Page 2 of Glitterati Omega

“Dreadful,” Rupert murmured, to which the man laughed, almost like he was startled.

“It was,” he said, rounding on Rupert with a twinkle in his eyes. Was it Rupert or was the sun hotter suddenly? “Did you also work in the industry?”

“Ah—no,” he fumbled. “A good friend of mine, though.” He smiled, hoping to deflect further questioning about jobs, seeing as how Rupert was unemployed at the moment.

“I see,” Winston said, pausing as they queued up with the group. His brow furrowed. “Then what’s your claim to sommelier status?”

Morgan beat him to the punch and said, “Roo owns fifteen vineyards.”

Winston blinked. Rupert smiled at Morgan. “Sixteen now, dear—it’s been a while since we’ve spoken, hasn’t it?”

Morgan huffed, their mouth turning down, brows knitting together. “Yeah,” they grumbled, tossing Rupert a dark look, “ithasbeen.”

“Sixteen,” Winston murmured. “That must keep you busy.”

Rupert laughed, then almost winced at how flighty and airheaded he sounded. “Oh no,” he enthused, “I havestafffor that. I just drink the stuff.”

Winston closed his eyes and lifted his brows. “All right then,” he said and turned abruptly to Morgan, leaving Rupert wondering if he’d shoved his foot in his mouth.

Probably. He was exceptionally talented at that.

“Howdy, ya’ll! Circle up for the next tour over here!” A tall, slender person in an identical outfit to the guide he’d seen before waved frantically, and aimless tourists began to flock to them.

“If you don’t mind,” Winston asked, “if you’re not running sixteen vineyards, whatdoyou do in your spare time?”

“I’m trained as a nurse,” Rupert said, and Winston frowned.

Morgan sighed, apparently exasperated. “This is Rupert!” they cried, leaning toward Winston. “You know!”

“I’m afraid Idon’t,” Winston muttered.

Morgan waved a hand. “I talk about him all the time! He goes on missions, he’s withmsf!”

“Oh,” Winston said, like a lightbulb had gone off in his head.

“I’m rather disconcerted to hear you talk about meall the time,” Rupert said, smirking at Morgan, who gave him a playful shove.

“You like it,” Morgan muttered, and Rupert barely stayed upright in his heels. He huffed and crossed his arms.

“Am I really so vain?”

“Yes,” Morgan told him flatly, and Rupert rolled his eyes, shook his head.

“A nurse with sixteen vineyards,” Winston murmured, eyebrows raised like he was trying to puzzle that out.

“Daddy’s money,” Morgan stage-whispered as they leaned toward the lawyer.

“Rude,” Rupert told them, then held up his hands. “Judging from your pronunciation, I’d imagine you should berelativelyfamiliar with my surname—Cullinan.”

Winston’s jaw dropped; his eyes closed; his inhalation was almost audible. Then he shut his mouth and opened his eyes before fixing Rupert with a penetrating stare. “That makes more sense,” he said evenly.

Rupert smiled. “I thought it might.”

Winston returned the smile, but it looked tight, almost painful. Morgan elbowed the two of them, and they joined the back of the group, just in time to grab the last of the flutes of wine. Morgan took a big swig of theirs, earning frowns from both Rupert and Winston.

“What do you think?” Morgan asked, apparently oblivious. “I like this one.”

Rupert grimaced, then tried to school his face—and failed miserably. Winston laughed silently at him. “Absolutely not,” he told Morgan firmly, then set the flute back on the tray when it came around. He smiled at the guide, then leaned in toward Morgan and hissed, “I’ve had better swill in a dive in Johannesburg.”