Page 113 of One Wealthy Wedding

“What if it wasn’t?” She slides me a knowing glance.

“No. I don’t want to be married. I want to be my own woman before I fall for anyone. I have a whole life to live.” I feel like I’m twenty-two instead of twenty-eight. Newly free and a little terrified by the world of possibilities.

“Be careful,” she says softly. “He’s dangerous.”

My chest squeezes. “I know,” I respond. “Good thing he’s not an option.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He doesn’t want love. He’s a playboy. That’s why this is perfect. I don’t want to be married, and he doesn’t either. Besides, he’s never going to fall for me.” I snort. “He doesn’t even like me.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” Blair says.

“Don’t get mushy on me, B.”

We fall silent as Theo strides back over.

“The bar will be closed for a month,” he says. “For renovations.” My stomach sinks. Blair has gone still next to me. I know what she’s thinking. A month of no tips.

“You’ll all get a month of paid vacation. Let me know your average weekly tips, and I’ll ensure you receive it in lump sum by the end of the week.”

“Oh.” Blair makes a surprised sound. This solves all her problems. Her shoulder can recover, and she’ll be able to give her all to the temporary role she’s earned. It’s for that reason alone that I don’t kick Theo out of the bar.

“I don’t know what you’re playing at, Theo Archer,” I hiss as Blair moves away to serve a group of office workers, “but you can cut it out right now.”

“I’d like to see you try and stop me.” He tosses me a smile. “I’ll be outside when your shift ends.”

True to his word, Theo is waiting outside the bar when I finish. He’s leaning against the grimy and graffiti-covered door to the storage room behind the bar.

“You’re going to get tetanus,” I say.

His gaze flicks up. “Try not to sound so hopeful.”

“I’ve heard it’s a slow and painful death.”

Theo’s mouth tips up, like I didn’t just wish for his demise. He gestures to the waiting car. “Drive you home?”

“I suppose.” I’m not going to turn down a free ride when my other option is a late-night subway trip from Penn Station. No one tells you that the sketchiest time to ride the subway in New York is weekday afternoons and Sunday nights.

Theo opens the door for me to get in, then slides into the quiet interior.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I tell him.

“Why not?” He seems genuinely confused, and I want to scream. Of course he doesn’t understand. He does whatever he damn well pleases. I’ve never had that luxury.

“That bar was mine, Theo.” My words come out harsh and angry, and I’m not going to bother hiding how I feel, because fuck that. “Not mine mine, but you know what I mean. And now you own it. You own it. Do you know how that feels?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had anyone buy a bar just so I didn’t have to work before.”

“That’s what you were doing? What was this, some sort of twisted grand gesture?”

“No,” he says.

Of course not, my bitter heart responds.

“I need you to be free. So I bought the bar. You can go back to working there after you come to Monaco with me. I thought I was doing you a favor. Fuck.” He shoves a hand through his hair.

“I’m not going to Monaco with you. I have class.” I cross my arms. I feel like a child, but I can’t stop. Ironic, really, that this is how I felt all the time as a child.

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