Page 5 of One Wealthy Wedding

“I know I can. I’ll do vodka. What do you want?” I feel a little bad for what I’m about to do, but then I remember the twelve drinks he had me make, and my resolve hardens.

“Vodka.” He grins, and my stomach swoops. “Wouldn’t want to mix alcohol.”

“Heaven forbid,” I mutter, and whip two bottles out from behind the bar. Right hand for me, left hand for him. I pass him his shot, and his thumb brushes my hand. I jerk back from the contact.

We grab our glasses, clink, and shoot them. I sputter. Theo drains his like it’s mother’s milk.

I’d almost think I gave him the water shot, except I know I drank it myself.

“Another.” He slides his shot glass back to me, sparks catching in his gaze as he watches me work.

I pour two more shots, vodka for him, water for me, and we slam them. A third. His eyes are hazy and half-lidded now. I’m going to have to start pretending I’m drunk too, at least until he’s well and truly wasted and doesn’t realize I’m sober.

“Ready to give up?” I ask.

“Not on your life.” He gives me a grin that makes me feel too warm and loose. This is the Theo everyone else gets. Wicked, smiling, too cocky for his own good. I get it now. You can stop, universe. Theo Archer is hot enough to make my brain feel fuzzy.

“Where’d you learn to drink like this?” he asks.

“I’m a bartender. Part of the job.”

“I just wouldn’t have thought prim and proper Cat Peterson would know how to do a shot, much less pour one.”

“Maybe I’m not as prim and proper as you think.”

“Maybe not,” he murmurs. “I do remember you having a hankering for whiskey.”

I freeze. Is he really bringing that up right now?

“Let me try the whiskey, Theo.”

“Say please, princess.”

“Please,” I’d whispered, wide-eyed and trusting and so very infatuated with him.

He’d swigged the whiskey, and right when I was ready to pout that he wasn’t sharing, he’d grabbed my chin, pried my lips open with one blunt finger, and spit it in my mouth.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I pour more shots, even as my pulse runs in my throat. I hate it. He still has this power over me.

“No?” He arches a brow and slams the shot, all while keeping eye contact with me. “Tell me what happened, Catherine.”

I do a quick calculation in my head. He had a drink when he arrived. Five shots of vodka. He’s probably six drinks deep right now. If we keep going, he won’t remember what I tell him. But the words are stuck in my throat. My parents don’t love me. They want to control me. I have nothing. No money, no place to call home, not even my reputation. I’m rootless. I could drift away and no one would notice.

“Still not going to tell me? All right, then.” He sighs, like he really doesn’t want to do this. “Let me tell you what I thought about that night you did your first shot of whiskey.”

“No thanks.”

He laughs, tipping his head back in pleasure. “All right, then. The truth it is.”

“I need the money,” I say simply.

His gaze sharpens. “Why?”

“I was disinherited.” It’s maybe 5 percent of the truth, but that’s all he’s getting.

“Temporarily?” He frowns, like this can’t be possible.

“Not temporarily.” I slide another shot toward him. “Shouldn’t you know this? Everyone else does.”

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