Page 37 of The Billionaire's Bride
"Whiskey." Arpad pulls a bottle of Macallan’s from the bar. "Don’t you have any fucking vodka?"
"Since when do you drink fucking vodka?" I scowl.
"Since he met Karina?" Damian chuckles.
I glare at Arpad. "You don’t even like fucking vodka."
"Guess I do, now." He places the bottle of whisky on the bar counter. "You missed out on a lot, ol’ chap.’ He tilts his head at me, "It’s good to have you back though."
"Yeah," I rub the back of my neck, "it’s still no excuse to drink at," I scowl at the watch on my wrist, "ten a.m.?"
"Oh, that’s where you’re wrong." Arpad smirks. "This drink isn’t for me."
"Who is it for, then?"
Five pairs of eyes turn on me.
"What?" I glare.
All of them shift their gazes to Edward.
"What?" He glowers at them. "This isn’t a fucking tennis match."
"Sure, could have fooled us." Saint cracks his neck. "That’s why we’re here anyway—to referee."
"We don’t need a referee," I growl.
"Oh?" Saint folds his arms across his chest, glances between us. "You two have some shit to sort out."
"That’s putting it mildly." I snort
"And we’re here to ensure you two don’t kill each other," Damian adds from his position on the settee.
I shoot him a glare, and his smile widens. Asshole’s enjoying himself.
Hell, all of them are. Tossers who have their lives all set up, wives, and kids on the way. They’ve managed to put their pasts behind them, managed to set to rest the ghosts from the incident. They’ve found their homes, have a future with their loved ones.
Me? I have none of that. Nothing, except a past as a soldier, the security company that I set up with Archer, and a future career as an investor; one which is going to take some adjustment. Not to mention a former best friend who is now my most hated enemy and a woman…who doesn’t belong to me yet. And am I going to let go of her that easily? Of course, not. She is all I have left in this world. The hope of being with her is the only solace I have left to look forward to. I cannot let go of this opportunity, to find out how it would be to be with someone who satisfies that craving deep inside of me.
"We are not going to kill each other." I blow out a breath, "We were merely discussing strategy."
"Strategy, huh?" Sinclair smirks. "Is that why the two of you were yelling at each other?"
"We weren’t…" I glance at Sinclair, who tilts his head.
"We could hear you all the way down to the street," Damian pipes up.
I glower at him and he chuckles.
"Okay," I rake my fingers through my hair. "Yeah, so we had a bit of a disagreement."
"Nothing the two of us can’t sort out," Edward mutters. "We certainly don’t need the rest of you here staging an intervention."
"Too fucking late." Saint grabs a chair, turns it around and straddles it. "You should have thought of that before you guys couldn’t keep it in your pants."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" I growl at him.
"You know what he means," Weston drawls. "The two of you are involved with the same woman."
