Page 22 of The Billionaire's Ride

“Bro,” I say, raising my glass and taking in his slick, dark hair and blue eyes—save for the spec of brown in one.

“I’m not used to seeing you in a suit. You look sharp,” Kent says.

On the other hand, I hardly ever see him in anything but a three-piece since he started working for Bonnaire Capital as a venture capitalist with Collin. It’s a good fit since he was born for the business. The firm’s bottom line has soared since he started working there.

My brother’s got great instincts. We all do, really. But he easily knows the difference between a good idea and one that will make millions. That’s why he’s being groomed to be our father’s successor, a fact that Collin hates. I, on the other hand, couldn’t be happier for him. And not just because it means I’m off the hook.

“Why thank you,” I say, refining my tone. The perfect gentleman façade continues. And speaking of the perfectgentleman, our cousin, Dash, walks in, leading with a stiff chin and a clean cut, faded around his ears.

“Dash,” I say, greeting him with a handshake.

He smiles and gives me a once-over. “Where is your tie?”

“Oh, c’mon. You know I take after your dad. Can’t button me up.”

My cousin doesn’t look amused. He’s also someone who would have loved to trade places with me. Dash is the son of my dad’s younger brother, Grant. My Uncle Grant is what you would call a free spirit. Though, my dad referred to him as an embarrassment.

After watchingEasy Riderin the ‘70s, Uncle Grant was much more interested in American counterculture than he was in living up to the Bonnaire name. He met and married Dash’s mum because they werein love. A love that didn’t last longer than a few years. So he celebrated his divorce by taking off for the U.S., getting a motorbike, and enjoying the highlife in Los Angeles.

Dash is much more reserved like his Uncle Dean. He also works in the family business. Our whole lives, we’ve joked that we must’ve been switched at birth because we are so much more like our uncles. But the theory is always quashed because Dash is bi-racial, whereas I am not. And there is no way my father would engage in such a scandal as having an affair with his brother’s wife. Dad has a high regard for the institution of marriage.

“Mick’s on a winning streak at the blackjack table. Why don’t you go congratulate him?” Dash asks.

I suck down what’s left of my whiskey. “On his winnings?”

“No, his wedding, you prat,” he says with a pinched expression. I am a prat compared to Mick.

Pushing my empty glass aside, I give the boys a nod. “Right. That’s why we’re here.”

Dash tilts his head. “Why do you always look so down in the mouth whenever we mention Mick’s marriage? Have you got a secret thing for Davina? Regret passing on her at uni?”

I pass him a sideways glance. Being accused of having feelings for my brother’s fiancée is a first. It’s true. She did initially pursue me but there was something about her that didn’t quite do it for me.

One night, a few years back, Mick and I ran into her at a club, and I still had no interest. But she was interested in Mick. And since he put a ring on her finger, he’s obviously interested in her. “No. I don’t care that he’s marrying her. I just don’t understand why everyone’s getting married. First Collin, now Mick. Who’s next? Kent?”

Collin, Kent, Dash, and I share a quiet glance, considering the idea. Then we all bust out a laugh. Kent laughs so hard that a tear puddles at the corner of his eye. “Can you imagine? Me married?” Kent and I have that in common. Just another reason we’ve disappointed our father.

“All right,” I say. “I’ll go find the groom.” I walk out along the cabernet-colored carpet, through the smoky casino, and find Mick scrutinizing his hand of cards behind a stack of chips as tall as Big Ben.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” I say, pulling a wad of cash from my pocket and slapping down five hundred quid.

He beams at me when I take the seat next to him. “Drew, glad you could make it. I think you’re going to like this table.” His wavy hair is pushed over to the side in a footballer undercut that Davina convinced him to get.

“I heard as much.” I pile a few chips for the first hand. “Enjoying your stag so far?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve quadrupled my money in the last hour. It’s been brilliant.” By the look on the dealer’s face, he’s not having nearly as much fun as Mick.

I often wonder if Mick was born under a lucky star. Good fortune always surrounds him. “You’re one lucky bloke.”

“It’s not about luck. It’s about strategy. Besides, Bonnaire’s never lose.” Sure we do. I lost the chance to be in bed with a gorgeous American woman tonight.

“I’m not sure marriage is winning,” I mutter. And while I believe that, I know a part of me wants Mick to be single forever. To have one thing about his existence that isn’t perfect because then being the black sheep won’t seem as isolating.

Mick shoots me a look. “Let me tell you something. You can’t see it now, but one day, you’re going to meet the right girl, and this whole love-is-for-shit act will go right out the window. Trust me.”

No. I don’t think so. Lust, yes. Love affair, yes. But love, actual love, isn’t in the cards for me. I pat his shoulder and chuckle. “Spoken like a betrothed man.”

We return our focus to our hands. Mine is shit, so I fold. Mick lays down his cards. His perfect cards.

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