Epilogue: Davis
One year later
“Stop working,” Olivia instructs as she appears at my side with two champagne flutes.
“Is one of those for me?” I ask before I pocket my phone.
“No way. Get your own drink,” she replies, but she gives the champagne to me anyway.
I take a sip as I pull her to my side, keeping her close to me after being apart for the wedding party photos. It was only half an hour—a hell of a lot shorter than we’re apart on any given workday. Today, however, she looks so damn beautiful—a feat given that I genuinely believe that she’s the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever known. I don’t want to spend another moment apart from her.
“This wedding is insane, by the way,” she murmurs as she looks around the backyard (stupid name for it) of the Davenport estate. “Elon Musk is here.”
“Gross,” I mutter before I take a drink. “Gray doesn’t even like him. Corinne once said that he had about as much substance as Serena van der Woodsen. I don’t know what that means, but Julia thought it was hilarious.”
Olivia raises an eyebrow. “Is this what happens when you’re the child of a billionaire? Your wedding ends up looking like a shareholder’s meeting?”
“Some billionaire’s children—namely the ones who are going to be CEOs. The rest of us can do whatever we want.”
Conspiratorially, she leans in so that our faces are close. “So, you could go and get married in Vegas and eat In-n-Out burgers in your car if you wanted?”
“If that’s what you want then sure. That’s exactly what we’ll do,” I reply smartly.
Feigning disgust, Olivia lets out a gasp. “Davis Ridgeway, you did not just propose to me at someone else’s wedding.”
“You’d call that a proposal? Give me more credit than that, love,” I answer before I reach over and give her cheek a soft pinch.
She shoots me a playful glare. “Ridiculous.”
Just then, Walsh and Peter come to join us at the cocktail table, both of them looking a bit too drunk for cocktail hour.
“Ah, shit. We can’t stand here. We’re all dressed the same,” Peter remarks, looking at Walsh and me. “We look like jackasses.”
“We look like we’re in a wedding party,” Walsh reminds him, speaking slowly as if Peter needs it. “On a scale of one to ten, how blazed are you right now, and are you good to give the best man’s speech?”
“A seven and yes.” Right as he says that, Peter takes Olivia’s champagne flute and drinks from it, finishing the entire thing in an impressive gulp. When he sees the look of shocked surprise on her face, he lets out a graceless snort. “Okay, maybe an eight.”
“I’m cutting you off until after the speeches,” I decide before I take the empty flute from him. “Don’t give me that look. It’s for your own good. Plus, if you’re sober enough, you can probably sleep with the maid of honor.”
“Big deal. We’ve already slept together,” Peter reveals before turning to the side, waving at Corinne’s maid of honor, and winking at her.
Figures. “You’re out of your damn mind,” I say, telling him what he already knows. “Can you dial it back for one wedding?”
“Fine, fine,” Peter concedes, holding up both of his hands. “Hey, Olivia, when you get a chance can you switch seating cards with me? I want to sit next to Julia.”
“Julia?” Olivia questions. “As in Julia Ridgeway?”
“The one and only.”
“That’s fine with me,” she agrees. “Any reason why?”
“Because I would literally pay any amount of money to witness her in a conversation with Gus Winter,” is Peter’s response.
Immediately, Olivia’s eyes widen. “What?” she blurts out as she whirls to face me. “Your sister brought Gus Winter as her plus-one?”
“Yep,” I comment, nodding grimly.
“But—”
“But two years ago, my sister nearly ruined the FundRight deal by being an asshole to him at my dad’s birthday party? Yep. I remember. Trying to forget, actually.”
“And now they’re here together…” she comments, pulling her eyebrows together. “Seriously?”
“Olivia, you of all people should know that sometimes, a bad start doesn’t always result in a lifetime of enmity,” I comment.
She lets out a scoff. “And why didn’t you tell me?”
Wickedly, Peter’s eyes brighten. “Oh, because he—”
“Peter,” I warn, holding up a hand.
“What did you do?” Olivia demands. “Davis Henry Ridgeway, if you don’t tell me right now, I’m literally going to—”
“Gus said that he would agree to the acquisition with the stipulation that he could spend one night with Julia,” Peter fills in, either too drunk or too much of a middle child to care if he’s shit-stirring. “And apparently that night went very well.”
“Davis!” she exclaims, looking at me like I just kidnapped a bunch of dalmatians to make one fur coat.
“Scandalized?” I ask her, trying to be nonchalant in an effort to salvage the evening. “You and I have done far worse.”
She’s too smart to allow herself to be distracted. “You traded your sister for a tech company?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later—I promise,” I assure her. “But this is Gray and Corinne’s wedding, and Corinne will kill us all if we spend the whole night at this cocktail table.”
“This family,” Olivia mutters as she lets me take her by the hand so I can walk us over to the bar. “What the hell have I gotten myself into?”