made him need. It made him realize that of all the things in the world that he could buy with his money and power, Hadley’s love wasn’t one of them.
For a man who’d been so cluelessly wrong about her being a gold digger, he’d never wished so hard that he’d been right. Then she’d be his. Now, she never would be.
He started toward his office door, a little weary from a lack of sleep and deficit of food, his days-old beard starting to itch and his tie feeling more like a noose than anything else. “I gotta get out of here.”
Web fell into line beside him, harder to get rid of than a matchmaking socialite’s mom. “I know exactly where you need to go.”
“I know where the best bottle of scotch in town is, too.” At his penthouse. It was outrageously expensive and impossibly rare. He was going to drink the whole damn bottle as fast as possible so he could forget about Hadley and pass out so his dreams wouldn’t be haunted by her.
Continuing to bulldog his steps, his brother followed him into the executive elevator and glared at him. “You’re not going to find Hadley?”
“It’s too late for that.” It had been too late the moment he’d seen her at the rugby game. He’d fallen and he’d fought it anyway, made every excuse to push her away until he finally did—at least physically. It was too late to really get her out of his head, though. She was a part of him, just like the ranch was a part of her. They could fight it all they wanted, but it wouldn’t change. They were who they were supposed to be, even though it didn’t feel like he was whole without her.
Web yanked Will to a stop as soon as they walked off the elevator and out into the bustling lobby. “You’re a giant chickenshit. You have to go fight for her.”
If only it were that easy. It was too late. “Fuck off, Web.”
Will didn’t wait for a response; he just walked out of the lobby. He didn’t turn right to go out the door where his driver would be waiting. He turned left and went out the Sixth Avenue entrance. The best bottle of scotch might be in his penthouse, but there was no way he could stand to be there right now. The views felt too crowded, the kitchen too quiet, and the bed too big since he got back. So instead he walked into the first door with a neon beer sign and bellied up to the bar.
The bartender gave him a slow up-and-down, pausing to stare at Will’s hat as if he’d never seen one in real life before. “What’ll it be, cowboy?”
Fuck the scotch. He needed something more like bare-knuckle boxing than golf on the highlands. “The biggest, highest-proof shot you’ve got.”
The bartender didn’t ask twice; he just reached for a bottle of clear liquid on the bottom shelf and poured a double. “Woman or family?” he asked as he set the shot down in front of Will.
“Both,” he said before downing the liquor. It left a burning trail of fire from his tongue to his gut, and he couldn’t wait to have another.
“Well, don’t look now,” the bartender said. “But I’m guessing the family just walked in.”
Will looked over his shoulder and there was Web. His brother must have followed him, and he was in too much of a fog to notice. Web sauntered over and sat down on the stool next to him.
“I’ll have what he’s having.” Then Web turned to Will. “So you really fucked this up, huh?”
Will lifted his empty glass in the universal sign for one more. “You really have to ask?”
“Not judging by how shitty you look.” Web sniffed the single shot the bartender put down in front of him and then downed it.
“Is that your new thing, telling me how crappy I look? You do realize we look exactly the same.”
“Maybe, but at least I’m wearing shoes that match, and I look like I slept sometime in the past twenty years.”
The bartender didn’t say anything, but the look he slung at Will when he dropped off another shot—a single this time—pretty much yelled he’s right. Will scoffed and slammed back the liquor. Whatever was in his glass tasted like radioactive poison, but that was fine. It’s what he deserved.
“Why don’t you go home,” he snarled at his brother. “Just leave me alone.”