Playboy Prince

"She's sitting outside your office."

"She's finding her replacement."

"So you fucked her then fired her? That's going to look good."

"I'm investing in her company."

"The app?"

"Don't say it with that fucking tone, asshole. It's a comparable industry. And it's going to actually help people. Unlike our fucking privacy software."

"Did you come to that conclusion before or after you fucked her?"

"Before."

He raises a brow really, you expect me to believe that?

"It's my money. Mind your own fucking business. Is that all?"

"Are you really engaged?"

"Are you really asking?"

"Yes," he says.

"Yeah. We're engaged."

His eyes flit to Bri, sitting at her desk, pretending she's not spying. He turns to me, nods as if to say there's more to the story, but I'll torture you for that info later. "When did this happen?"

"Recently."

"And that's what you told Adam?"

"Yeah."

He looks me over. Examining my story, my facade, my fucking outfit even. Then he says the last thing I expect: "Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"How long have you been fucking her?"

"This is the worst fucking congratulations I've ever heard."

"What about your high school graduation?"

Fuck. I can't help but chuckle. "That was up there."

"I'm improving."

I motion a little.

"She's an amazing woman."

"I didn't realize you'd noticed."

"Not all of us feel the need to verbalize every thought in our heads."

"I have so few," I say. "I can't help myself."

"You're not very happy for a recently engaged man."

I shrug.

"Cold feet already?"

"No." There's no question. I'm doing this. Playing this part. But that's not what he's asking. I don't know how to answer the question he's asking.

I need to explain my attitude somehow. With something better than too much booze.

"We got into a fight." I need an explanation. An excuse.

"Weddings force us to consider our future."

Sure. I'll go with that. "Yeah."

"Is that why you asked?"

"I didn't really plan it out."

"She's wearing a ring."

Right. That's pretty fucking obvious. "Impulse buy."

He chuckles of course, that's so like you, Liam.

I know him. I know what he wants to hear. I'm not afraid to throw myself under the bus to convince him.

That's why I'm so good at this shit.

No ego in the way.

I know my strengths and my weaknesses. I know how people see me.

"I'll take you to dinner before the party," he says. "To celebrate."

"She'll be busy getting ready."

"The two of us then."

Fuck. So much for being good at this. "Sure."

"Seven?" he asks.

"I'll meet you in the lobby."

"You'll see me in"—he checks his watch—"five minutes."

"And again, tomorrow."

"It's horrifying for me too."

"Uh-huh."

"It is." He stands. Offers his hand to shake. "Really, Liam. Congratulations."

I stand. Take his hand. "Thanks."

"Don't fuck it up."

"I'll do my best."

He releases me. Opens his mouth, about to say something. Stops.

This is too easy.

He's too willing to believe me.

He's not a cuddly kitten. He's a python, waiting for the right moment to strike, endlessly patient, lethal as hell.

Or maybe my hangover is fucking with my reasoning.

I don't know anymore. I can contemplate Simon's bullshit later. Right now, I need him out of my office.

"Bring your a game for the party," I say. "There will be dancers."

"But…"

"But what?"

"Strippers are cliché for you."

"I'm not going to ruin the surprise."

He nods uh-uh. "Will it embarrass Harrison?"

"That's the point."

He chuckles again silly Liam then he pulls me into a hug. An actual hug. "I'm proud of you." He pats me on the back. Releases me. Looks at me with paternal affection.

He is my older brother.

He filled in plenty after Dad died.

But he never looks at me like this.

Something is happening.

Something strange.

But I've got an awkward meeting to sit through. A hangover to nurse. And a fake fiancée to—

Something. I don't know.

I can't let shit stay weird and awkward. I need to talk to Bri. To explain.

But what the fuck can I say?

Sorry, I'm avoiding you. It's because I can't stop thinking about your thighs against my cheeks.

Let's go right now. Get it out of our system.

That makes perfect fucking sense.

Doesn't it?

Chapter Twenty-One

Liam

At the meeting, I slip into my role. The charming finance guy.

Briar stays weird and overly professional.

Simon stays equal parts judgmental and proud.

After, I fix my own fucking coffee, find my own fucking aspirin, distract myself with work.

With my pounding headache, it takes a while to concentrate, but once I slip into the zone, I'm there. I don't look up until Briar knocks on my door.

"I'm about to head to a dance class. Do you need anything before I go?" Her voice is stiff. Awkward. Like she's playing up the professionalism in case anyone is watching.

But it's late. The office is nearly empty.

Simon's light is on, yeah, but he's supposed to believe we're engaged. Either Briar is operating on some other level of meta-game or this is I know you want to fuck me, stop making it weird shit.

I reach for something to say to make it normal, to get her calling me Liam, at the very fucking least.

My mouth is too sticky. My throat is too dry.