Page 47 of Magnetic God

“So, why wedding planning? Why not do something like nursing or hospital administration?”

It takes everything in my power not to glare at Brooks.

I answer, “I love helping people have their dream wedding day.”

Brooks hums but doesn’t press the issue. Dave, on the other hand, turns to me.

“You have to admit the other two careers would have a longer longevity than wedding planning.”

Hurt spears me, but I say, “Well, it’s a good thing I pay my own bills then, and don’t need a man’s permission to do anything.”

“I was just pointing out the obvious.”

My smile is sweet as I ask, “The obvious? Tell me, Dave, how much do you make in a year at your job?”

Normally, I don’t like to throw around my finances, but he deserves it. Because I can guarantee I make more than him.

Dave’s cheeks turn red. “I don’t think we should discuss this in front of our guest.”

Brooks doesn’t miss a beat and says, “No, go ahead. I’m curious. I’ll even tell you my income if it’ll make you feel better.”

A server arrives with a glass of wine for Dave and a bottle of Macallan for Brooks. I notice there are two tumblers.

Brooks says to me, “I told Bassandeh to hold off on your wine until you try the whisky. It’s the best.”

He had to have sent a text message or something because I know he didn’t say it to the head Chef.

Dave looks between the two of us before saying, “Hannah doesn’t like whisky.”

Wrong. I love whisky. I hate that it reminds me of Brooks.

Brooks pours us each two fingers and then lifts his glass, tipping it toward me. “Cheers.”

I take my glass, taking a small sip. Holy hell. This is so good. Brooks smiles as if he knows what I’m thinking.

He turns his attention back to Dave. “So, Davey-boy. Ready to tell your finances or do I need to get more alcohol in you first?”

Dave laughs. “You go first.”

“I make roughly nineteen million dollars a year,” Brooks says, looking Dave right in the eyes.

“Holy hell. Well, my salary isn’t as high. I make about two hundred and twenty thousand a year.” He turns to me. “Your turn, babe, but don’t feel bad if it’s not close to mine.”

I take another sip of my whisky before I say, “You’re right. It’s not close to yours.”

He smiles, but I’m not done.

“Last year I made seven million dollars. This year, I’m on track to double it.”

“Bull shit,” Dave sputters. “There’s no way.”

“I can open my banking app if you need proof.”

Brooks says, “Well, now I want to see.”

I meet his gaze and realize he’s teasing. A warm feeling flutters through my belly, but I shove it aside.

I ask Dave, “Well?”

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