King:Las Vegas Bad Boys(7)

Geoffrey: Look, don't get Mum's hopes up. We both know you'll flake out. Don't put her through the disappointment.







I know our father is going to give it to Geoffrey. He's the responsible son, the reliable son, the really fucking boring son.

Geoffrey: Don't be an ass. Everyone knows you're Mum and Dad's favorite.  But when you let Mum down, and don't show, it screws with my life.

Me: Oh, I'm screwing plenty of things, but your life isn't one of them.

I pocket my phone, every muscle in my body tensing from the exchange.

Why do I let Geoffrey get under my skin so easily? Why do I care so much that I might disappoint our mum? Again.

Maybe because, as much as I think Geoffrey is a complete prick, he also  has that little, nagging thing everyone seems to want. Their parents'  bloody approval.

I've avoided that typical sentiment for years, but Dad's voice today on  the phone, the tinge of sadness he expressed over the idea of me not  coming through for him, proving my worth somehow, made me want something  I don't think I've had for over a decade, possibly longer.

Not that me showing up at the family estate in Hertfordshire is going to  somehow vouch for some personal awakening. Because I haven't had one.

But Geoffrey just being handed the family business, as if he's entitled to it, rubs me the wrong way.

The elevator door slides open and I walk into Ace's foyer.

"What's up, motherfucker?" Ace calls from the kitchen. I walk in and McQueen fist-bumps me, and Jack hands me a beer.

"What, no hot cocktail waitresses tonight?" I ask, taking the drink.

"Fuck that," Ace says. "The den is all set up for us. Emmy thinks if  another hot waitress works the game tonight one of you bastards might  find a woman."

"I don't want any woman, not for a long time," Jack says as we make our  way into the dining room where Ace's dealer Carla has set up the poker  table. A waitress in fishnets is setting up the wet bar in the corner.  But I'm not interested in her. She looks nothing like Claire ... which,  fuck? Why am I even comparing them?

"What happened now with Ashley?" McQueen ask warily.

"After the wedding, she got pissy again about me not proposing yet. She kneed me in the fucking balls. It was bad."

"And are you still together?" I ask.

Jack shrugs. "I don't know what we are. But we're meeting in L.A. for  brunch in a few days. She says that's what real couples do."

"Fuck that," I say, taking a swig of my IPA. "My parents say the same  fucking thing. Apparently my brother and his girlfriend are royalty  because they go to the country club on Saturdays for Bloody Marys and  golf."

"Meanwhile, we play hard, all night." McQueen says, laughing, as Carla deals us a hand.

"Not Ace, not anymore," Jack reminds us. "How was the honeymoon, bro?"

While we play several hands, Ace fills us in on Tahiti and I keep getting texts from my brother.

He won't drop the whole thing about letting Mum know I'm not coming, and  I'm sure his girlfriend Fiona is just feeding him the obnoxious texts.

"Dude, what the fuck is going on over there?" Ace asks, as I pull my phone out once more.

"It's my brother." I explain the phone call with my father earlier, how  he's willing to give his company to either Geoffrey or me. In a week.

"Holy fuck," Jack says. "He's just gonna give The King's Diamond to one of you? Just like that?"

I sigh. "Shit, I guess. My parents are old school, but the good kind.  You know how some people actually have their priorities in check? That's  my mum and dad. They don't care about fame or fortune. They want to  wear their old sweaters and go on walks with their dogs and grow old  together."

"Pretty fucking sweet," McQueen laughs. "And you come from them?"

"Right?" I shake my head.

"Do you want to fight Geoffrey for it?" Ace asks. "Would you even want the company? If you could have it?"

"Dad would never give it to me. Although he says he wants me to show up  and prove my worth, the truth is that I've got nothing on Geoffrey. He's  has Fiona, has been working for the business for five years. Meanwhile,  I've been...."

"Fucking pussy and gambling your inheritance," Ace says, laughing.

"Exactly. There's no point in sugar-coating the truth. I've been playing hard for years. Can't make that up in a week."

"But would you want to?" Jack asks. "If you could?"

I look around the room at my friends. The fuckers who showed up, and  stayed put. The guys who, for some reason, decided that even if I was a  complete bag of shit they had my back. If I can't be honest with them, I  can't be honest with anyone.







