My Dark Romeo: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance(103)
It sounded like wedding bells.
Romeo Costa
Speaking of weddings, when is yours, @ZachSun?
Zach Sun
Never.
Romeo Costa
I’m giving it three months.
Ollie vB
I’m going to be generous and give him six months.
Romeo Costa
100K?
Ollie vB
Deal.
Whoever’s closest wins.
Zach Sun
I hate you both.
Ollie vB
I hear wedding bells again.
Romeo Costa
False alarm.
It’s just Zach’s balls shaking.
A week after Shortbread had pranced around in little more than a Post-It note covering her privates, I wined and dined Tom Reynolds at Le Bleu.
This meeting was long overdue. Last time, I’d canceled after Dallas channeled her inner Great Gatsby, throwing the mother of all house parties.
Today’s agenda included convincing Tom to reverse the DOD’s decision to grant Licht Holdings our forgone renewal.
Cautious optimism settled into my shoulders. Licht Holdings sat amid a PR disaster. With far too many fires to extinguish to fulfill the monstrous contract.
Jared slammed the brakes, narrowly avoiding a Tesla that cut him off.
“Ooof.” Shortbread careened into my side, sloshing sparkling apple cider onto my Bruno Cucinellis.
I jerked the bottle from her grip, sending it into the trash. “We’re minutes from the restaurant. Is this necessary?”
“I’m pregaming.”
“You’re spilling.”
And that brought me to the only downside of Tom inviting his wife—Shortbread had to tag along, too.
There was nothing wrong with my wife whatsoever. Stunning, entertaining, and sweet as sin, she provided a welcome distraction for Casey, who I doubted wanted to hear about drones, tanks, and semi-automatic weapons.
There was only one issue with Dallas—I could hardly think of anything other than burying myself inside her whenever she entered my vicinity.
Shortbread pouted, yanked tissues from the tight corset of her gown, and dabbed my loafers, presenting an unimpeded view of her generous cleavage.
“Dallas.”
“Hmm?”
But what could I say? Put your tits away before I spring a rifle-sized hard-on that’ll make Tom wish he never asked to see my weapons?
I extended a handkerchief. “Clean yourself up.”
Instead of using it to wipe the sticky cider off her hands, Dallas brought the square to her nose, inhaling my cologne. “You know, just because I agreed to come tonight, doesn’t mean I approve of your job.”
I swiped the fabric from her, collected her heeled foot, and dabbed the alcohol off her myself, ignoring her words.
“I mean, I don’t trust humans to take care of the planet, and all they need is literally not to suck. Why would I trust them with heavy artillery?”
“You’re not supposed to trust anyone with heavy artillery. That’s its entire purpose. The quickest war to end is the one that never started.”
“So profound.” She batted her lashes. “The Nobel Peace Prize is on the way. Make sure your suit is ironed.”
It infuriated me to no end that this was the woman I’d entrusted my truth to.
I knew she’d keep my secrets safe. That offered me absolutely zero comfort, seeing as I wanted to pinpoint, dissect, and devour each flaw of hers.
Anything to make her less appealing to me.
She had plenty of faults, too.
I remembered how easily I’d spotted them when she’d first moved in. But everything I’d detested about her—her rolling, loud laughter, her messiness, her uncanny ability to befriend anything and anyone, potted plants included—no longer irked me.
True, she wasn’t academically accomplished, but she’d read half the local library in under four months and whipped quips at a frightening pace.
She flaunted a knack for numbers, too, crushing Vernon in chess and Zeus on the Loose.
Her food obsession bordered on unhealthy, but her knowledge in all things culinary fascinated me.
Mostly, it disappointed me that my wife wasn’t truly lazy. She was just waiting to become a mother so she could channel all her energy into her spawns.
Presently, though, I discovered a good reason to be unhappy with her as we strode from the Maybach to my newly acquired restaurant. She was panting like she’d just finished a marathon.
“Must you breathe so loudly? Aliens can hear you from neighboring planets.”
“You believe in them, too?” She perked up before side-eyeing me, noting my flat expression. “Wait, you’re annoyed with my breathing now?”
I opened the door for her. “You’re young and, for an unfathomable reason unrelated to your lifestyle, seem to be in excellent shape. Why are you breathing so hard?”