“It doesn’t matter. This is nothing but mental masturbation,” Lucas says. “I’m not doing it.”
“You’re not?” She stares at him. “But you heard him. If you don’t do it, none of us has a chance.”
“Sorry. I know it’s important to you, but marriage isn’t something I can handle.”
“You don’t have to marry for real,” Elliot says. “Just get a good prenup in place, and you can ditch her after a year.”
Lucas grimaces. “Look how that’s working out for Uncle Salazar.”
“That’s a different situation. Prenups are working fine for our father,” I say. I have no idea what the hell’s going on with Salazar’s marriage, but I’m not letting it mess with Lucas’s head. He’s already messed up enough. “I can even recommend a good lawyer for that kind of stuff.”
“No. It’s not like that.” Lucas gets up. “Sorry I can’t. I gotta go. I have a plane to catch.” He walks out, closing the door behind him with a soft click.
Elliot drags his thick, blunt fingers through his shaggy hair. “Don’t worry. He’ll come around. I’ll talk with him later.”
“You sure?” Elizabeth says, a frown pinching her brow.
“Yup. And I’m so convinced he’s going to come around that I’m starting wife hunting tonight.”
I know what Elliot is doing. He isn’t going to just talk to Lucas. He’s going to marry ASAP to show Lucas that these marriages aren’t something we can just think about, but have to do.
“Sure, why wait? Online dating sites are open twenty-four seven,” Blake says.
“Nah. I’m hitting some strip clubs.” Elliot’s eyes gleam. “I want to check out my future bride in person.”
“Oh, lord.” Elizabeth puts a hand to her forehead. “Just don’t release any tapes. I’m permanently scarred from your last one.”
“Ah, so you watched it. Figures,” Elliot says.
“I saw your name and clicked on it before I knew what it was! Now I need therapy.”
“Why? It was hot,” Elliot says.
I just laugh. He released a sex tape with him fooling around with two very naughty girls. Dad denied it was Elliot—the movie was a bit grainy—but I recognized the tats.
“Not just my opinion.” Elliot jerks his chin my way. “Ryder sent me a bottle of Dom Pérignon.”
“You’re always encouraging him!” Elizabeth shoots me a look full of censure.
“It was a congratulatory gift for doing something that I couldn’t. But let’s get back to business here. Where am I going to find someone I want to marry for a year?” Given my job and status, a stripper’s not going to work.
“Want some of my leftovers?” Elliot says. “They’re so dumb, they won’t know what they’re doing even as they recite the vows.”
Elizabeth’s face scrunches. “That’s really not something to be proud of.”
“Sure it is.” Elliot grins. “You know how hard it is to find a girl that stupid but hot and available?”
“Stop, children. I think I can handle it.” I get up. “Good luck, guys. You’re all gonna need it.”
I duck, laughing, when Elizabeth throws a cushion at me. What can I say? I’m a charming brother.
* * *
Paige
Ryder, the sunglasses back on his face, doesn’t speak as we leave his father’s mansion. The smirk on his lips stays, and he brushes away both the butler’s goodbye and the note he tries to give him.
Sighing, Jarvis hands me the note. It’s written on heavy folded stock paper. “For Mr. Ryder Reed,” he intones.
Nodding, I stuff it into my purse and follow Ryder out.
The moment we’re in the car, heading toward our hotel in D.C., Ryder’s expression turns stony behind the dark lenses, and the muscles in his jaw flex.
“How did it go?” I ask.
“Shitty, of course. It’s Dad.”
“I booked you a suite,” I say. The partition’s up, so the driver can’t hear us. “If you want, I can arrange for a party.”
The offer pops out of my mouth. I’ve never volunteered to do that since every time he has a party, it’s a disaster I need to clean up. But Ryder looks like he can use a distraction.
“No,” he says after a moment. “Text Elliot and see if he’s going to stay here overnight too.”
He doesn’t have to say more. I know what he wants to do.
Ryder’s exceptionally fond of Elliot, although the twin really isn’t the person he ought to be hanging out with when he’s upset. Elliot is an enabler of bad behavior, the devil that sits on your shoulder and says go on, do it. Nothing’s too scandalous for the man, and he does whatever pops into his head.