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Uh, that’s some convoluted logic right there. He must be drunker than I thought. I frown at him.
“It’s Angie’s fault you brought a gold digger who set her sights on the bigger fish?”
David’s fingers curl into a fist on the top of the bar table. At least I had the sense to hide my hands underneath the wood.
“It’s her fault Uncle Bill targeted Robyn and flirted with her. You said so yourself. Uncle Bill didn’t like that she wasn’t nice to Angie.” David is getting worked up now, jabbing his finger in my face. “Seriously, who the fuck evenisthis chick?”
Max knocks David’s hand out of my face before I can remove it for him. “It doesn’t matter who she is. All that matters is that she matters to Uncle Bill. Just keep a civil tongue in your head when you’re around her, or you’ll do something you’ll regret.”
David grumbles, but he’s not an idiot and knows Max is right.
“Excellent! Who’s buying?”
Ah, the dulcet tones of Max’s date. I think she’s a catalog model or billboard. I’m not sure. I am sure I’ve seen her scantily clad, smoldering out of a photo, but it didn’t seem polite to ask where I knew her from.
She’s not alone, Sarah hovering over her shoulder – she’s a bit-part actress on a soap. I have no idea why Ryan invited her for a five-week vacation, but I sense it has less to do with her sparkling conversational skills and more to do with what happens when the bedroom door closes.
Both women are laden with shopping bags that were no doubt paid for courtesy of Ryan and Max’s black Amex cards. Those boys are laying out some serious cash just to get laid regularly on this vacation. I can think of better things to spend their money on, but it’s none of my business.
Beau shuffles out of the booth to let both women in, retaking his seat and glaring at Max, who is indicating he should order them a drink. With a sigh, Beau climbs back to his feet. As he walks off, I have to catch my grin at his muttered words. “I don’t know whyI’mdoing this. It’s not like I’m about to get my dick sucked tonight.”
Angela
The house is bathed in solitude. Bill’s nephews and the two girlfriends are at the local pub, The Prince’s Arms. Angus, their driver, is seated out the front on his phone. He texted Bill about an hour ago.
They’re not my problem. Bill called me into his office when Timothy left. He was the last to head into the local village. He had been ensconced with Bill all morning.
They might like to rib me about not knowing how to take a vacation, but it’s not like they’re that much better. They’ve all had meetings with Bill while we’ve been here, they have that makeshift office set up in the breakfast rooms, and half the time, they’re checking emails on their phones. I’ve seen them.
Bill’s eyes flicker up from his iPad when crunching gravel and sweeping lights fill the room. They must be back from the pub. Bill’s office is along the hallway from the entrance hall, but we can still faintly hear them as they troupe back in, a little louder and more boisterous than usual.
Sarah’s Southern twang is more pronounced when she’s drunk, and Tiffany’s giggles are almost too high pitched for human ears. Bill winces at the sound. “Never get drunk around me, Angie. I think I would lose some respect for you if you started giggling like that.”
I roll my eyes at him. “How can I get drunk around you if you keep turning down my offers to go clubbing?”
“Ha. The day you go clubbing, I’ll come with you.” The sarcasm is strong in his tone, and I bite back a smile. Yeah, okay, so I don’t go clubbing. Maybe I should if he’s going to come. That would be hilarious to see. Despite our moment of levity, now is not the time to joke, because another piercing giggle has Bill casting a dark glare at the door and he drops his eyes back to his new year schedule on his iPad that we were running through.
I should pay attention in case he makes an offhand comment that I need to catch, but I’m still straining to hear what’s happening out there. The lower rumbling of the five male voices peters away, probably toward the drawing room to continue drinking at the well-stocked sideboard bar. The giggles and twangs are still just as loud, so the girls must have not gone with them. That’s… irritating.
Bill pinches the bridge of his nose, but ignores them, so I focus on the task at hand. The primary emphasis of our scheduling is a massive symposium coming up about prescription painkiller abuse that Bill is set on attending in February.
He wants the details ironed out before he informs Ryan that he intends to join him. Bill is a big believer of keeping his nephews on their toes and never gives them much advanced notice of things. I think it’s a power play thing. I’ve almost got all the accommodation and meetings organized, but Bill’s a perfectionist, so he wants to go over everything a million times.
“How is the plan coming along?”
What? I start with surprise, looking up from the email I was checking on my phone uneasily. Oh. That plan. I clear my face, tapping my phone against my thigh. I’ve been trying, but… they’re not making it easy.
“I haven’t much of an opportunity to bond with the girls,” I admit, feeling guilty.
I know he brought me here to bond with them and run them off, but I’ve actually spent most of my time with Bill, doing my usual job. Plus, a fair chunk of the last two weeks I have spent with Tim.
Far too much time considering my number one mission here is to break up all the “unsuitable” relationships. I need to up my game. Bill didn’t bring me here to do a weird “are we flirting or not” dance with his eldest nephew.
“Maybe I should try to sit next to them at dinner?”
I have been thinking about this. It is a little strange that Bill has allocated a place for me at meals between Tim and Beaumont, the two of his nephews who came on this vacation as single men. Wouldn’t it have made more sense for me to be seated either beside one of the girlfriends, or one of the taken guys? That would have made for better bonding opportunities.
Bill waves his hand dismissively at my suggestion. “That would be too obvious. Plus, that’s only part of what I tasked you with.”
