Page 62 of Tied Up in Riches

Our Uber is waiting for us when we walk out of the hotel lobby, and we slide into the backseat of the SUV in silence. As we’re pulling up to the country club, Brooke mutters under her breath, “I don’t want to be here.”

I don’t respond. I have no fucking clue what to say–how to comfort her. I can’t fully wrap my head around why she wanted to make this trip at all and why she is concerned with appeasing her mom to the degree that she has. I also have never experienced the type of relationship with a parent that she has, and I’m inclined to believe that if my mom and dad didn’t support me, I might want their approval too. I can’t wait for them to meet Brooke. They’re going to adore her.

Fucking hell, man. This is all fake. A favor for her. The last thing she’s thinking about is meeting my parents. I replay my text from Dean earlier, wondering if he has insider information from Brooke’s side of it or if his encouragement is simply secondhand from Maci and a wild girl fantasy.

Stepping out of the car, I make quick to the other side, opening the door for Brooke and offering her my hand. She takes it and doesn’t let go once both feet are on the ground, her sigh sounding like an eye roll. We step from the curb to the red carpet leading to the doorway. Then I glance at her, the shimmer of her eye makeup catching in the bright lights from the massive entryway. “Imagine if they donated all the money they spent on this event to the cause. I asked my mom once. She said this event costs over a hundred thousand dollars to host.”

“How much money does it raise?”

She shoots me a look that says, “That’s not the point,” but tells me anyway. “Usually around half a mil.”

“That’s a great ratio.” I regret the fact as soon as I share it, immediately feeling the tension increase. She drops my hand, angling toward me slightly as we continue down the red carpet, ignoring the flashes of photographer lights. “Most major fundraiser goals are a three-to-one return,” I stoke the fire for a reason that’s beyond my knowledge.

“Whose side are you on?”

“Umm, the children with leukemia?”

She huffs, but her gaze freezes on someone I haven’t spotted yet, and she immediately links her arm through mine. “I swear, if he does not get the hint that I’m not available tonight . . .” she mutters under her breath so soft I’m not sure if I was meant to hear.

The object of her bitter attention meets us at the entrance to the club. “Beau.”

“Hey there, gorgeous.” He leans in and kisses her cheek–while she’s attached to my arm. The nerve of this guy. “You definitely picked the right dress.” He rakes his eyes up and down her body, reminding me he magically appeared while she was shopping and that I wasn’t there.

I pull Brooke closer by wrapping my arm around her shoulder, shifting so I’m slightly between the two of them, clearing my throat. I catch Brooke biting into her lip to hold back a grin from the corner of my eye.

Beau smirks like he thinks my possessiveness is just a temporary roadblock. I’m about to put him in his place when Brooke says, “I’d compliment your suit, but it could pay for a whole fucking day of chemo, and I know you don’t give a shit as long as you look like a million bucks.”

“At least you said I look like a million bucks.” He shrugs, unbothered by her anti-rich person hostility. Unlike myself. How the fuck am I going to get past this roadblock? That’s the real issue here. Her opinion is so strong, it seems not even a million dollars would sway it. “You’re more than welcome to join me at my table or play with my stash of chips. You too.” He shifts his glance momentarily toward me. He’s acting charitable, but anyone with eyes can see that’s not his intention. “I bought three thousand of them.” He reaches out to hand a stack of gold poker chips–the name of his law firm on a sticker in the center of each–to Brooke, but she doesn’t accept them.

“I don’t want your money, Beau.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Is it?” She’s so snarky I have to look at her to make sure the same girl I’ve been getting to know is the one next to me. She’s so triggered by something trivial in the grand scheme of things. I mean, if he bought three thousand chips, the man did donate thirty thousand dollars to the cause. It’s more than the ten thousand I gave anonymously.

“Are you ready for a drink, love?” I squeeze her shoulder, ignoring Beau completely as I glance toward the bar with a nudge.

“Yes, please. Bye, Beau,” she adds with a grin and lets me guide her to the white marble bar with gold trim.

The bartender tilts his head toward us. “Hey, man,” I address the man in a tux–equally goofy and sharp, a little like a young Frank Sinatra. “Bourbon neat for me, please.” He reaches for a rocks glass. “And,” I lock eyes with Brooke, “wine?” She nods. “Cab for my girl.”

He pours our drinks quickly, sliding them toward us. I hand him a twenty even though it’s an open bar and guide Brooke toward the massive glass French doors across the room that leads outside to the marble staircase winding down to the wedding grounds from the first day we came here.

We navigate through poker and roulette tables, Brooke steering me through the maze when she sees someone she wants to avoid. The room is dark, lit only by golden spotlights above each table. The rest of the room is cast in a purple glow, creating a sexy ambiance. Nothing as sexy as Brooke right now, though, with the silver sparkles of her dress like stars in a clear night sky. Fuck, she’s beautiful. I want her all to myself, but that’s not why we’re here. I stop us on the other side of the room, at the line between the chaos of the gala and the peace outside. “Do you want to play a game?” When I made the donation, they gave instructions on how to claim my chips and apologized for it being too late to have them customized with my business. I didn’t want that anyway. I haven’t decided how to approach the finance topic with Brooke yet, but I know springing it on her at an event where she already feels trapped is not the place to do it.

She shakes her head. “No. I need to show face with my mom at some point, but,” she nods toward the brass handle of the door, “Do you want to go for a walk outside?”

“Yeah. Do you mind if I use the restroom quickly and meet you out there?” I plan to soak up as much time as I can with her, away from the crowd.

“Of course. I’ll be right out here on the balcony.”

I hand her my drink and push open the gold bar of the glass door, holding it open for her to walk through. I turn toward the hallway behind the main floor. Reaching for the handle of the individual bathroom, a hand cuts me off. What the–

I hardly have time to recognize it’s Beau before he opens the door and kicks my feet–actually kicks my shoe–so I enter the small room. My instinct is to punch him, but I can’t imagine that going over well. So, I oblige the moron.

I step into the bathroom with pristine white tile and an immaculate blue marble counter. Unbuttoning my suit jacket, I slip my hands into my pockets. He stands in front of me looking more like a douchebag than a million dollars if you ask me. “Something on your mind, man?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, his glare tells me he thinks he has the upper hand here. “What’s your game?” he demands.

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