Page 62 of My Dark Prince
I swiveled to Zach. “And you?”
“I dabble in investments.”
“Any companies I know?”
“Dot Cum.”
“Dot Come?” I frowned, racking my brain and coming up short. Must’ve been new. “What’s that?”
“The largest porn site in America.”
No one. Not one of them. Not a single normal person. Not even Frankie, who’d apparently crashed my job and set a fire.
I stared straight at Oliver, who avoided my gaze, even when I kicked his shin under the table. He winced but kept his eyes trained into the bottom of his wine glass.
“It’s such a great site, too.Throbbin’ Hood 7.” Frankie bunched her fingers together and kissed them. “Chef’s kiss.” She shook her head, disappointment tainting her pretty face. “And they say sequels are dead …”
“Well, this has been a lovely dinner.” Oliver faked a smile, slinging an arm around my shoulders. “Aren’t you all glad to welcome back our best friend?”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Oliver
What a shit show.
It dawned on me that my friends were as reliable as one-ply toilet paper. Sure, I trusted them to get me to the hospital during a heart attack. Or bulk up my investment portfolio enough to make the IRS weep.
But I should never have trusted them with Briar – and certainly not when that trust required them to be something they would never be.Normal.
The second I shoved the five of them out of the foyer and onto my driveway, I slammed the door shut, not bothering with the lock. Frankie had, indeed, broken it.Fabulous. My paranoid housemate would kill me if someone waltzed into the house, charged up the stairs, and discovered him moping in the south wing.
“Oliver.”
“So tired.” I yawned, slurring my words, my back still to Briar. “We should sleep early.”
“Why is Sebastian backpacking across Europe?”
“Asia, actually.” I made a show of swaying on our trip to the master bedroom. “Bali, as of two days ago.”
“He should be at the Olympics.”
“Baby, those only happen every four years.”
“I’m serious.” Briar panted, unable to keep up with my purposefully long steps. “What do your parents say about this?”
“Nothing. They love him. He’s the Password Child.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means his name is their password for everything.” I swung open the bedroom door and plopped onto the bed, kicking my shoes off and flinging them wherever gravity sent them. “It’s a miracle their bank accounts haven’t been drained by hackers, really.”
“You’re keeping something from me.”
I am.
Once a bastard, always a bastard.
Instead of answering, I snored loud, groaning in my fake-sleep. She huffed out her frustration and charged away. A minute later, I heard the pitter-patter of the showerhead. By the time she tucked herself into bed and fell asleep, I remained wide awake.
