Page 24 of One Wealthy Wedding

“Drop me at the office,” I say when he rolls the divider down.

Miles and Jonah will be at Kings Lane by now. With any luck, I can down six whiskeys and ask one of them to punch me. Then I’ll see what my brother and his teammates are up to. Maybe sleep on his couch. Half of Manhattan should be enough distance to keep me from pouncing on my wife. My wife. Fuck.

I know where it ends if we have sex.

Make it seven whiskeys. I’ll clean up my act tomorrow.

“You’re not coming h—to your place?” she asks.

So I can be reminded of the fact that I’ve never been good enough for you? Catherine Peterson hasn’t changed, and my body’s reactions to her haven’t either. She turns me on, and I wish she didn’t. Because as much as I can tell myself to ignore those huge chocolate eyes or the perfect pout of her mouth, I can’t ignore her sharp intakes of breath when I taunt her or the flush on her cheeks when I crowd her.

And just like at twenty and twenty-one, I want her with a bone-deep longing, and I hate her in equal measures. The one time I talked about her drunk, Jonah told me that I hate her because she represents a world whose acceptance I crave. I disagree. It’s because she’s hot, and I never got to have her.

“You sound like a nagging wife, Catherine. I’m going out.”

Annoyance flashes over her face.

“Why, princess? You want me at home? And just moments ago, you were saying you’d rather die than beg.” Just a kiss. I’ll show her just a kiss. Her rejection is a piece of grit stuck in my teeth. Annoying and impossible not to poke at.

She snorts. “Don’t be surprised if I change the locks while you’re gone.”

I laugh softly. She would too. I dig in my pocket. “Here.” I slap keys on the seat between us, because I’m sure as hell not touching her. “I have a spare set at the office. Let yourself in. I have the second floor, north side. Take whatever rooms you want. Do not go into my study. It’s locked, and the key is on my person, so don’t bother trying. There’s no staff, so you’ll have to fend for yourself. Eat what you want, drink what you want. Gym is on the top floor, garage is in the basement.”

“I can’t drive,” she murmurs absently, fingering the keys.

“What?”

“I won’t need the garage. I can’t drive.” Her eyes are shadowed when she looks back at me.

“Because you’ve spent your whole life being chauffeured around. You didn’t need to.”

“Sure. We’ll go with that.” Her smile is bitter. “Thanks for the keys and the place to stay.”

Daniel is opening the door for me before I can respond. I watch him drive away with Cat. Am I missing something? Nah. I turn toward the skyscraper bearing our company name. Cat is just as she’s always been, and I’m better off without her.

The Kings Lane building looks the same as it did on the day we bought it. Every time I see it, I stand a little taller. It’s a bastion of success, the marker of our triumph over so many others. We bought the building six months after I joined Kings Lane. We got so drunk the night we held the closing that I had to sleep at Jonah’s. Jonah was convinced I was going to die in my sleep and wouldn’t take no for an answer. He might be a bastard, but he’ll strong-arm his loved ones with the best of intentions.

When I get to Kings Cove, the bar at the bottom of the building, I settle a ball cap on my head and tuck my chin into the collar of my coat. I’m the most recognizable of the partners, after all the tabloid scandals last year. Those weren’t my fault. Not really. Olivier had said his boat was faster than mine, which was like waving a red flag in front of a bull.

I hate coming to this bar. I’m reminded of how I used to stand behind it, while Miles and Jonah sat in the cushioned velvet stools. If they hadn’t befriended me, I don’t know where I’d be now. I avoid looking at the till and the bottles of liquor. Even today, I could arrange them in my sleep, from the top shelf Scotch to the specialty amaro.

A woman in a green dress spots me and starts whispering to her friend. I walk faster. I don’t need someone confronting me, or worse, asking me out. This is my first week back on the job, and I feel…restless. I’m back from my travels with not much to show for it, and this feeling of helplessness isn’t what I expected. I imagined returning triumphant, finally being able to contribute something concrete to our business. Instead, I failed.

I push open the heavy wood door that leads into our private back bar. Miles and Jonah are there, heads bent over the table. Miles’s girlfriend, Lane, and an unknown woman are with them. Must be Callie. Miles told me Jonah was seeing someone. And not just someone. The paparazzo he spent twelve straight months bitching about. Based on the look he’s giving her now, she has him wrapped around her finger. Serves him right. He’s fiddling with a lock of her hair, giving her what can only be described as bedroom eyes. I’ve never seen Jonah give anyone bedroom eyes. I didn’t even know his face could move out of its default expression of cold arrogance.

My dress shoes scrape on the wood floor, and Jonah turns, then Miles.

“Theo?” Jonah asks, clearly surprised. I’m back a week early.

Even with his asshole ways, I’m happy to see him. It’s been a long year. I smile back at my friends. “Miss me?”

Miles blinks away his surprise and pulls me into a hug. He looks better, feels more solid. His chestnut hair is shinier, his gray eyes brighter. Must be his new girlfriend. Jonah claps me on the shoulder. He looks like Lucifer himself, if Lucifer preferred bespoke suits.

“Theo, this is Callie Thompson.” Jonah introduces me to the dark-haired woman with bright blue eyes.

She shakes my hand and cocks her head while she looks at me. “This is the guy you were referring to in the comments section that day?” she asks.

Jonah groans. “Can we please not talk about that?”

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