Page 108 of Morally Black Betrothal
“Don’t patronize me, Brendan.” He paused his pacing to give a few wheezing coughs that shook his frame. “The numbers. Where are they?”
I sighed. “I’m not sure.”
Bald-faced lie. Liza was delaying those numbers because I’d told her to wait myself. I would never admit that, of course. Not to him. But the truth was, they weren’t great. Our stock had taken a dive after the news had broken about his heart attack, and it was slow to recover. Dad would blame it on me, on the fact that I’d been appointed interim CEO. And while I knew that the numbers would certainly cast some doubt on my stewardship of the company, there was also the simple truth that they’d been trending down for the last year.
Dad was a lion, but he’d made some wrong moves. Trusted the wrong people and taken some bad gambles. And facing that now would throw him into another rage.
Simone’s introduction aside, I was only trying to protect his fragile heart—literally.
“You’re not sure?” Dad growled. “I guess I have to do everything myself around here. Mary! Bring my tank!”
The nurse returned, then followed Dad’s stumbling form with the oxygen tank, Jenkins with his drink. My brothers and I let out triplet sighs of relief. Dad had a way of sucking the air not just out of the room, but out of our lungs, too.
“He’s on a fucking tear.” Owen downed half of his vodka.
“Sure you want to have your immortal beloved over tonight?” Ronan wondered. “I walked in, and he said I needed to be ready for heads to roll since I’d be the one chopping them off. Not even a fucking hello.”
Neither Owen nor I argued. If I was the heir and Owen the spare, Ronan was the mercenary knight as well as the jester. It was the unspoken way of things, coming down to the fact that he carried a darkness about him the rest of us didn’t. Something he covered with humor, but which was there nonetheless.
I took another mouthful of scotch. “He doesn’t know how to rest or relax. I’m convinced the doctors only allowed him to leave the hospital because he was terrorizing the nurses.”
“Like your new ‘fiancée’?” Owen didn’t bother to conceal his mocking tone. “Where is she, anyway? I thought she was coming to kiss the ring. Or is that just in bed with you?”
“I’ll thank you to keep a civil goddamn tongue when it comes to Simone,” I snapped. “She’ll be here any minute. Where’s Shea? I wanted everyone to meet Simone tonight.”
“She’s at the Sox game with Brad. Or maybe Chad.” Ronan shrugged and took a drink. “Who the fuck knows who Shea spreads her legs for these days? It’s all to get Daddy’s attention, and Dad couldn’t care less as long as she marries for money.”
“Can you not talk about our sister’s fucking legs, you ingrate?” Owen said. “It’s bad enough we have to hear about your exploits all the fucking time?”
“Jealous much? Come with me to Vegas for once, brother. Prostitution’s legal, so even you can have an orgasm for once and learn not to be such a fucking grouch all the time. You can even pretend her name is Ivy Ink if that will help you finish.”
Owen’s knuckles turned white as he clenched his glass. “You really don’t know when to shut up, do you?”
Ronan smirked at me. “Did you hear? TheHeraldturned poor Owen down for ten mil this week in exchange for her real identity. He’s just a sore loser.”
“She’s a pain in my ass. Did you see what she wrote this week about Ventnor? I look like a fool.”
“I think you do that just fine on your own.”
I scowled at the two of them. “Christ. Can the two of you at least try to be civil tonight? Dad’s bad enough.”
“What’s the point?” Ronan asked. “Your darling betrothed might as well see the family for what it is. It’s what she’s getting paid for, right?”
I set my glass on the coffee table hard enough that the whiskey sloshed onto the wood. “What thefuckis that supposed to mean, Ronan?”
Ronan cast an odd look at the glass, then another at me. “Well, she’s not exactly worth millions, is she? Is it too much to say she’s, ah, digging for treasure here? I assume the prenup was reasonably good.”
“She’s not a fuckin’ gold digger,” I said a little too quickly.
Across the room, Owen sniggered. “I forgot it was love at first sight. Never knew ‘The Black Prince’ was such a romantic.”
I forced myself to meet his eye. It took everything I had not to look away first. “Don’t be a dick. Either of you.”
I stared down Ronan too, who finally shook his head and tipped back another gulp of his drink.
“Fine. But tell us she’s great in the sack or something. She does have a nice mouth.” Ronan’s lips curled around the crueljoke. “All pretty and pink. I bet it’s great when she’s down on her knees, and?—”
In a second, both our drinks had spilled on the floor, and I had my brother pinned to the couch by his neck.
