Page 58 of Win Big

“Especially Dan Diaz.”

I beam a smile.

“He thought Dan was too old for me.”

“He’s not the only one,” Wyatt mutters.

“And even though he keeps saying he wants grandchildren. Apparently I’m supposed to produce them through some kind of immaculate conception.” I make a face.

“Hmm. Don’t think that’s gonna happen.”

We pause our conversation to order lunch.

“What if your dad fires Murray?” Wyatt asks.

“He can’t. Théo’s in charge now.”

“Ah. Okay. Have you talked to your dad about going to the doctor?”

I grimace. “No. I’m waiting for the right moment. Today he seemed fine...”

“If by fine you mean furious.”

I smile, relaxing a little. It’s hard to be wound up around Wyatt. He’s so laid back. I wish I could be like him and not give a shit. “Yeah.”

“I hope his blood pressure is okay.”

“He should probably have that checked too.” We share a look—amusement and understanding and acknowledgment of how weird this is.

“A lot of guys would be upset about a picture like that being public,” I say. “About the comments.”

“I don’t read the comments. Jesus, princess, don’t ever read the comments.”

I laugh. “I know.”

“And I’m not upset. It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks about me. I live life for myself.”

“I guess that’s a good philosophy.” I trace a finger over the tablecloth. “I think I care too much what other people think.” I look up at him hesitantly, through my eyelashes.

He reaches out to take my hand. “Why is that?” he asks quietly.

I can’t tell him. “I grew up with a lot of public attention. I suppose it was drilled into me that any trouble a Wynn gets into will be broadcast for the whole world to see.”

“That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Tell me about it,” I mutter.

Our server brings our lunch. Wyatt ordered “truck stop” eggs, sausage, bacon, and potatoes. I guess he burns a gazillion calories a day. But my salad looks delicious—gem lettuce topped with beets, feta, sumac, and a Meyer lemon vinaigrette.

“I like food,” he says with satisfaction, cutting into a sausage.

“Me too. I wish I could eat as much as you.”

“You should eat however much you want.”

“If I want to weigh two hundred pounds, sure.”

He shrugs. “You’d be gorgeous if you weighed that much.”

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