It had even been worth the trade for a while, until her arse of a stepfather began to tear her down. I couldn’t stop myself from getting involved.
“Oh, fuck it,” I mutter, flinging back the duvet. I’m going to find my girl.
EVIE
“Are you gonna take that shot?”
I look up, dragged back to the present and out of my messy head.
“I went to sleep with my eyes open,” I say, smiling across at Bob, the night porter.
“I thought you were studying which was the best shot.” He turns back to the beer tap he’s tinkering with. “I’d pot the red in the middle pocket, myself.”
“Thanks.” I pick up my glass, the whisky warming my throat and my chest. It’s an acquired taste, whisky. It’s also a taste I’m not sure I’ve yet acquired, but it’s better than the warm milk I’d convinced myself might help me sleep.
I’d tossed and turned after Oliver dropped off to sleep, but given there was no milk in the suite’s kitchen, I thought I might sneak into the hotel kitchen instead. At least until I found Bob in the hotel residents’ bar, complete with a pool table. Although, according to Bob, the hotel’s owner prefersbilliards. I didn’t mention I could shake the owner awake to check.
I set my glass on a nearby table, having already been frowned at for putting it on the edge of the pool—billiards—table. It’s gone two in the morning, and I pick up my cue and the square of blue chalk as I distract myself from the thoughts I don’t want. I take aim, and the balls gothwackas they fly across the baize, the red ball tipping into the middle pocket.
“Well done.” I slowly straighten at the compliment that’s not in Bob’s voice. “We have a pool shark in our midst.”
“I believe it’s calledbilliards.” My gaze slides Bob’s way as my mouth tips apologetically. The old man shakes his head, amused.
“Billiards sharkdoesn’t quite have the same ring to it,” Oliver says.
I find myself chuckling, though I wince as the weighted end of the cue strikes the floor harder than I’d intended.
“What’s so funny,” he asks, strolling closer.
I scrunch my nose. “You have bed hair.”
He reaches up and slides his hand through his hair, a sudden warmth rising in my chest. For once, it’s not the tight flex of his physique. It’s the affection in his eyes and the way that he’s dressed. The eccentric billionaire, wandering his hotel, his hair askew, dressed in navy pajama pants.And a T-shirt too.
“I left you a note. I couldn’t sleep.”
“I didn’t see a note. It was probably victim to Bo’s rear end.”
“Oh, no.”
He comes to stand next to me, adopting a low, confidential tone. “I almost mistook his tail for your hair.”
“Yikes.”I pull another face, though it softens as his hand cups my cheek.
“You should’ve woken me.”
“So we can both lament my parentage?”
Oliver’s expression flickers into sympathy, and I tighten my grip on the cue as my heart tip-taps.
“Families are complicated.”
“Are they? Mine seems pretty simple. Toe the line, or get ridiculed. Why do they have to be so ...”
“Set in their ways?”
“Obsessed with money. So arrogant. Why do the wealthy think money makes them better than everyone else?”
His mouth cants, and he half turns, leaning back against the table. “Arrogance lives at all levels of financial status,” he says carefully. “Wealth is just an amplifier.”
