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Then there were my nightly activities. Not the ones where I end up coming all over someone. For a reason I can’t fathom, I’ve not been to my club. To fight the frustration of needing rough sex, I’ve been tagging along with Lachlan while he punishes eejits who steal from us. Even taking part in pounding the daylights out of our prey to give Lachlan a smoke break.
If anything, it reminds me of the man I used to be. With those punches, I’m making a real difference in protecting our interests. Not just expanding them in an expensive suit and sucking up to sleazy bankers.
I’m still figuring out where I will find time to parade my new fiancée around town to show off the deal I made.
I gave Isabella a credit card, and she signed up for online classes through her college and works every day in the library. She doesn’t say much to me when our paths cross. It feels like a lifetime ago when we had that moment in the restaurant. I had easily seen me taking her home and pushing her down onto my bed to…
That’s where I get stuck. Because my feelings are not just wrapped up in lust. Something cracked my heart. I know the difference. I felt it. And then I wanted to get as far away from it as I could.
When I overheard a phone call with Shea about this appointment with the personal shopper, I sent Riordan to talk about zoning issues with the developer and offered to escort my bride-to-be. To challenge myself. If nothing else, to prove I can do this without feeling anything.
Now, I want to put a bullet in my head to stop from feeling. I sit, watching Isabella go through racks of expensive dresses, pants, and shoes. She moves beautifully, so poised. Despite walking around the house in tight jeans and thin tops with frilly sleeves because of the heat—all things I’ve come to appreciate because, after all, she’s a college girl—she’s pure elegance and class.
“Where will we go on our honeymoon?” she asks, wearing a blue coat dress, holding something long, floral, and skimpy.
I dig my fingers into my eye sockets. “We’ll have to wait on a honeymoon. There’s too much going on right now. I can’t leave if a war is going to break out.”
The way she exhales kills me. This girl might slit my throat in the middle of the night—unless I keep her tied up in my bed. My cock stirs, and I feel shame for associating these vile thoughts with awife.
“Excuse me.” Erin, my sister’s personal shopper, pops her head into the VIP salon room. “I was able to get the photographer over here. I didn’t say anything in case it fell through.”
“Photographer?” I rise slowly, my blood pressure going up, as well. All I think is paparazzi, and, well, I hurt those people when they try to photograph me at fundraisers.
“For your wedding. Shea knew you wouldn’t want a traditional engagement shoot.” Erin glances at Isabella, who blushes.
“Did she, now?” I cross my arms over my chest in protest, not because I want engagement photos that will sit in a drawer somewhere, but because my sister made an assumption about me. And looks to have conspired with Isabella on the matter.
Isabella turns to face me. “I said I didn’t think you wanted that. But your sister planned a slideshow for the wedding. I didn’t have any pictures of me as a baby since…” Her breath halts in her lungs, and she turns around.
Feeling like an asshole, I go to her and pull her into my arms from behind. “It’s okay. There were eight of us in that house. I’m sure no one can figure out who the hell I was as a baby,” I attempt a joke.
She snickers and turns around. “Even though our wedding isn’t real, Shea has a portfolio to maintain. She can’t skimp. Especially for her billionaire brother. So, I said maybe just do some photojournalistic pictures of us together.” She looks up at me with big eyes, and my heart flutters.
Whoa. What the hell was that?
“Aye,” is all I can manage. I’m so caught up.
“She got Crest Diamonds to send her the security footage from when we bought our rings,” Isabella continues, and I realize now that she’s been doing more than schoolwork with that new laptop and phone I gave her. “She spliced some of the shots from our ring appointment. It’s just something she can play during the cocktail hour.”
This wedding sounds like it means something to Isabella. Her enthusiasm hits a nerve. In a good way. I glance over her shoulder at Erin. “Send in the photographer.”
A team of three people amble into the salon, and my guard goes up immediately. Especially since Erin leaves to take what sounds like an angry call from someone.
“Hi, I’m Alvin,” the lead guy says, sounding nothing like a chipmunk. “I hear we’re not posing?”
“Right,” Isabella says quickly, taking charge. “This is my trousseau shopping, really. My fiancée is a CEO. He’s buying me fancy dresses and shoes for business dinners and fundraisers. The O’Rourkes are very charitable.” She sounds so fucking practiced.
Did I sound like that when I told her I needed her dressed up to be on my arm? CEO, huh? That was a nice touch. She’s smart.
“In fact, right now, I’m asking him what he thinks of this.” Isabella keeps talking and gives a delicate turn. “This is good for brunches. What do you think, honeybun?” Now she’s playing with me.
“Aye.” I sit back down, giving in.
“Okay, we’ll just be off to the side. Ignore us.” Alvin pushes a leather jacket off his shoulders, dropping it lazily onto the floor behind him. No one picks it up. Odd. “And keep up with your fashion show.” He crouches down with a camera, his team of two on his six. One holds up a light reflector and the other, a broad-chested male with an ice-blond flattop, holds his phone up, taking his own photos.
I’m not sure what the hell that’s about, but my sister sent these people. I trust her completely.
Isabella blushes and says to me, “Why don’t we go stand by the rack of clothes. Help me pick out something for the next event you have.”
