Page 3 of Owning His Girl

It’s wrong, how much I want to vault over the bar and mark my territory, make it crystal clear that she’s off-limits.

“Looks like the competition’s heating up,” Jake observes, amusement lacing his tone.

“Shut it,” I snap without looking at him, my gaze still fixated on the scene unfolding before me.

The bartender is all smiles, confidence oozing from him as he chats up Fiona. The sight stokes a possessive streak I never knew I had.

“Careful, Wes,” Jake warns lightly, sensing the shift in my mood. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll be back,” I snap, placing my glass on the bar with a click that’s louder than I intend.

There’s a magnetic pull, an impulse urging me forward, and I can’t resist it. Not tonight.

Chapter Two

FIONA

I leanagainst the sleek wooden bar at the Pitcher’s Brew, scanning the chalkboard menu above the row of taps.

“We’ve got a pale ale that’s pretty good if you’re into those,” the bartender offers with a friendly smile. “And we just tapped a new stout that’s been getting rave reviews.”

I tap my chin, contemplating my options. Finally, I say, “Actually, I think I’ll try a whiskey on the rocks.”

The bartender’s eyebrows shoot up briefly at my selection. But then he gives me a friendly smile and nods, reaching for a bottle of Jameson. “Good choice,” he says as he pours the amber liquid into a glass filled with ice.

I take a sip of my drink and let out a contented sigh.

On any other Friday night, I would probably go for something light and bubbly like Prosecco. But after the bombshell my dad just dropped on me, it feels like a whiskey night.

As I twirl a coaster between my fingers, a sudden shift in the air prickles my skin.

Wes Andrews is standing behind me.

I don’t have to look to know. The laughter spikes, the room buzzes. Wes has always had a knack for being the center of attention without even trying.

My eyes slide over my shoulder, and yep, there he is. Approaching me with that confident swagger that says he always gets what he wants.

He throws me that trademark grin - all bright teeth and bad-boy charm. My heart does a crazy little leap in my chest. His disheveled dark hair, those knowing blue eyes...they’re too good-looking for their own good.

“Evening, gorgeous,” he says, leaning next to me. His cologne, something earthy and slightly spicy, teases my senses.

“Weston,” I reply, using his full name like armor. I try to ignore the butterflies he stirs up. But annoyance quickly replaces the warmth.

He chuckles. “Damn, I don’t even get a congratulations?”

I can’t help but roll my eyes.

Sure, Wes has charm. But it’s paired with an ego that drives me nuts. The same ego that had him taunting me from tree tops as kids. The same ego that brings him to my side now, our past rivalry tagging along.

“Must be a nice feeling, sitting on top of the Parker empire now,” I say, my words edged with enough sarcasm to cut steel. Wes’s smirk widens as he takes the bait, leaning in with a confidence that grates on my every nerve.

“Can’t complain,” he drawls. “It’s good to be king.”

“King of a castle built by someone else,” I shoot back, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into my tone. The playful spark in his eyes doesn’t diminish though, he thrives on this—the verbal sparring that has become our twisted form of communication over the years.

“Come on, Fiona,” he says, teasingly. “You know I’ve always had a knack for business. It was only a matter of time before I got my hands on the wheel of Parker & Sons.”

I take a sip of my whiskey to avoid lashing out. The cold liquid does nothing to quell the burning irritation inside me.

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