Page 6 of Obsessed Heir

“Any expressions I can manage will be versions of annoyed.” Lord knows she’s assembled a top-notch public-relations team. They can help her paint me in a favorable manner, regardless of what I do.

Over the years, she’s become the maddening little sister I never had. Nothing more on a personal level.

When it comes to business, it’s a dream relationship.With my brain and your bucks, we’ll take the world by storm,she said, and she’s delivered every damn time.

“Come on, Barron,” she coaxes. “Behave, or you’ll ruin the surprise I have for you.”

I glare at her. “I don’t know if I could handle a surprise.”

With her imagination, you never know what a surprise could mean. Could be a baklava from the market I discovered while overseas or having me end up in a fucking toga.

“You say that now.” She takes a sip of her drink then turns, signaling the bar.

“The last surprise ended with you having to pack in case you have to bunk with me,” I remind her.

“I’m not worried.” She sets the glass on the table. “I have a backup plan.”

“Don’t cause me a problem over this.”

“Don’t worry.” She pats my shoulder. “I won’t.”

Somehow, that isn’t as reassuring as she expects.

“This is one of my biggest investors.”

“I’ve got this,” she says for the umpteenth time. “But even one of the biggest investors shouldn’t expect accommodations less than twenty-four hours before we sail.”

Ezequiel Mata called. While he only asked if I could accommodate his request, he’s not someone I’d say no to. Our families go way back. In the dark times, our ancestors had the same blood on their hands. His crazy half-brother is off the rails, but Ezequiel is good people.

“We’ll have to keep a cabin available from now on, in case this happens again.” In the back of my mind, I know it will.

“You’re the boss,” she says in an offhand manner.

And yet she needs to be reminded of that fact more often than not.

“Keep an eye on the check-ins.”

She checks her phone. “The line at immigration stretches out the building, and there’s still an hour to go.”

Which could still be hundreds of people. Meanwhile, my last-minute guests, newlyweds, are waiting at the Sunset Bar on the fifteenth floor.

She hands over her martini glass as we get two fresh drinks.

I turn to the server. “What is this?”

“A Sapphire London Club Martini, sir,” he replies, setting the drink down on a crisp white napkin. “You enjoyed?”

“I did.”

“I’ll be sure to tell the bartender,” he says before returning to the bar.

Holly holds up her drink. “To new favorites.”

I raise my glass for the toast then take another drink. “I’d never given a second thought to martinis, but this isn’t bad. Not bad at all.”

She chuckles, then her expression turns neutral. “Incoming,” she warns, under her breath.

I brace myself for whatever or whoever is heading toward us. Two seconds later, I catch movement out of the corner of my eye.

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