Page 83 of Maverick Mogul

His lip curls into a sneer. “I’m with family of the bride. Poppy’s cousin Nicki.”

The laugh bubbles up. The cousin Poppy adamantly didn’t want in the bridal party—of course. Clearly, Nicki has impeccable taste.

“Have you managed to find a new job yet?” he asks with a smirk. “Sorry I had to tell Katharine Vanderberg the truth about your behavior. I owed it to her to be totally honest.”

“Did you now?” I stay calm. “Well, then I guess I owe you my thanks.”

He frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You must have said lovely things,” I continue cheerfully. “Since she pretty much hired me on the spot.”

He scowls. “But… But…”

“So, if that’s all you wanted to talk about, you can fuck off now,” I say brightly.

He gasps.

“You can’t talk to me like that!”

“Why not?” I shrug, adrenaline pumping through me. “I only ever was polite to you because of your parents—which, by the way, is the only reason anyone puts up with you! But you’re not my problem anymore. You’re just another overindulged, useless asshole who thinks the world revolves around you. Which, spoiler alert, it doesn’t.”

I hear a snort of laughter nearby, and realize that the whole bar is watching us. I gulp. It’s like a flashback to the restaurant and the Cake Incident… But this time, I’m not going to slink away in shame. Instead, I draw myself up to my tallest height and turn to leave—but not before glancing back with my most scathing look.

“And by the way, twenty-five is way too old to be leaving skid-marks in your dry cleaning. Learn to wipe, dumbass.”

The room erupts in laughter as I stalk away, and I have to admit, it feels damn good.

Karma, bitches.

21

CHARLIE

I findDylan and the other groomsmen hanging out in a cabin by the water. The poor guy looks green as fuck, pacing and sweating as he clutches the pages with his vows.

“It’s not too late to bail, you know,” I joke, grabbing a drink.

Dylan cracks a smile. “Sure, Poppy would just love that.”

“Hey, say the word, and we’re out of here. I’ll paddle the canoe, you steer.” I slap him on the back, and sure enough, he relaxes.

“Thanks, but I’m good. To tell the truth, I can’t believe I managed to con her into this. Pledging to stick around for the rest of our lives? I’m a lucky son-of-a-bitch, that’s for sure.”

“To lucky son-of-a-bitches,” I agree, raising my glass in a toast.

“You get your vows figured out?” one of the other groomsmen asks.

Dylan nods, turning serious. “I think so. I want to get it right, you know? I’ll only get a chance to do this once.”

“If you’re lucky,” I mutter, and he smiles.

“We’ve already established I am. But you could find that second time’s a charm, you know.”

I shake my head, smiling, but he fixes me with a look. “Would it really be so bad?” he asks, prodding. “Waking up with Grace every morning, going to bed with her at night. Having, and holding, and all that jazz.”

I blink.

One of the other guys brings out the cigars, distracting him, but his question stays ricocheting in my mind: a sudden vision of the future.

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