooled. “You already do that.” Since she and Dean returned from Spain, where they worked for six months, they are taking some time to figure out what they want to do next. In the meantime, she’s made it her full-time job to take care of my house, despite my insistence that it’s unnecessary. Maci living here is like having the world’s best roommate–unless that roommate was also a girlfriend.

Fuck, I miss sex.

“You’ll love her. She’s great.”

“I’m sure she is.”

Her eyes study me. “You know, it’s unfair that when I tie my hair back in a bun I look like Miss Trunchbull, and you look like,” she waves her hand toward my neatly tied back hair, “that.”

I chuckle, my gaze shifting to the side as Dean joins us in only basketball shorts. His blond hair is messy and pushed to the side, sleepiness emanating from every part of him, including the smile he sends his fiancée. “The only similarity you have to Miss Trunchbull is the reliability of your car, and on a good day, your ability to restrain yourself around chocolate.” He pulls Maci to him by his grip on the small of her back, her arms immediately falling to his chest.

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