"If I could have it, I'd take it," I admit. "Granted, I have no fucking  clue what owning a company means ... but part of me wants something to  work for, fight for. It's why I'm still negotiating for this property in  Vegas. Sure, life is good. But is it great? I don't think so."

"Fuckin-A. This got heavy," Jack says, laughing, as he folds his hand.

"You gotta go for it, man," Ace says, taking a whiskey neat from the waitress. "Shit, show them that you're what they want."

I narrow my eyes, knowing this is not an easy task. "So I just need to  show my father I'm something besides a fuckup. I need to show him I'm  responsible and a fucking family man. Right. Easy."

I take a drink of beer, suddenly tired of being reminded why I can't  have what Geoffrey has. I've spent too long fighting it to try and get  it back now.

I don't want to feel like a fucking failure tonight, I want to feel like a King.

Just then, Emmy, Tess, and Claire walk in the room.

And seeing Claire is just what I need.





Claire


After Ace texts Emmy a quick reply telling her that no, Gwen is not in  the building, we are completely sidetracked from my near-gush about  Landon and me hooking up.

Which might be for the best, seeing as there would have been a dozen  questions that followed my big reveal. Such as, why the hell did you  leave before you screwed?

I don't want to make up even more lies, so I decide it's best that the topic got dropped.

We eat dinner and listen to Emmy tell us ridiculously fantastic details  of her honeymoon. The sex on the beach and the candlelit dinners and the  couple's massages in their little cabana overlooking the South Pacific.

It is utterly drool-worthy, and I fight off any feelings of I-wish-that-were-me by drinking the bottle of Prosecco. By myself.

When we enter the penthouse post-dinner to look at Emmy's wedding pictures, I'm more than a little tipsy.

"Hey, boys," Emmy says, sashaying into the den like she owns the place. It takes me a moment to remember that she actually does.

Ace didn't even ask her to sign a pre-nup. Because they are totally and completely the real thing.

"Hey babe," Ace says, pulling her to him. She falls into his lap  effortlessly, and I look away, because all I can see when I look at them  is bliss. That amount of perfection is a little hard to swallow.

When I turn, though, my eyes fall on Landon.

And, shit, he looks amazing.

His shirtsleeves are rolled up, revealing the tattoos on his forearms.  He looks me up and down as if something is on his mind, because he tips  his head ever so slightly, a slight grin on his face.

When I left the condo tonight, sleeping with Landon was nowhere on my mind  …  but now it's all I want.

I want to finish what we started.

"You boys almost done?" Emmy asks.

"Almost," McQueen says, eyeing his piles of chips. "I've schooled this table."

"Too bad JoJo didn't come, after all, to see you win tonight," Landon jokes.

"McQueen, you have a girl?" Tess asks, eyes wide, always wanting to know the scoop. "When did that happen?"

"No, I don't." McQueen shoves Landon in the arm. "Don't start rumors. Tess is susceptible to believing anything she hears."

"Be nice," Emmy says. "I'm gonna show the girls the photos, and then  we'll all have a drink, okay?" She plants a kiss on Ace's mouth. The  kind of kiss you can only get away with when you've just returned from  your honeymoon.

Sitting on her sofa, she opens her MacBook and scrolls through hundreds  of gorgeous shots. She and Ace really do look like they belong on the  cover of a magazine.

When I tell her so, she replies, "Oh, actually, Vegas Weekly is featuring us next month."

"No shit?" I shake my head.

"Look," Tess says. "See, Claire, you and Landon did look cute dancing together."

"You really did," Emmy says. "You know your moves."

"I was bit obsessed with Pride and Prejudice as a tween. That's why I  learned the waltz. I'm a dork, I know," I say, feeling lightheaded from  the champagne. Lightheaded in a good way. In a way that makes me crane  my neck to see if the guys are almost done with poker.

I want to see Landon again.

Another half hour passes, and the guys still haven't emerged from the  den. Realizing my dreams of some hook-up with the hottest guy I've ever  seen naked aren't going to come true, I let the girls know I should  probably head home.

I have a hall pass from my mother, but no one to use it with.