Page 25 of Dating His Brother

“He hasn’t,” I smirked.

“What do you mean your own brother doesn’t visit where you live?” she asked in an irritated huff. “And what’s the deal with you and your family’s money anyway? Apparently anyone who knows you also knows that you’ve shunned their fortune, or something like that. Why? You obviously need the money.”

“Richard and I aren’t that close,” I mumbled, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it near the open balcony door.

“You smoke?” Her face wrinkled in disgust.

“Only on special occasions.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“I had sex with a beautiful woman and even painted a souvenir,” I told her, growing more frustrated by the second.

“You didn’t answer my other questions…about your family’s money.”

I took a hit off the cigarette and walked over to her nude portrait, picking the large canvas up to turn it around so it was facing the wall—out of sight. Maybe that would make her happy enough to lay off the questions about my family.

“I like knowing that everything I see around me—this apartment, these supplies, the food in the pantry, the clothes on my back…I paid for every bit of it myself. And I made that money doing something I love.”

“But you could take a little of their money and…”

“For someone who can’t start their day without coffee, you’re awfully chatty,” I barked.

Her eyes darkened over me before she snatched up her purse and stormed towards the door. Just before walking out, she stopped and looked towards the painting one more time—even though all either of us could see of it now was the blank back of the canvas and the stretcher bars.

With that last glance, she swung the door open, walked out, and slammed it shut behind her. I looked at my cigarette, which didn’t seem to taste as good as I remembered from the last one I had. I chucked it out onto the balcony and went back to the painting, flipping it around all over again.

I paced back and forth in front of it with one arm folded across my chest and the other hand wrapped around my chin. I stared at the damn thing until I couldn’t stand it anymore, and quickly grabbed my coat to head out to the pub.

But even the bar and a few beers didn’t offer any relief. Because a half hour after I arrived, none other than Isabella herself appeared on the television. Out of an act of masochism, I asked the bartender to turn it up so I could hear what the gossip reporter was saying about her.

Millionaire heiress and high society “It” girl Isabella Landson appears to have it all…except for love. But popular dating app Heartstring suggests that they can fix that problem for her. They are coining her their first ever bachelorette and will be following her dating life for the next month. It all culminates in a big event at which Isabella will hopefully announce that she has fallen in love with one of the eligible bachelors selected for her. The bachelors in the running are every bit as glamorous and envied as Ms. Landson herself—each of them boasting their own impressive fortune and successful career, not to mention their incredibly good looks that are enough to make any woman swoon. The pool of potential suitors for the wealthy socialite princess, who is prone to a life of partying and jet-setting, are enough to make any woman on earth envy Isabella…even more than we all did before this intriguing campaign began.

“Psh,” I moaned and grunted, chugging more of my beer.

The bartender threw his rag over his shoulder, looking from the TV back to me. “Didn’t I see you with her before? That Isabella chick?”

“No one is with Isabella Landson,” I groaned, feeling a little drunk after throwing back so many too fast. I pointed a finger in the air. “You hear me? No one. Not really.”

“Yeah, alright Daws,” he scowled. “I think it’s about time for you to go home and sleep it off.”

That would have been the smart thing to do, but I didn’t. I stayed at the bar and kept drinking, then drank some more when I got home. It all resulted in one hell of a hangover the next morning. Which would have been more tolerable if I didn’t have to go by the gallery to pick up my check. At least I would be able to catch up on rent and get my landlord off of my back for a little while.

But the morning got even worse when I walked in and saw none other than my brother standing there, talking to one of the workers.

“Ah, Dawson,” he smiled wide. “Funny running into you again. What’s this? Twice in one week? We haven’t spent this much time together since we were kids,” he laughed.

“And whose fault is that?” I grumbled under my breath.

“What was that?” he asked, cupping his ear.

But I was distracted by the workers who were busy taking down one of my paintings and exchanging some information with Richard.

“I thought that painting sold to someone else,” I puzzled, scratching my head.

“I had the gallery contact them and negotiate me buying it off of them for a slightly higher price,” he explained.

“I didn’t realize you liked my work so much,” I scoffed, knowing that was definitely not the case.

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