Page 29 of The Billionaire's Fake Wife
A chorus of snickers greets that.
Like I said, assholes, each and every one of them.
I stalk to the bar, pour myself two fingers of the whiskey and toss it back.
"You gonna share?" Saint prowls over.
"Get your own."
"Why should I, when…" He snatches the glass from me, "...it’s so much more satisfying to take what’s yours?" He sets the empty glass on the bar counter with a thump.
A slow burn builds inside of me. Saint has always managed to rile me up the wrong way. Bastard enjoys it, probably because we’ve been competing with each other since the day we met. On the first day of kindergarten, when he’d been knocking a ball around the yard in front of our school, I’d taken the ball from him and run. He’d pursued me.
He hadn’t stopped since. Neither had I. No wonder he’d ended up a lawyer, and me a banker. Neither of us had much going for us in the good will department.
"Sore loser, huh?"
"I am not the one holding an empty glass."
"Because I won the last bet?" He smirks.
"I won the three before that."
"You were on a lucky streak."
I drum my fingers on my chest, "You’re hurting my feelings."
"Not since you decided to pursue Mary Jane Nokes in sixth grade."
"You barely noticed her." I crack my neck.
"I didn't... until—"
"She succumbed to my charms," I widen my stance. "which, you have to admit, was a bloody given."
He stabs his finger in my chest. "Don’t provoke me, you chutiya."
"Settle down children." A new voice sounds. "Would have thought you'd have found a more mature way to fight out your differences by now, huh?"
I turn to the entrance of the room. A tall, broad shouldered man, stands inside the doorway. He has dark, closely-cropped hair, a scar down one cheek, and a tattoo peeking up his neck, enclosed in a priest’s collar.
"Edward." I step toward him, Saint at my heels, "Didn’t think you'd make it."
"And miss the chance to redeem the souls of the most debauched men on this planet?" He clicks his tongue..
My grin widens, "Life treating you well, Father?" I grip his shoulder.
"Not as good as it’s treating you sinners, apparently." He surveys the room, taking in the furniture. The conference table that had been converted to a pool table, the deep-set leather sofa, the fireplace, the wet bar, the floor to ceiling bookcase.
"You like?"
He angles his head. "Nice one, Sin. Almost as beautiful as the woman I ran into who was in such a hurry to get away that she took the stairs going down."
Edward hates elevators because... reasons.
I knit my eyebrows, "Tiny, curvy, pink hair and a face so cute you take an instant dislike to it?"
"Dislike is not quite the word I’d use, but if that’s what you want us to believe." He raises his shoulders.
