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“Ari—”
“You’re wasting your time, Phoebe.”
She lets out a long sigh.
“Work doesn’t stampede all over your heart and it sure as hell doesn’t backstab you.” Anger bubbles up inside me.
“Arianne, please—”
“I’m sure you have a lot to do since you landed not long ago. I’m going to go head out and work on my tan.” And clear my head.
“Arianne, don’t shut the door in my face,” Phoebe says. “By letting Chance and his trashy girlfriend win, you’re punishing yourself.”
So she keeps reminding me.
“It’s called self-preservation,” I say. “We’ll talk to each other tomorrow.”
I hang up before she can argue.
Chapter 5
Beckett
I follow the maître d’hôtel through a bustling bar for a late-night drink with a friend. The spacious room mirrors the décor reminiscent of old-fashioned British gentlemen’s clubs, a close resemblance to the well-appointed style of one of my favorite hangouts in LA—The Study, the private gentlemen’s club annexed to the Quintus Hotel.
A tall, elegant man stands up as I approach, a broad smile already stretching his lips.
We greet each other with a bro hug.
“Beckett Christensen,” he says, stepping away from me.
“Prince Easton,” I say.
“Just Easton,” he says with a laugh. “Brielle isn’t my wife yet.”
“Speaking of the stunning beauty, how is she?” I ask.
“Perfect in every sense of the word.”
“I can’t believe you’re off the market.” And I still can’t believe your fiancée is a bona fide princess with royal blood running through her veins.
“I’m in love.” I swear his eyes twinkle. He’s pussy whipped. It seems to be a contagious disease running rampant in my circle these days. Lucky for me, I’m immune. “I was never a bad boy like you, Christensen. I’m just a finance geek who got really lucky.”
Geek? He means, genius.
“I can’t believe you’re going to be a bona fide prince,” I say. “Once it’s official, do we have to bow in your presence, Your Grace?”
“I’ll expect nothing less,” he says.
“Don’t hold your breath, Winchester.”
We both laugh.
“Sit down,” he says.
A waitress approaches.
Easton suggests the cheese and charcuterie platter, an assortment of croquettes, and the meatball flatbread as appetizers. I don’t argue. We both opt for top shelf vodka on ice as a drink.
