AllFreeNovel
Share Us
This adorable asshole. “Of course. I’d expect nothing less from my charming husband.”
“You’ve always brought out the best in me,” he agrees sarcastically. “But to answer your other question, I’m not a drug dealer. The billions I have, I did not earn.”
My brows pinch, and I find myself even more confused. “But I thought—”
Van rolls his eyes. “To get through these next six years, maybe it’s best if you let me do all the thinking.”
I’m going to poison his aftershave and patent it. I, too, can become a billionaire. Imagine the demand for such a product. Women everywhere would want a free sample.
“Are you even listening?”
I sigh at the use of his authoritative attorney voice. “I’m sorry, lover. It’s just that your voice seems to be hypnotic… hypnotically annoying.” Batting my eyelashes, I fold my hands like an obsessed little girl under my chin. “But please, continue wasting my time and avoiding my questions with petty insults.”
Let him do all the thinking. Pft. Please. Asshole.
“I almost forgot,” he muses, unbothered.
Oh, I can’t wait to hear this. “You forgot what?”
“That you get mean when you’re tired.”
“I do not—” My traitorous mouth uses the opportunity to widen into the biggest yawn.
“You were saying?” The bastard has the nerve to laugh.
“You know what?” I say defensively. “I don’t even care—”
“Oil,” he interrupts. “Enoch’s family left him an oil empire that he shares with us.” Emotionless eyes blink several times as he pulls in a shuddering breath. “That’s where our billions come from.”
I don’t miss his usage of the word our. But that little nugget of information is a thought for another day. I have a more urgent question I need answered first.
“Why is Enoch a judge, then? Who runs the oil empire?”
I’m not saying Enoch shouldn’t follow his passion, but why work? Enoch looks well past the age of retirement.
Van hesitates for a moment—likely deciding how much information he can trust me with. “Enoch believes money is not the same thing as wealth. He works because wealth is earned, not given.”
“Yet he gave you all that same wealth?” I’m so confused. “None of you wanted to dabble in the oil business?”
“No.”
I rear back. Van Gogh would have shocked me less if he had set a billion dollars of cash on fire before me. “No?” Blinking, I try to wake up from this crazy dream. “You mean you rather work for shitty money with the government who failed you?”
His jaw ticks, and I can tell I hit a nerve. “You should nap,” he says. “I insist.”
“You mean, you demand?” Let’s label this as what it is. We have enough bullshit between us already.
He tips his chin as he leads me with his hand on my lower back into the mansion. “Do you need my assistance finding the bedroom?”
“Depends,” I say, in the same dick-head voice he’s using. “Do you need my assistance pulling that giant stick out of your ass?”
I don’t wait for him to answer. We all know a wench and 4X4 truck couldn’t dislodge that stick. Turning from his touch, I find the hall I hope leads to the stairs where I slept last night—I refuse to call it our bedroom—hold up my middle finger, and wave goodbye.
Fucker. I hope Biscuit coughs up the biggest hairball ever on his expensive furniture.
I wake up cold—way too cold, considering I got lost and ended up in the basement. My pride wouldn’t let me turn back and walk past Van Gogh. I didn’t need his assistance finding the bedroom in his castle of a home. I would figure it out eventually—or draw myself a map later. Either way, I didn’t need him or his fantastic memory of my grumpy moods when I missed my afternoon power naps.
“Stop picking at your nails.”
