Unfortunately for him, I’m immune.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He gives me the smile. “I happened to be in the neighborhood.”
“Right. Because you routinely hang out in middle class neighborhoods that don’t have high-end bars or strip clubs.”
“Ouch,” he says with a wince. “Guess I deserved that.”
I give him a look.
“Can I come in?”
“If Ryder sent you—”
“He didn’t.”
I gaze at him, wondering. “All right,” I say finally. “You can come in.”
He walks in, looking around the humble living room. It’s smaller than Ryder’s bedroom, and it is decorated with inexpensive furniture and second-hand items. Shelves have tons of framed pictures of Oliver and Bethany—an unbroken photographic record from the time they became an item to the present.
“Nice,” he murmurs.
“I bet you’ve never set foot in a house that’s worth less than three million.”
Something flashes in his gaze, then disappears just as quickly as it appeared. “Now who’s being a snob?” He sits in the couch. “Elizabeth called me.”
I frown. “About?”
“You.”
Crossing my arms, I lean against the wall across from him. “If there’s anything she wants to talk to me about, she knows my number.”
“Yeah, well. I thought I should do this face-to-face.”
I keep my mouth shut and wait for him to go on.
“Nothing happened at the strip club,” he says.
My lips curve. “Riiiiiight.”
“Look, Ryder wanted to talk, I was already there, and I didn’t want to leave. So he came by.”
“Regular bars not good enough for you guys?” I say, uncrossing my arms.
“You know about the deal with our father, don’t you?”
I nod. No point in being coy with him.
“I thought so.” He taps his lips like I’ve just confirmed something important for him. “Then you know I need to marry too.”
“And how does that relate to the strip club?”
He frowns and smiles at the same time, like you do when someone doesn’t get an obvious joke. “I’m looking for a wife.”
My mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His announcement has short-circuited my brain.
Now he actually laughs. “You haven’t heard?”