Page 7 of Inflame

“Remember what I said about upsetting Angela.”

His voice is deep and gruff, most likely meant to add emphasis to his warning. While I may have more cyber connections and experience in the privacy sector, Graham has built an empire of wealth that buys him power. Even if we are family, it is best not to piss him off. I may act recklessly with my heart, but with my brain? I know better than to be stupid.

“I am aware.”

“Pretty sure Mom will lose her mind if something prevents this wedding from happening. You know that woman sends me a threatening text at least once a week. Follows up on it with a phone call to Angie just to make sure she is happy.”

I laugh because I can totally see Mom doing something like that. “How does it feel to be ending your days of being a player?”

He clears his throat. “Amazing. Except it is a lot of responsibility to make sure Angie continues to be content and that I stay diligent on giving her a good life.”

Pangs of envy stab at my heart. Seeing my oldest sibling deliriously happy does make me wish for that feeling too but only briefly. Tara broke something inside me that I doubt will ever be healed. And while I have no problem filling my bed with women, my heart will never be filled again with anything but the memory of what could have been.

3

CLAIRE

“I cannot believe we are about to leave for Vegas tomorrow evening!” I announce, pumping my fists into the air like we are at some sporting arena. Granted, neither of us are into organized team events. Pretty sure I don’t even own a jersey or a hat to support any of the local teams, which is weird because in high school I was all about those things. It’s almost like I’m a completely new person—cynicism and all. “This is going to be the best bachelor and bachelorette party that ever existed. I have a whole itinerary planned from morning to—”

Angie sits up from her reclining position on the L-shaped sofa. “Hold up, hot mama.”

I stow away my cheering fists and look up at her with confusion. We are relaxing at the apartment I share with Ethan. Although it became official after the townhouse lease ended with graduation, I had taken up residence here back in the winter and have considered this my new home ever since. “What’s the problem?”

“The morning part,” she whines. Her bottom lip pops out, making her look a decade younger than her current age. “You know I’m not a fan of mornings.”

“But if we are going to see everything Vegas has to offer, we cannot waste any time.”

“We don’t need to see everything it has to offer, Claire. That’s what postcards are for.”

“I’m choosing to ignore that.” I shake my head at her. She doesn’t know what she’s saying—obviously. “Besides, doing things in the morning is the way to go to avoid all the rambunctious tourists.”

“Aren’t we those type of tourists?”

“We are not rambunctious. We are tasteful.”

“Claire…”

I sit up and curl my feet under my butt so I can see her face better. “Angie, trust me on this.” Why is everyone meeting me with resistance? How can I execute my job if I’m met with so many roadblocks? I hate blindly navigating something so monumental. “I just want everything to be perfect.”

“You know Graham couldn’t care less about seeing anything outside the master bedroom.”

I make a face. “Ew. Really, Angie? Gross.”

“Just sayin’.”

“I know exactly what you’re saying, but you guys need to save some of your stamina for the actual honeymoon.”

Angie looks off into the other part of the room, almost as if she is in a different place. “Oh, he sure can go all—”

I block my ears. “La, la, la, la…” Ouch! I rub at my sore arm. “Why did you hit me?”

She shrugs, no longer looking innocent. “It feels like a weird personality reversal is happening, and it is unsettling. When have you gotten all shy about sex?”

Since I’ve been having less and less of it these days. Hell, maybe my vagina has resealed itself. She’s a needy bitch. I brush off Angie’s question, trying not to let it bother me. This is not about me right now. “It’s very difficult to fulfill my role as maid of honor with Graham’s best man judging all of my suggestions—”

“Also called demands?” She puts her hands up in defense. “Hiswords, not mine.”

I growl. “His words?”

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