Page 63 of Tied Up in Riches

“What game?”

“Don’t play dumb. I’m well aware you’re not.”

I arch a brow. “Is that so?”

“I don’t know what is going on with you and Brooke, but I will figure it out.”

“Nothing to figure out.”

“So, then tell me, Marcus. Why is it that Brooke doesn’t seem to be bothered by the fact that your wealth far exceeds anyone in this club tonight?”

The blood drains straight from my face and into my hands, where I grip my hot, swollen fists.

He chuckles. “Oh, so she doesn’t know. Interesting. You know, it’s a wonder what you can do with money when you know how to use it. I could teach you if you’d like.”

How the fuck did he find out.

As if he can read my mind, he says, “I have a great PI.” He smirks. “How do you think Brooke would feel if she knew about your donation to this event she’s so strongly opposed to?”

“What's your game here, Beau?”

“I want her back.”

My stomach twists at the thought of her being with him. “Why? No one else is willing to be your doormat?” I feel bad implying Brooke is weaker than I believe she is, but fucking hell this corner is starting to make me claustrophobic.

“I don’t know what she’s told you, but surely you’re missing a lot of details. I’ve loved Brooke since we were seventeen. Everyone here knows it except for you.”

“Yeah, that explains why she fled the country three weeks before your wedding.”

“You don’t think I let her do that? I know her. She just needed to get her free spirit out of her system before she was ready to settle down. The plan was always for her to come back when she was ready.”

There’s no fucking way. I see how she looks at him, the way she tenses whenever he’s in the vicinity. A small part of me is drawn to believe him. I used to have a bad habit of immediately trusting someone whenever I could see any bit of possibility in their statement. It was a beast to wrangle, but I shove doubt into a cage with mostly ease–just like I intend to do now. I trust Brooke. But she has no idea about the secret you’ve kept from her.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. You have one day to tell her. If you don’t, I will. And when she realizes you’re the liar, and that I’ve never lied to her, we’ll see if she remembers where she belongs then.”

This guy is insufferable. “She’s smart enough to see your manipulation.”

“We’ll see.” He unfolds his arms from over his chest to pat my arm. I follow the movement and will my hands to stay in my pockets instead of making contact with his face. “Have a good night.”

I stay frozen, watching the heavy bathroom door close slowly behind Beau long after he’s gone. When it finally clicks, I turn the lock and pull my phone from the pocket of my slacks. I scroll through my contacts for the man who has been mentoring me since I was twenty.

As the phone rings, my heart thumps in my chest as flashes of what could happen appear in my mind–Brooke realizing I kept this truth from her, and not forgiving me. Would she storm off? Kill me with silence? Quit her job or our relationship on the spot? What if I don’t get a chance to tell her how I feel about her, prove how I feel about her? The phone clicks on the other end when it’s picked up on the second ring. There’s a concerned greeting from him, knowing I rarely call. After explaining the situation briefly, he hangs up and immediately sends me the contact info for a private investigator that he swears by. Two can play this game, Beau. They say you don’t know what you have until it’s gone, but I refuse to let that be my case and miss out on the girl I’m crazy about. When all is said and done, hopefully the bright side to this bullshit with Beau will be that it made me man the fuck up and push me toward developing a relationship with Brooke. There’s no way the man doesn’t have a single skeleton in his closet–not when he’s a dirty lawyer with enough money to make any problem go away. If he does, I’ll find it, and then I’ll be honest with Brooke on my own terms.

I call the contact, leaving a message when he doesn’t answer. Not knowing how long it’ll be until he returns, I go find Brooke. The longer I’m away, the more chance Beau has to swoop in, and I’d be stupid to trust that he’ll give me the twenty-four hours he promised.

Chapter twenty-six

Marcus

Gripping the gold bar, I push the door open. As the heavy glass closes behind me, the hoots and hollers of drunken poker night soften. She’s standing at the edge of the balcony, her wine glass on the edge she’s leaned against, her hands pressed on the white marble. My drink is in its place next to hers. I join her but stay a step back so I can observe. I might not trust a lot of people, but I want to trust her. I don’t let a lot of people into my life, but I want her to be all-consuming. I want her ingrained in every aspect of my life. My morning workout routine. Breakfast after we shower–me with coffee and her with tea. Making time for lunch between my meetings and whatever it is she decides she wants to do for work–doing whatever it takes to make sure she has access to her dream once she figures it out. I want to come home to her each night and read with her head in my lap and my fingers in her hair. I want her to be a part of all the things I want to keep in my life and want to make time for all the things that I’ve never made space for because it wasn’t right.

Fuck. Besides the fact that I have about a twelve percent idea of whether or not she has any of those feelings about me, none of it will be a possibility if Beau strikes a match before I have a chance to fire-proof us. I need to tell her. I need time.

She inhales deeply–as if being inside was suffocating her and she’s able to take full breaths out here–and gazes out over the courtyard. A soft glow from the stars illuminates it just enough to make out the pergola, now devoid of flowers, and the trees lining the boundary of the property. She tips her head up, eyes wandering over the specs of light like she’s searching for the meaning of life–or maybe just a constellation. She glances over her shoulder like she’s checking to make sure it’s me behind her. “Do you know what I love about the stars?”

“Hmm?” I slip my hands into the pockets of my slacks, forcing my gaze from her and tilting my head toward the sky.

“They’re not something you can take a quality picture of with a phone camera. Regular pictures, like selfies with friends, emotion somehow attaches to them in a way where you can feel it once the moment is gone. But the night sky? Most pictures are lackluster. The only way to feel something by it is by being in the moment, by standing under it in silence, in appreciation for its vastness and power. Even the best photographs can’t quite capture that.”

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