Page 3 of Her Billionaire Bargain (Kensington Square)

“It’s been months and months,” I said stubbornly. “I’m going to contact her.”

“Why, you drunken horndog.”

I probably shouldn’t have laughed. Isis clearly wasn’t in the mood to be amused by me. “That’s not why I wanted her info. I’ve had an epiphany tonight, you could say.”

“You’re drunk,” my best friend said flatly.

“Au contraire. I’m more sober than I’ve been in a while.” I tapped the revolving mini world globe in a stand on my desk. It spun, finally coming to a stop with Antarctica in view. A little extreme, but nothing was off the table. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve been on a vacation?”

“I don’t keep your personal calendar. I trust you can handle that yourself.”

“I can, because I haven’t been on one in a year or more. Ever since Preston started grumbling about following Dad out the door.” I took a deep breath. “I’m trying to be someone I’m not, Ice. I thought I could do it. But when I realized I was on my way to drunk to deal with people I don’t like that much when I’m sober, I decided my decor was all wrong.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, finally. I’ve been waiting for you to see the farce you’re trying to pull off. You should call that guy Bishop recommended outsourcing some of the firm’s overflow cases to—wait a second. Say what?” She huffed out a breath. “You want to change your damn decor? That’s your big life decision?”

“Yeah. It’s a start, right? My house looks like a freaking museum. What did I work so much for, to have a home that could be inArchitectural Digest? You know what I did last night, Ice? First time since I moved in.”

“If this is pornographic, I swear to—”

“Hardly. I lay on my couch with my shoes on. My real estate agent would’ve died. My mother would die too. But whatever. I need a house where I can put my shoes on the couch. Bob is sick of living on plastic.”

“Huh?”

“I’ve been keeping him mostly in the family room and my bedroom because the formal living room has that really fucking expensive couch and his claws will mess with the leather. But sometimes he runs in anyway so I have this plastic cover.” Sighing, I braced my forehead against my hand. “It squeaks and I hate it.”

“Your thought process is disturbing. And what does any of this have to do with taking a vacation?”

“I’ve put too much of my real life aside to live a life I don’t want. I’m going to redo this house to suit me and I’m going to find someone to take on the grunt work of some of my cases. I don’t mind going to court, but the rest isn’t my forte.”

“You can say that again. But it’s not all your fault.”

I blinked. “Excuse me? Is Isis Jenkins actually defending me? Voluntarily? Without someone holding a blade to her throat?”

She laughed. “I know you’ve been trying your best to handle all of this all on your own without asking for help, Dexterous.”

“I always ask you.”

“That’s different. You pay me handsomely, and besides, it’s in the best friend contract. But there’s no shame in bringing in someone like Bishop’s friend Eli to take some of the load off. Assuming he’s still available. You’ve dicked around forever and people’s situations change. But even if he isn’t interested, someone will be. You have to face facts. You aren’t a one-man lawyering wonder like Preston. And news flash: that’s not necessarily a bad thing.”

I rolled my shoulders as I sat back in my chair. I’d been trying to come to terms with not being as brilliant or skilled or competent in a million different ways as my older brother for many years now. My one saving grace was that I always had an admirable social life while he worked constantly.

At least that was how it used to be.

Now I worked constantly and I was still always behind and most of my friends had stopped calling because I was always busy. I still wasn’t as incredible as Preston—and I never would be—and now I was even doing a piss-poor impression of myself.

Now Preston was the one with the noteworthy social life. He wasn’t out partying and learning to surf during the few months of the year we had good weather on the East Coast. Oh, no, he was happily shacked up with a sexy-as-hell witch who didn’t seem interested in marriage or procreation, but kept him strolling around with a smug smile on his face. He’d even opened his own firm with his best friend Bishop, and was clearly satisfied in his career choices as well, choosing to leave divorce law behind in favor of family law.

The bastard.

How had he landed the damn jackpot? I didn’t know, but it seemed patently unfair.

As for me? I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d been happy at this point.

“I’ll give Eli a call,” I said finally, giving the globe one more spin. “What can it hurt to talk to him?”

“That’s the spirit.”

“But first, I want to talk to Pink Pantsuit—” I cleared my throat as Isis growled. “Sorry, Shelby. Bishop recommended her work highly and I want to take this place down to the studs. I need this place to be family friendly.”

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