Page 28 of Billionaire Romance

“Hey little brother,” he says, ignoring Chris’s question and zeroing in on me. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

“Uhm, yeah,” Chris stammers, like he’s been caught off guard. “This is my friend. Her name is Weaver. Weaver, my brother Ryan.”

I extend my hand to shake Ryan’s and he brings it to his lips, leaving the faintest trace of saliva on the back of my hand that I discreetly wipe away on the back of my skirt. Chris did not exaggerate when he described his brother. The guy is a pig.

“Well we’ll just be on our way…” Chris says, but Ryan talks over him, slinging an arm over each of our shoulders and leading us to the bar.

“Just one drink,” Ryan pleads. “I want to get to know your friend. Anyway, the night’s young.”

Chris shoots me an apologetic look and mouths “Sorry.” Ryan leads us to a tall table by a window; he must have seen us getting out of the cab. There’s a plate with the remnants of his dinner on the table: the crust of a hamburger bun and some streaks of grease from what I assume were fries. Two empty beer bottles flank the plate. The scene screams of desperation. Ryan and I hop up on the stools, but Chris stands, leaning on the table.

“Three whiskeys, neat,” Ryan yells to the bartender. He looks up with disdain from behind the bar, and I imagine what it must be like for Chris, continuously having to apologize for this oaf.

“Weaver? Are you from New York?” Ryan asks. “And how do you know this jackass?” He jabs Chris in the chest with his thumb.

Before I can answer, Chris pipes up. “Weaver and I met in Paris,” he says curtly. “Through mutual friends.”

This isn’t exactly a lie. We did meet in Paris and do have acquaintances in common, but by several degrees and they didn’t introduce us. I don’t know how I’d prefer Chris introduce me given the circumstances, but something about the way he’s speaking leaves me uncomfortable. It also occurs to me that even though Chris and Ryan had dinner together the other night, Ryan hasn’t even heard my name. Chris hadn’t mentioned me to Ryan at all the other night?

I grow more uneasy when Chris asks Ryan how his business dinner was tonight. I listen as Ryan recites some meaningless numbers to Chris but soon, I start tuning them out. Is Chris intentionally trying to exclude me from the conversation? Does he think I’ll start talking about my cam-girl business and start calling him WildCaptain in front of his brother? Is he embarrassed by me?

“Where are you from, Weaver?” Ryan asks me, snapping me back to the moment.

“I actually grew up not far from here. My mom still lives on Long Island. I live on the Upper West Side now.”

The bartender brings over our drinks and asks me and Chris whether we want something to eat.

“No, this’ll be fine. We aren’t staying long,” he tells the bartender.

As soon as he leaves the table, Ryan resumes his questions. “What kind of work do you do?”

“God, Ryan,” Chris interrupts. “What’s with the third degree?”

“Dude, I’m just making conversation. Relax,” Ryan replies.

I take a swig of my drink and look Chris straight in the eyes. “I have to agree with Ryan. Relax,” I say with steel in my voice. “I went to school for hotel management and I plan on opening a boutique youth hostel, a new spin on the budget concept. Now if you’ll excuse me for a minute, I have to find the ladies’ room.”

I walk toward the back of the bar, and when I get to the bathroom door, I hear Chris calling my name behind me. “Weaver,” he says, reaching out for me. “Hold up.”

I spin around but I don’t move from the door. It opens behind me and I step aside slightly to let a woman pass.

“I thought I’d give you a break from monitoring me,” I say icily.

“That’s not what I’m doing, I swear,” he says, contrition in his voice. He runs a hand through his hair, and his expression is pained. “I’m not trying to hide you from my brother, Weaver. I’m trying to shield you from him. This night was so perfect, and he just ruins everything. All I wanted was to take you upstairs and…be with you.” He reaches out and traces a finger down my jawline. “I’m sorry.”

“Tell me honestly: are you embarrassed by me?” I ask.

“How could I ever be?” he softly whispers, leaning down to plant a searing kiss on my lips. He pulls away from me, leaving me wanting more, and walks back out to the bar. My lips tingle from where he touched them and I stand there, staring after him.

I follow him back to the table and find a young woman has joined Ryan. Joined may not be the right word. Ryan practically has her trapped; his hand is positioned on the wall beside her head and her eyes dart from side to side, looking for an exit.

Chris is already trying to defuse the situation, trying to help the poor girl and simultaneously save face for his brother. “Hey Ryan, why don’t we all sit down to talk? Give her space, dude,” he says, placing his hand on his shoulder to guide him to the table. I’m not so inclined to spare Ryan’s dignity, and I do what I’ve been dying to do since I set eyes on the man.

“Oh shoot,” I say mildly, and toss what’s left of my drink at the back of Ryan’s head, dousing his hair so the remnants of whiskey and ice dribble down his neck and the back of his shirt. He spins around and raises his voice at me. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I tripped,” I say flatly. Ryan’s prey is grinning at me. She reaches for her purse and walks around the table. She leans over and whispers in my ear, “Thanks sis,” and sashays out of the bar.

“Always so clumsy, Weaver,” Chris says, throwing some bills down on the table and hardly suppressing his laughter. “She’s like a bull in a china shop, this one.”

I’m already halfway out the door when Chris catches up with me, and shouts back over his shoulder, “Send me the dry-cleaning bill, buddy.” By the time we arrive at the elevator bank, we’re both laughing through tears.

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