Page 15 of Filthy Mouth
Arsehole.
The bar was crowded, so I ordered two rounds before I messaged him.
Me:This is what I get after being there for you every step of the way. Dickhead.
It wasn't so bad—if he didn't come, it meant all four drinks were mine, but my phone vibrated.
Magnus:It’s Daddy Dickhead to you. I’m on my way. I had a quick tryst with Iris in the office and might've got carried away. You know how it is.
Me:Who the fuck calls it a tryst? Buy your own drink when you get here.
I lifted my drink, closed my eyes, and took a long sip, savouring the first taste before I downed the rest.
Poppy Sarah Blythe—The Winborne heiress.
Daughter of Iona Winborne and Sir Isaac Blythe.
Not a prostitute, but the owner of Iona Designs.
Twenty-five years old, and the owner of the mouth I’m infatuated with.
Once my PI knew her name, he dug deep and earned his fee. I may have knuckled down on him and threatened his manhood. I didn't have all the information, but the basics painted a promising picture. She was nothing like either of my ex-wives.
I lifted the second glass and watched the people around me. Many looked like they’d come straight from work. There were a few couples, and the majority of them looked happy.
My dirty Cinderella didn't need a Prince Charming in her life, but perhaps she had a taste for villains.
By the time Magnus came, I was on my fourth drink.
“You drank these in the last fifteen minutes?” he quizzed me like a disappointed mother.
“Yes, Mummy. Do you have a problem with that?”
“No, I don't. You're a grown ass man. But I do enjoy judging you.”
I gave him both fingers, but he chuckled and went to the bar.
He was always cheerful—a changed man since Iris.
I wanted a slice of happiness more desperately than I could admit out loud—not a cheating wife or one who wanted me for my wallet. Someone I could commit to and receive the same level of commitment from. Years of keeping an emotional distance from women clearly wasn’t the way forward.
I was lost in thought when I noticed Magnus standing there, watching me. My back went up the moment I saw his brain churning, forming a conclusion.
“I’m here for you, Benedict. Tell me everything,” he said quietly, placing the bottle on the table.
My shoulders sagged, and I told him everything. The alcohol loosened my tongue, but as he sat there—nodding, pouring our drinks, listening to every word—I remembered why we were still friends after all these years.
??????
“So you want me to call Iona Designs and request a private consultation at your house… under my name?” Ella said, glancing up from her notepad.
I nodded, keeping my expression blank.
“And it has to be the owner,” she continued, her eyes flicking back to the pad.“Miss Poppy Blythe. Who just so happens to share a surname with Sir Isaac Blythe.”
“Perhaps I was too hasty with that four per cent raise,” I drawled.
“No backsies,” she snorted.“Fine. But when this shit ends up in court, I’m not taking the stand for you.”
