Good Girl Complex(Avalon Bay #1)(49)

It isn’t until this very moment that I realize he wasn’t smiling out of pride. He wasn’t seeing me as a “tycoon.”

He was laughing at me.

“That was supposed to be a hobby,” he says flatly. “If I’d known you were earning an income from it, I would have—”

“You would have what?” I challenge. “Forced me to stop?”

“Guided you in the right direction,” he corrects, and his patronizing tone makes my blood boil. “We’ve spoken about this before. Many times. We’d go to college together. You’d have whatever hobbies you wanted during school. I’d graduate first, take over at my dad’s bank. You’d graduate, join the boards of your mom’s foundations.” Preston shakes his head at me. “You agreed I’d be the breadwinner in the relationship, while you focused on charity work and raising our family.”

My jaw falls open. Oh my God. Whenever he’d said stuff like that, he’d used a teasing voice. Made it sound like a joke.

He was actually being serious?

“You’re going to back out of the deal.” The finality with which he issues the order shakes something loose inside me. “You’re lucky I’m here to stop you before your parents find out. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, Mackenzie, but you need to get ahold of yourself.”

I stare at him. Stunned. I never imagined he would hate this idea with such ferocity. At the very, very least, I thought he would be supportive of my decision. The fact that he isn’t leaves me shaken.

If I could misjudge him on this to such an extent, what else have I been wrong about?





CHAPTER NINETEEN


COOPER

“We’re out of booze.”

I roll my eyes at Evan, who’s sprawled on the living room couch with one arm flung over the edge. The coffee table I built last weekend is already stained with beer and covered with cigarette butts. Someone must’ve knocked over the overflowing ashtray last night, during another one of Evan’s impromptu parties.

“It’s noon on Sunday,” I tell my brother. “You don’t need booze. Chug some water, for fuck’s sake.”

“I’m not saying I want a drink right now. But someone needs to make a beer run. We’re hosting poker night tomorrow.”

By “someone,” he clearly means me, because he promptly closes his eyes and says, “Take Daisy with you. She likes riding in the truck.”

I leave Evan to his beauty sleep and whistle for the dog. I don’t normally let my brother order me around, but truth is, I’m feeling stir crazy.

I didn’t join in on last night’s drunken festivities. Instead, I spent most of the night in my workshop, went to sleep before midnight, and was abruptly awakened at seven a.m. by a disturbing, X-rated dream about Mackenzie. I was in bed with her, on top of her, thrusting deep while she moaned against my lips. Then I lifted my head and Mac’s face transformed into that chick Sutton’s face, which jolted me right out of slumber.

Swear to God, this girl has wreaked havoc on my brain. Doesn’t matter if I’m asleep or awake—thoughts of Mackenzie Cabot poison my consciousness and drum up a whole slew of emotions I’d rather not feel.

Anger, because she’d chosen Kincaid over me.

Frustration, because I know there was something real between us.

Guilt, because my original intentions had been shadier than shady.

And for the past couple days? Disgust. Because, in order to divert her friends’ suspicions that we might know each other, she forced me to pretend to be my twin brother—and then had the nerve to bitch about me hooking up with another girl. Not that Sutton and I even hooked up. We went for a walk and then I put her in a cab. But still. Mackenzie had no right to be pissed. She’s the one who kissed the hell outta me and then bid me fucking adieu.

“Come on,” I mutter to Daisy. “Let’s go buy some beer for your boyfriend.”

When she sees me reaching for her leash, the golden retriever dances happily at my feet. We head out to my truck, and I open the passenger side door so Daisy can jump up. She only recently learned how to do that. Before, she’d been too little, but now her legs are in that gangly teenager stage, giving her enough leverage to leap higher. She’s growing so damn fast.

“Too bad Mac can’t see you,” I muse to the dog, whose curious, excited gaze is glued out the window. Each time the wind tickles her nose, she releases a high-pitched yip. She derives joy from the simplest pleasures.

In town, I grab a few cases of beer, along with a bottle of tequila and some snacks. As I stow my purchases in the cab, someone calls my name.

I turn to see Tate striding down the sidewalk toward me. He’s holding aviator sunglasses in one hand, and his keys and phone in the other.

“Hey,” I greet him. “How’s it going?”

“Good. I’m meeting Wyatt at Sharkey’s for lunch if you want to tag along.”

“Yeah, I’m in.” The last thing I feel like doing right now is going home and cleaning up the mess Evan left. “Lemme grab Daisy.”

“Oh, hell yes,” Tate says when he notices the dog’s head poking out the passenger window. “Bring the chick magnet.”

Most of the bars and restaurants in the Bay are dog friendly—particularly Sharkey’s, where the staff brings out water bowls and treats for canine guests. Once Tate and I climb the rickety wood staircase up to the second floor of the bar, Daisy is treated like the queen she thinks she is.