Page 4 of One Wealthy Wedding

He seats himself at the bar. “For money?”

“Yes, for money,” I snap. I press my hands on the wooden bar top and glare at him. Maybe I can intimidate him into leaving me alone. He doesn’t look intimidated, though, as he adjusts his jacket and props an elbow on the bar. He looks like he’s settling in for a long chat.

“But you don’t need money.”

“Yes. I do.”

His eyes narrow. “Is this one of your rebellions again?”

Of course he would ask that. Theo remembers me as the kid I was at eleven, following him around and skinning my knees every time he coaxed me into doing something reckless.

My rebellions were always quiet, made to ensure my parents’ feathers weren’t too ruffled. Just enough to get a little taste of freedom, but never so much that the inevitable tongue-lashing and punishments would actually hurt. As I got older, I learned to hide them better. A haircut my stepmother certainly wouldn’t approve of. Boyfriends they didn’t like. A college major in English literature that they never understood, but not something they could claim was actively harmful. Sneaking out late at night. Claiming I was sick when they needed me at a party with their awful friends.

Until they tightened the screws last year. I dig my fingers into the wood of the bar. Whatever.

“Sure. A rebellion.” I’m not going to try and convince him. Theo isn’t loyal. He’s irreverent, fun, a partier, a playboy. He’s the guy you call if you need a seventy-five-foot boat on two hours’ notice, not the one you call when your parents make you drop out of college so they can make sure you have the right influences. Or when they call you into the formal living room and say, “Marry Arnold Worth the Fourth, or we’ll kick you out of the house and ensure you never have entrance to society again.”

“I’m surprised you’d choose bartending. It’s not what I’d expect for you. If I’d known you worked here, I wouldn’t have come in.”

“Had I known you’d be here tonight, I would have called in sick,” I respond.

His lips curve up in that smile he always wears. He looks so damn smug in every tabloid photo, like he knows everyone wants him, and he’s proud of being naked in public.

“Where’d you learn to pour a beer?” he asks.

“I’m a bartender,” I say flatly.

“How long have you worked here?”

“Six months.”

He considers me, those green eyes flickering with emotions I can’t name.

“When are you going running back to Daddy?”

“I’m not speaking to my parents,” I say lightly.

“Little Catherine Peterson. All grown up and walking on the wild side,” he muses, still looking amused at my expense.

“You’re two years older than me,” I say, even if it always felt like more. Theo was always so worldly compared to my sheltered naïveté. He lived on my family estate with his mom while we were growing up, and he was wild. He stole cars, always had liquor on him, made out with girls, women even. He got into fights and defied my parents every time they tried to punish him.

He always defied my parents. That lazy grin plays on his lips, and his eyes are alight with mischief. He might hate me, but he’s certainly not going to bother himself about it. He’s perfect.

Maybe he’d marry me.

I nearly laugh. Not a chance in hell. I’d rather sleep on Blair’s couch for a year than marry Theo Archer.

“What’s so funny?” Theo asks.

“Nothing.” I shake my head. “My shift’s almost over. You want another drink? On the house.” I’ll give Theo anything to get him to go away.

“What I want, Catherine, is to figure out why you’re here. Why you’re really here.” He leans forward on the bar. My pulse flutters at the way he’s looking at me. All intensity. All heat. I’m the only person in his world right now.

I have to deflect. I have to stop this.

“Tell you what.” I scoop up two shot glasses and slam them on the bar. They’re thick glass and won’t break, even with some manhandling. “You go shot for shot with me, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know.” I have no intention of giving him anything beyond the bare minimum.

“Really, princess?” he drawls. “You think you can go drink for drink with me?” His eyes gleam in the dim lighting.

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