The Billionaire Boss Next Door(95)
Agitated, I stir the pot.
I’m pretty sure our friend Evan—and the CFO of Milo’s company Fuse—is due to get married soon, and there’s no way he’s not feeling the same way about it as I am about all of this.
“Is Evan really getting married?” I ask, and Milo tilts his head to meet my gaze as the elevator doors close shut.
“Yeah.”
“And how do you feel about that?”
“I mean, he’s been engaged for nearly a year. Seems like the natural next step,” he says, unflustered.
Why the fuck isn’t he commiserating with me?
“First, Quince. Now, Evan and Trent.” I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “Goddamn everyone’s dropping like flies.”
Milo laughs. “Well, if that isn’t the worst way I’ve ever heard anyone describe marriage…”
“You know it’s true, dude. Marriage. Babies. Shit is going down within our friend circle.”
“Aw,” he teases. “You feeling left out, sweetheart?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I retort on a chuckle, and we step out of the elevator and head toward the hospital lobby. “I’m terrified…for them.”
“Oh…” He pauses and smirks, the collected, self-assured bastard. “So, you’re just scared for them. Not scared in general? Or projecting your commitment fears onto them? Of course, that makes total sense.”
“You bet your ass, it does,” I say without a second thought. “I don’t have any fears of commitment. I just prefer not to commit.”
“So, this is more of an altruistic kind of concern you’re harboring, then.”
“Exactly.”
“If that isn’t a good friend, I don’t know what is,” he teases, and I roll my eyes.
“You know, I almost forgot how much of a fucking smartass you are.”
Just before he opens his mouth to most likely offer some witty retort, his phone pings several times, and he pulls it out to check the screen.
I watch as his brow furrows, and with one tap of his finger, he unlocks his phone to read the messages.
I’m all ready to assume it’s some software/techie/business bullshit, but before I can avert my eyes to seek out something more interesting than watching Mr. Brainchild text over boring computer shit, his reaction reels me back in.
“What the hell?” Milo mutters.
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, but he shakes his head at the same time, scanning the messages on his phone a second and third time. You know what? Fuck scanning. The motherfucker is staring. Hard.
I try to sneak a peek, but the bastard snatches it away too quickly.
“What the fuck, dude? What is it?”
“It’s nothing.”
“That doesn’t look like nothing.” I grin. I can’t help myself. Something fucking juicy is in those texts, and goddamn, I want to see.
I hold out my hand. “Let me see.”
“Fuck no.” Like a damn teenage girl, he locks the screen of his phone and slips it back into his pocket.
“Someone sending you titty pics?” I ask with a grin, and that simple question has his face scrunching up into something that borders on shock and horror and intrigue.
“Don’t be a fucking dick.”
“What?” I ask and raise both of my hands in the air. “It’s a valid question.”
Because it is a valid question.
But more than that, it’s that question that riles him the most.
No doubt about it, those text messages are from a woman.
Looks like another one is about to bite the fucking relationship dust.
I swear to God, sooner rather than later, I’ll be the only sane, single motherfucker left in New York.
THE END
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