Page 88 of The Billionaire's Secret
"I heard that, you tosser."
Fucking Weston.I tuck my erect dick inside my pants and zip myself up. Then stalk over to the door and fling it open.
Weston brushes past me and glides inside, looking for all the world like he’s stepped out of a fucking photo shoot. "Jesus, do you have to deck yourself out like a peacock every time you step out?"
He leans a hip against one of the basin’s, "Unlike you," he glances down pointedly at my worn-in boots, "I prefer to be prepared."
"I happen to have interesting taste."
"Including in women?"
"Don’t talk about her," I snarl.
He smirks, "That why you’re diddling yourself in secret?"
The back of my neck heats, "I wasn’t."Fucking fuck, now I sound—what?—about fifteen? When I had to beat myself off to sleep most nights.
Weston chuckles, then sniffs the air, "I don’t know... Smells like sex in here...the self-gratifying kind, I mean." He makes a rude gesture with his hand. "Didn’t know you had to resort to that to get some these days."
I glower at him, "I told you I wasn’t."
"So why did you lock the door?"
"Because…" I pull myself up to my full height, "the last I checked, I own this hotel."
"Which you’re going to run into the ground by the looks of it," a new voice sounds. I groan. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Arpad who’s walked in.
"The hell are you doing here?"
Arpad saunters in, "Weston seemed to think he’d need back-up."
"And that’s you?" I smirk.
"No, that’s us," Damian moseys in.
I scowl. "Why’d you have to bring him along?"
I jerk my chin toward Edward, who strolls in. He kicks the door shut, then leans his shoulder against him.
"What?" I take in their faces, then fold my arms over my chest. "Whatever it is, the answer is ‘no.’"
"I didn’t ask a question," Arpad grins. "Any of you hear a question?"
The others chime in.
"Nope."
"Nah."
"Naw."
I tap the toes of my boot on the ground. "Well? Say your piece, you dickheads. I have an appointment to keep."
"Correction, you ran out of the earlier meeting before we could discuss FOK investments, so we decided to move the venue," Edward says.
"To a restroom... And here I thought this was an intervention."
"Nothing like a public toilet to remind us of the kind of shit we've faced since the fuckers changed our lives in the incident and…" Weston stalks over to one of the urinals, "we’re not done with the intervention." He lowers his zipper, then the tinkle of piss hitting porcelain fills the room.
