Page 21 of The Love Losers

Damien makes an amused sound. “It’s your dream come true, Nic. The old man in red is really coming through for you this year.”

“Yes, it’s a true Christmas miracle,” my mother says dryly.

“I guess this means you’ll have to extend a personal invitation to Nina and that blond blowhard,” Jake tells me with a quirk of his brows.

I sigh. “That’ll be a joy.”

I haven’t had the displeasure of speaking to either of them since the very uncomfortable five-minute phone call Wilson saw fit to make me before he and Nina went public with their affection. He asked for my blessing, and I told him I hoped he married her. Given he thanked me five times, I’m guessing he didn’t understand what I meant.

“Simon too,” my mother says with a sniff, referring to my father’s best friend and second-in-command at Smith Investments.

She’s never liked Simon, probably because he used to worship at my father’s feet even though he must have known Adrien Smith was not exactly what he appeared to be. Possible, also, because he offered to be Husband Number Four a mere two months after Mark died in a plane crash. His wife had divorced him six months prior, and he’d claimed it was “perfect timing.” She, needless to say, had disagreed.

“He doesn’t think much of you,” she continues.

“Thanks, Mother,” I say dryly.

Looking at the private investigators, she continues, “He was Adrien’s best friend and he works at Smith Investments with Anthony. He’d love nothing better than to show my son up. He shows him up every chance he gets.”

“Yes,” I say. “But we’ve been working on a huge deal together. He knows I plan on investing a big chunk of my personal inheritance into it to save the company. Three-point-five million. So he should want me to get married.” I feel Rosie staring at me, but I force myself to go on. “He’s actually the executor of my father’s will.”

“Intriguing,” Nicole says. “Go on.”

“I know he’s worried about me finding a wife in time, because he keeps trying to set me up with his daughter, Rachel.”

“And what’s wrong with Rachel?”

A million reasons flit through my head, like a murder of crows taking off, but if I said any of them out loud I’d probably sound like a dick.She thought Mexico was separated into New Mexico and Old Mexico. She talks about shopping, sometimes for hours. She only eats salad, dressing on the side.So I settle for saying, “I’ve known her since I was four. We didn’t like each other then. Time certainly hasn’t improved things. The only reason he’s taken a pause on setting up very awkward surprise ‘dates’ is because he knows I’m working with Jake.”

She rubs her hands together. “You know what? He’s still going on the list. Maybe he’s pissed that you didn’t go for his daughter so he could rub you out and get all of the money.”

“Oh, he’s not nearly enterprising enough for such a thing,” my mother says. “Lazy. He’d prefer for someone else to make the bread so he can eat it. But I see your point.”

I feel Rosie’s intense gaze again. This time, I give in and look at her, soaking up the expression in her eyes. There’s a hint of humor, and I can practically feel her thinkingwouldn’t it be better to give this all up and move to Scotland?

Yes. Fucking yes.

But I can’t. I just…can’t.

“I’m assuming I should hire private security?” my mother queries.

“We’ll take care of that,” Damien says.

I don’t dispute the necessity. The security guard my mother usually hires is capable, at most, of boring someone to deathwith stories about the red kidney stone he had. I guess he had it made into a pendant for his wife. She wears it, whether out of obligation or bad taste is anyone’s guess.

“Splendid,” my mother says. “This wedding keeps getting more interesting.”

“Wouldn’t it help if I had a bride?” I shoot another glance at Rosie. She’s sipping her drink, but she lifts her flattened palm to her head and gives me a quiet salute, as if to say she’s on the case.

I’m surprised to discover I still have it in me to smile.

Jake shoots me a surprised look from the sofa he’s sitting on with his girlfriend. It’s not used often, and although Mother brings a cleaner in once a week, it has a perpetually dusty look. “Does this mean your meeting with Leigh didn’t go well? She thought the arrangement was a go.”

Rosie waggles her brows at me. It’s obvious she assumes my lunch companion made a pass at me, which is categorically false.

A strained feeling grips my chest. I don’t want to directly lie, especially not about something like that, but I also don’t want Rosie to suspect…

I don’t know what she’d suspect, actually, because I don’t fully understand why I did it.

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