The Billionaires' Brides Bundle

“You should be,” Lucas said, rubbing his face with the towel. He grinned. “Actually I didn’t think an old man like you could move that fast.”

Damian grinned back at him. “I’m two months older than you are, Reyes.”

“Every day counts when you’re pushing thirty-two.”

Damian smiled. He draped the towel around his shoulders and he and Lucas strolled toward the locker room.

“Thank you,” he said, after a minute.

Lucas shot his friend a look, thought about pretending he didn’t know what he meant and decided honesty was the best policy.

“Para nada,” he said softly. “The way you sounded, I’d have canceled a meeting with the president.” He pushed open the locker room door, then followed Damian inside. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Damian hesitated. “Let’s shower, change and stop for a drink.”

“Here?”

He laughed at the horror in Lucas’s voice. The Eastside Club had a bar. A juice bar.

“No. Not here. I’m old but not that old.”

Lucas grinned. “I’m relieved to hear it. How about that place a couple of blocks over? The one with the mahogany booths?”

“Sounds good.”

It was good.

The bar was dark, the way bars should be. The booths were deep and comfortable. The bartender was efficient and the Gray Goose on the rocks both men ordered was crisp and cold.

They were mostly quiet at first, Lucas talking about some land he was thinking of adding to his enormous ranch in Spain, Damian listening, nodding every now and then, saying “yes” and “really” when it seemed appropriate.

Then they fell silent.

Lucas finally cleared his throat. “So,” he said quietly, “you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Because, you know, you didn’t sound—”

“Kay’s sister turned up.”

Lucas lifted his eyebrows. “I didn’t know she had a—”

“Neither did I.”

“Well. Her sister, huh? What’s she want?”

“I think they were actually stepsisters. That’s what Ivy—”

“The sister.”

“Yes. That’s what she said.”

“Same mother?”

“Same father. I think. Same last name, anyway. Maybe he adopted one of them…” Damian huffed out a breath. “It doesn’t matter.”

“What does?”