Asher’s lips thinned. “Some marriages work.”
“Read the statistics. These days, more of ’em don’t,” Michael returned. “You won’t find me ever going down on bended knee.” He had to raise his voice over the pulsing beat of the music. He turned until his back was to the bar like Wyatt’s and sipped his drink. “Not that I’m against women, mind you,” he added, his gaze on the gaggle of young women who’d crowded on to the dance floor. They obviously didn’t care that none of their dates were out there with them; they were dancing and shaking, shoes kicked off and hooting as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
Wyatt’s gaze moved on from them and he realized he was searching for a sign of the hostess again. She was probably about the age of the women on the dance floor. It was too bad she was working and wasn’t out there, too. But he didn’t spot her. Maybe she’d already gotten off duty and had left.
He thought about leaving himself, but controlled the urge and eventually, the reception finally started to wind down. Wyatt had counted off several more rounds of drinks that his brothers and Michael knocked back, and they started making noises about checking out what was left of the New Year’s Eve festivities elsewhere in town. Particularly the prospect of encountering some unattached lovelies.
Wyatt wasn’t interested in more music or booze or women. He was interested in the truth behind his father’s inexplicable betrayal. A truth that, so far, hadn’t been forthcoming from any quarter, least of all the old man.
“Last call, gentlemen.” Despite working her tail off for several hours, the bartender looked as perky as ever. “Anything I can get you?”
“We’re heading out, hon,” Michael told her, his trademark smile in place. He reached over the bar for a clean glass and set it on the bar, then tucked several bills from his wallet into it. “You be sure and find some lucky man to kiss at midnight.”
The bartender shook her head, looking rueful. “Hon, midnight came and went an hour ago.”
Wyatt hid a smile, but typically, Michael let that little detail roll right off his back. “Every night has a midnight,” he drawled.
“That it does,” she agreed, her amusement deepening. She nudged the glass back toward Michael. “And that’s not necessary tonight, Mr. Fortune.” Her gaze took in the rest of them. “You boys going to be taking a cab, or is Mr. Designated Driver on duty?”
“They’re cabbin’ it,” Wyatt answered before anyone else could. The hostess had just reappeared through the kitchen door and his interest in getting out of there dwindled. He looked over at the bartender and swirled his glass in a circle on the bar. “Hit me one more time, would you please?”
“You bet.” In seconds, she’d given him a fresh smile and a fresh soda before turning away to fill the flurry of orders she’d gotten for last call.
“Going to hang here for a while, huh?” Michael gave him a speculative look, hanging back while Wyatt’s brothers headed to the front of the restaurant. Asher stopped for a moment to talk to the curvaceous hostess and Wyatt figured he was asking about arranging for a cab.
Again, his gaze held on the line of her creamy spine, revealed here and there by the intriguing cut-outs of her form-fitting black dress. “Gonna be quieter here than it will be wherever you guys decide to go,” he told his cousin.
Michael laughed beneath his breath. “I’ve seen what you’ve been eyeing all night. Quiet isn’t on your mind.”
Wyatt’s fingers tightened around the cold glass. It was easier to let his cousin think his distraction with the shapely hostess was responsible for his decision to hang back than to explain the black hole that was yawning open inside of him. After the last few days of wedding festivities, he just wanted to be left alone. “She’s not a what, Mike.” Nobody ever shortened Michael’s name. “She’s a who.”
Michael’s smile sharpened even more. “As lo
ng as whoever she is manages to help you lighten up, without you ending up down on your knee.”
Wyatt grimaced. His cousin should know better. Marriage was no higher on Wyatt’s list than it was on Michael’s.
“Maybe you’ll come to your senses about returning to Atlanta along the way,” Michael finished. He reached across the bar and set the glass with the hefty tip he’d left on the bartender’s stainless steel work area then gave Wyatt a slap on the shoulder before crossing the restaurant.
Despite the alcohol Wyatt knew he’d consumed, his cousin’s steps were as sure as ever.
He exhaled and watched them all push through the front door of the restaurant. There was no way Wyatt would be reconsidering his decision about returning to Atlanta. He’d drawn the line in the sand. His father had stubbornly refused to explain his actions regarding the family company, JMF Financial. Which meant that, if anything, Wyatt would only be digging that line deeper and wider. He had right on his side, while his dad was drowning in wrong. There was just no other way to categorize James’s decision to sell the company out from under them.
He slowly finished his drink, his thoughts turned inward and only when the D.J. finally stopped the music did he add his own contribution to the bartender’s tip glass. She gave him a good-natured smile tinged with a hint of regret.
He pretended not to notice. He just wasn’t interested. So he left the bar and the restaurant behind, and headed out into the cold night. He didn’t have to bother saying his goodbyes to anyone in the family; they’d all left and he’d be seeing them again later in the morning at the brunch being held at their hotel. His mother had reminded him three separate times about the brunch, as if she’d suspected—correctly enough—that he’d had more than his fill of wedding folderol.
His rental car was only one of a few still remaining in the parking lot. When he reached it, he unlocked the car and climbed in. But instead of starting the engine, he sighed again, staring blindly at the steering wheel.
They hadn’t broken the news to Clara yet that they wouldn’t be going home. It didn’t take a genius to know that his mother wouldn’t be thrilled. She’d never been involved in the running of JMF, but she’d always been involved in her children. The fact that they were all adults with their own lives hadn’t changed that at all.
He raked back his hair, digging his fingers into the back of his tight neck. Deciding to draw that line in the sand had been the only thing to do, considering what their father had done. But how were they going to break the news to their mother? As far as she knew, they were all scheduled to leave for Atlanta after the brunch. They needed to let her know they wouldn’t be accompanying her.
“Sir? Would you like a cab after all?”
Jerked from his thoughts, Wyatt frowned and looked up.
The hostess from the restaurant stood beside the car, a brilliant red scarf draped around her shoulders. She was leaning down slightly and even though the only light to speak of came from the dome light in the rental car, he could see the way her eyebrows crinkled together over her eyes. He was hard-pressed to know where to look—at those dark eyes of hers or the spectacular cleavage that was leaning over him, barely inches from his face. He noticed no rings on the fingers wrapped in her shawl, but aside from that, he resolutely kept his gaze above her neck. It wasn’t exactly easy. “Do you follow all your customers out to their cars?”