The dismissal only prompts her to get in my face again. “He’s in love, Hadrian.” She sings the word love, drawing it out over a couple of notes. “It’s almost adorable.”
She knows exactly the words to draw me back. “No. He can’t possibly love her. He does not love her. She’s probably got big tits and a warm cunt.”
“Hadrian,” she says, cringing. “You’re so—”
I cut her off. “She’s a trophy wife, if anything. He’s bored. He isn’t running the company and now he’s fucking bored.” That’s got to be it. Hundreds of women have lined up to be Dad’s second wife over the years, trying to get their nails into his money. Why else would he suddenly be interested? “A thousand bucks says it’s off before he even gets back in the country.”
“Maybe.” Adly doesn’t seem to agree.
I see in her eyes exactly when she gets in my brain. “No, no, no, Hadrian. You can’t try to pay her off. Let Dad have this. You can’t—”
But I don’t hear the end of that sentence because the voice behind me is louder. “Hadrian, you made it.”
I turn around to my cousin Reid, and with him is his brother Alex. Both are Reynard’s younger sons, and while they’re both monster dicks, I actually get along with Reid quite well.
“I wouldn’t miss your birthday party.” I slap him on the back as we hug. “If it were me, I would have chosen to celebrate somewhere other than where I work, but you know. Spice is fine enough.”
“Fuck you.” He smiles, though, knowing I’m joking because let’s be honest—I would totally have my birthday party at SNC. Reid is just as dedicated to the club.
It’s one of the reasons we get along so well. He cares about the actual work and not just trying to climb the Seymour status ladder like so many of our kin. So much so, he basically took himself out of the running for any top positions at the two main companies our family owns—the news network and the industrial corporation—and somehow bargained with his father to get a loan against his trust fund so he could buy and manage his own private club.
Sure the club is located at the Seymour Center, but for our family standards, it’s really as close to doing his own thing as anyone gets.
“Thirty-three,” I say. “You’re as old as Adly now. Can you handle your liquor any better than she can?”
“Ha ha.” She turns toward Reid. “He’s upset ‘cause Dad is getting married.”
“No, I’m not.” I mean, I might be, but I have other things weighing heavier on my mind.
“He’s still standing, anyway. For now. We’ll see how he feels when the shots kick in.” It’s maybe the friendliest thing Alex has said to me in a while. Most of the time he doesn’t talk to me at all since he’s usually hanging out with Hunter.
Reid dismisses the idea that he’s anywhere near inebriated. “Shots are for teenagers. I’m fine.” He’s certainly thinking clearly enough to pick up on Adly’s comment. “Uncle Sam’s getting married?”
Adly jumps on the chance to discuss today’s tea. “Right? It’s crazy. We’ve never even met her.”
Reid looks to me for my take.
I put my hand up, not interested in delving into that with my cousins. “Just rumors at the moment. I’ll keep you posted.”
Then, because I’m also selfish and also a monster dick, I focus my attention on the real reason I came tonight. “Hunter here?”
“Yeah, he’s…” Reid stops himself, then narrows his eyes in my direction. “What do you need Hunter for?”
I guess I could have been less obvious.
My lack of a response confirms any suspicions he has. “There’s a rule, Hadrian.”
Oh, yes. The rule.
Instituted by Grandpa Irving years ago. When you’re in the Seymour Center, you’re on the side of the Seymours.
In other words, this is neutral territory, and for the most part, every one of us behave when we’re on this sacred block of Manhattan. Sure, we snark and jab at each other, but we don’t do or say anything that will cause real harm. Not here. It’s one of the reasons most family events are planned on the property. Any other locale has the opportunity to bring drama.
I’ve followed the rule to a T until now. Tonight, I’m making an exception. “Hunter should have thought about the rule before he issued a public attack last night at the concert hall.”
“It wasn’t a direct attack,” Reid says.
“It was sure the fuck close enough,” Alex pipes in, which is surprising since he’s usually team Hunter.
“See? Even Alex agrees. So have you seen him?” I cast my gaze across the crowd, trying to see if I can spot him myself.
“It’s my fucking birthday, man,” Reid protests. “In my club. Can’t you find him on his own turf?”
I could, but the other benefit about going after Hunter here means that whatever happens won’t get out to the press. Reid has a strict phone check-in policy at the front door. It allows celebrities of all types to be assured privacy, which makes this one of the hottest clubs for the elite.
We all know that, so there’s no point in explaining.
There’s also no point in expecting Hunter’s real brothers to turn on him. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll find him on my own.”
“If you’re looking for Hunter”—Adly suddenly tunes into the conversation—“he’s with Ax. Playing pool.”
“You made your way around the club earlier?” I’m curious how she knows that.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.
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