Page 22 of Dirty Filthy Billionaire: Part 2

Weston

What the fuck?” I say, because seriously. What the actual fuck is going on here?

When I walk into The Well the first thing I see is Mia leaning on some guy, who is rubbing her back and like she’s his. I head straight to them to end that shit.

“Mia,” I say, standing behind them at the bar. According to the empty and half-empty glasses, they’ve been drinking quite a lot. “What are you doing?” I cut my eyes to the guy.

“Weston? What are you doing here?” she asks, turning to look at me.

“I’m wondering the same thing,” I say.

“We’re drinking!” the guys says. He claps my arm and says, “Join us.”

I slap his hand away and they both pause and look at me.

“Come on, Mia. Let’s go.”

“I haven’t finished my drink.”

“I think you’ve had enough,” I say.

“She can decide when she’s had enough,” the guy says.

I look to him. “Brody, is it? Who the fuck are you, Brody?”

He turns to fully face me, like he thinks I really want an answer.

The dumb fuck.

“I’m her friend. And roommate.” He gives me this little grin like all that might mean more for him if he plays his cards right, but no fucking way will he get whatever slimy shit is on his mind.

“Well, Brody the friend, I’m Weston Bridges, and I’m Mia’s boss, and I’m taking her home. She’s had enough to drink, and we still have work to do. Let’s go, Mia.” I hold my hand out to her, and she slowly reaches for it.

“Hey,” Brody says. “You don’t have to leave just because this guy says so.”

“That’s not why I’m leaving,” she says. “I’m tired. And I do have work to finish.”

She takes my hand and slowly stands up. “I’m maybe a little buzzed.”

“You’re fine,” I say to her quietly.

“But you can’t just go,” Brody says, a bit pathetically.

I clap him on the shoulder. “Thanks for the help, boy. I can take it from here.” I toss a hundred dollar bill on the bar. “Drinks on me.”

We leave him there silently, wondering what the hell just happened. It feels pretty good.

I get Mia settled in the car. She is pretty buzzed, but not too bad. Her eyes are glassy, but when she looks at me she smiles, so all can’t be bad.

“Where are we going, Mr. Bridges?” she asks.

“Home. My home.”

“Gonna give me a tour this time?”

“If you like,” I say.

“You went all crazy back there,” she says.

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