Page 112 of One Wealthy Wedding

“You sure?”

“Yes. This isn’t a big deal. Why are you asking me—”

“Because he’s here.”

I turn, nearly dropping the knife. Theo is just sliding onto a barstool, and he looks delicious in a forest green sweater that pulls over his broad shoulders. He’s wearing a gold watch too, the band winking from his wrist. He never dresses up. Maybe he came from a date. Even though he promised he wouldn’t. My chest pinches.

I deliver the shots to the corner table and ignore him. If he’s here, he’s up to no good. Maybe he is meeting someone. Or maybe he just came to mess with me. Maybe someone up there recognized my words to Blair were only half the truth, and I’m being punished.

“What do I have to do to get service in this place?” he asks.

“What do you want, Theo?”

“I’m here on business,” he says with a jaunty smile. There’s something in his eyes I can’t read. They’re more intent than usual. His hair has product in it again, and his sharp jaw is clean shaven. He looks the part today—like a billionaire. A man who makes money in his sleep. A man who has risen from nothing to become unstoppable. I’m lucky that Theo has been a teasing playboy up until now, because this intensely male version of him makes me glad we have the wooden bar between us.

I cross my arms and stare him down. “Business?”

“Buy you a drink?” he asks. His mouth is slowly curving into a smile.

“Why are you smiling?” I narrow my eyes at him.

“I like when you’re prickly, Catherine. It makes me hot.” He winks. “How about that drink?”

“I can’t drink on the job,” I say shortly.

“Sure you can. We did shots together.”

“Mine were water.”

His eyes flare before a shocked laugh bursts from his chest. “Water? You did water shots while I got wasted? Damn, you’re good.”

I smile despite myself. “Yeah. It was some impressive sleight of hand, wasn’t it? Blair taught me.” I tilt my head toward my friend, who is watching us from the corner of the bar. “It’s useful when patrons get insistent. Sometimes the sign doesn’t deter them.” I point at the sign that Sylvia must have hung in the ’70s. It’s cracked and faded, but you can still read the words—No drinking with the staff.

“What if I could change that rule?” Theo grins at me, disarming and impossibly handsome. My breath shallows every time he gives me that smile, the one that shows the barest hint of a dimple in his cheek.

“You’d have to buy the bar.” I snort.

“Funny,” he says, right as Sylvia calls his name. His smile widens. “I just did.”

Then he’s turning to Sylvia and hugging her like they’re old friends as I gape. Sylvia is seventy-five and all muscle. She’s wiry and cranky—I assume from years of yelling at patrons and inhaling cigarette smoke before they made it illegal to smoke inside.

Theo ushers her to a table, and Blair comes to stand by my side.

“Did he just say what I think he said?” she asks. I look at her. She’s wearing an identical expression to mine—grim resignation. The expression of someone who has been subjected to the world’s whims for too long but knows she’ll have to find a way to survive this upheaval.

“I’ll make sure you keep your job.” I bump her with my hip. “I should have some influence with him.”

“You’ve got more than that, if the way he was looking at you is any indication.”

“What?” I stare at her in confusion.

She snorts, still watching Theo. “That man is falling for you.”

My stupid heart gives a hard thump. “You’re crazy,” I say. “The plot of the play you’re in is going to your head.” It’s a fairy-tale retelling, and my best friend is the last one who would fall for a fairy prince, but it seems like she thinks Theo might be one.

“Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

“This is fake, Blair.”

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