Page 36 of The Bourbon Bargain

“I guess that’s my next call.”

“Love you, Hayes. Tell your brothers they need to call us every once in a while, too. None of y’all had the good grace to actually be with us or even call on Christmas of all things. But thank you for the nice orchids. They look so nice on my sun porch. Your daddy liked the wagyu beef you had shipped in from Japan. That made our Christmas dinner plans so fancy. I still put A1 sauce all over my filet mignon.”

I shudder at the blasphemy she committed against the fine beef I sent them, but know it’s Mom’s way and there is no changing her. “Love you, too, Mom. I’ll see y’all on Friday.”

I shake my head when I end the call. They were in good moods today and extra chatty. Normally, it would be a quick call of them asking about work, since it’s all I can fill them in on. They seem to like having Paige to talk about. I think they will love her. How could they not?

I sigh and stare at the phone again. I dial and wait for the phone to connect. Music and loud voices greet me before my brother does.

“Merry Christmas, Hater. You and our perfect little Paige having a good time in Savannah?” Zander says when he answers.

I grit my teeth and try to remember he’s family and I can’t disown him. “Zander. Where are you right now? It’s ten in the morning and you’re partying?”

“I’m in Aspen with some friends. We wanted a white Christmas and the snow bunnies provided.”

I roll my eyes. Of course, Zander is off fucking some models or actresses in the snow. “I hope you don’t have plans for New Year’s Eve.”

“Actually, I do. I was going to hit up Abu Dhabi and meet up with a Sheikh friend who throws the best New Year’s parties.”

“I guess you’ll have to miss the wedding of the century,” I say, almost glad he’ll be out of the country. “Paige’s family insisted on an actual wedding and we’re throwing it in Savannah. I’ll save you a piece of cake if I can.”

“Fuck me,” Zander says, with genuine sadness. “I’ll cancel my plans if you let me throw you the best bachelor party ever. I know exactly what you need. No strippers and blow, I know that’s not your thing, but we can do this up good. We gotta do Vegas.”

“I’m already married, Zand. There is no need to go to Vegas and do some bullshit bachelor party, especially not if you’re throwing it. I will end up arrested and on every gossip site in the country before the night is over. That’s exactly what we need with Olympus already dealing with all this bullshit.” I scrub my hand down my face, smoothing out the furrow between my brows. Zander gives me a headache. Not everything has to be an adrenaline rush and dopamine dump.

“Fuck no, man! I’m talking racing supercars at the Las Vegas raceway and penthouse suites, clubbing ’til three, and the hottest girls around falling all over themselves to sit on your lap. That kind of thing.”

“I own a one-of-a-kind multimillion-dollar Maybach plus a garage full of supercars, and I can stay in any penthouse at any hotel in the world. Why would I choose Vegas and a night or more away from Paige?”

“Goddamn, you are a goner.” Zander’s voice carries legitimate shock like he can’t imagine a world in which what he offered would be a temptation anyone could pass up. It’s not even a consideration, honestly. “So, no bachelor party, at all?”

“I don’t need one and there’s really no time.”

I pause and wonder if I actually want some sort of last hurrah to my single life. I have fucked my share of willing and interested women who got my cock to jump and scoured the world for the next car, property, or business that would satisfy my urge to conquer and have something coveted. As soon as Paige stepped into my life, my desire for any other woman, any activity that would keep me away from her, just… dematerialized. What Zander offers doesn’t even give me a tiny flicker of interest.

“You can have your own party at The Abyss after the rehearsal dinner if you want. I’ll give you the manager’s number and you can go crazy. Just show up on time for the wedding, because you’re a groomsman and can’t be shit-faced at my wedding.”

“You’re such a downer, Hater. I knew you were no fun, but this is epically bad. You need to have something, even a small bachelor party. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it. There has to be something fun to do in Slow-vannah. It can’t all be historic homes and themed restaurants, right?”

“Whatever, Zand. Just be there by Friday morning and bring a tux or I’ll make you rent one.”

“Gross,” he says with what sounds like a shudder at the thought. “Later, Hater.” The call disconnects before I can say goodbye.

That’s two calls down.

The third takes a while to connect, ringing a few times before Payton answers. “Speak of the devil,” he says instead of hello. Why can’t my family just answer a call normally?

“Talking about me, again?”

“Oh, just checking out the Atlanta Haute List this morning and seeing you and Paige front and center, once again. There may or may not be a mob of fangirls outside that pretty new house you recently inhabited. The Haute List just about printed your address for the South. Who knew doxing would make it to gossip sites that usually preserve just a tiny bit of privacy for their main stories?”

Shit. “How is that stupid site able to get this much access to us? Who do I have to fire next to make the damn leaks stop?”

“Don’t underestimate the willingness of those around you to share every detail when given the chance. Your realtor probably shared the details before the ink was dry on the papers.”

He sounds almost bored, and I wonder at the amount of information in his head after all these years of searching out every last article, blog, and story about us to ensure our public image and mystique is maintained.

“Anyway, why are you calling? Shouldn’t you be snorting Christmas cookies off Paige’s ass or something?”

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