Mr. Mitchell Billionaires' Club Book 2 - Raylin Marks Page 0,4
thing I needed—especially after my brother’s docuseries had thrown the media into our private lives—was this woman, who married for money, in my life. I didn’t need her husband…shit, who did she marry? If it was someone who came from money and power, chances were, I knew him. He was probably one of our investors. Jesus, I had to get her and myself the hell out of this dangerous situation.
Once Julia’s driver took her away, I had my driver take me to Delia’s. Thanks to Jules—um, Julia, now—I had to change into one of the spare suits I kept in the office. The suit was reserved for incidents like accidentally spilling soup down the front of my shirt, or having coffee spilled on me, or when a stark-raving mad married woman climaxed on my lap…things like that.
Once that debacle was behind me, I was at Delia’s and walking to our usual table in the corner where the guys were. I sat at the table, grateful the waiter was already bringing my usual drink—the bourbon I desperately needed to help put the events of tonight behind me.
“Still pissed that you have to hold the impromptu meeting tomorrow?” Alex chuckled, running his hand over his smoothed-back, dark blond hair.
“When are you going to cut that mop off your head?” I asked, noting the new style he was sporting.
“Yeah, you’re still in a pissy mood.” He took a sip of his scotch.
I pulled my bourbon to my lips after ordering swordfish and steamed vegetables, suddenly starved by the aroma of food filling the room.
“Remember Julia?” I asked, eying him and Collin, my brother’s closest friend. Truth be told, all four of us had been close since college.
“Julia Dunlap?” Collin asked.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding toward the waitress in gratitude for my freshly poured water. “She stopped by tonight.”
“Then why the hell are you so irritated?” Alex chuckled. “Did Jules break the cardinal rule of you not fucking chicks in your office?”
“Fuck off,” I snapped. “No. She got married recently, and then she tried to break the cardinal rule.” I half smiled at how stupid I sounded with my mandate that I would never have sex in my office. To do so seemed tacky on all levels, though, in my personal opinion.
“Married?” Collin practically choked on his gin.
“Um-hm.” I took another sip, letting the warmth of the bourbon calm my nerves after sliding down the back of my throat. “She tried to act as though nothing had changed.”
“Probably because you’re the best fuck she ever had.”
“Funny, Alex.” I sighed. “She actually admitted that she married for money, of all the damn things.”
“So, he cries into his bourbon because he can’t fuck a married woman,” Collin remarked sarcastically.
“Despite what the media blasted about my brother and me, one thing is certain. We never fucked married women.”
“It’s almost like a curse.” Collin snickered. “A billionaire home wrecker? That shit would definitely swing the media back your way again.”
“No shit,” I answered while glancing around the room.
Holy Hell, I thought when my eyes caught the bright blue eyes of the girl with pitch-black hair who was on my flight from Los Angeles. Avery had a nutcase of an ex on her hands, but after she loosened up on the plane, I fell under some crazy hypnotism she worked with those eyes and the stunning sharp features of her face. I would be lying if I said she didn’t stick with me, and I wish I’d taken her up on her offer to have sex on the plane. She was only teasing, but I’d fantasized about it more times than I wanted to admit since I’d been in London.
Now, here she sat—by herself—in one of the most lavish restaurants around, and one that was not easy to get access to. Especially for the type of woman she led me to believe she was. A single mom, getting away from her shitty life with a paid vacation by her foster sister.
“Jimmy.” Alex snapped his fingers at me as I stared at the woman. “Are you checking her out too?”
I looked back at the table as my plate was being placed in front of me. “Okay, I guess tonight is a game of memory for the three of us, and I’m the one asking the questions.”
“Don’t tell me you know who she is,” Collin said.
“Remember me mentioning that, on the flight out here, I ran interference for a chick with some douche, ex-fiancé?”