Page 41 of Betrothed in Fury
That he addressed Killian’s preference and not mine says everything about who’s top dog tonight, something I’m not loving. I’m about to go ahead and order so we can get this over with, but the guy’s already bolted for the wine.
I sip my water when Killian says, “Anything else happen this week?”
As I set my glass on the table, I study his expression. “Why bother? You don’t give a fuck about my week. You don’t give any shits about me outside of what you can take.”
“I can care about what I can take and also about your week,” he says, his lips curling upward. “Maybe we’ll start with Masters. How’s he? And your other brothers?”
That he asked the appropriate question takes me by surprise. “They’re fine,” I say curtly because I don’t want him involved in their lives.
“Work? I hear you’re on the market for new contracts now that the O’Dells are moving business to Chicago.”
I’m not surprised he found out about this, given the circles we run in.
“Aren’t we all on the market?” I poke.
He jabs right back. “Some of us are too busy to take on new contracts.”
Fucking asshole.
I do my best to push past the barb. “We haven’t committed to anyone just yet, but yes, we have been inquiring around,like everyone else. Obviously, I’m hoping we can maneuver this opening in the market to our advantage.”
“You should let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“I can do just fine on my own, thank you.”
He smirks, and unlike the rest of our conversation, I sense his admiration, though it’s not something I need. Not from him.
“Speaking of the O’Dells’ transition,” he goes on, “I imagine there’ll be plenty of bloodshed as they try to make space in a market as crowded as Chicago.”
“Well, the O’Dells are good at that.”
“And plenty of bloodshed here in Fury as the power balance shifts yet again.”
“Something we’re not too bad at either.” We both know the truth of it all too well.
“If you do happen to find some business from it,” he adds, “I’m sure you know it likely won’t make enough to cover those debts.”
I grip my seat, digging my nails in. “If this is a real date to you, then maybe don’t remind me that I have to be on this date.”
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”
“You know that’s not true.”
He snickers. “Maybe I do, but this is our lot, isn’t it? I learned a long time ago that you either accept fate or let it destroy you.” He looks right through me when he says that, as though thinking about something in particular.
Whatever that’s about, I don’t give a fuck.
“Accepting fate seems like a euphemism for being destroyed,” I remark.
“You’re not wrong.” He’s still smirking, like he found that fucked-up thought amusing. Seriously, this guy is out of his damn mind.
The waiter returns with the wine, offering us a sip before pouring, and then we order appetizers.
“So…” he drags out. “What do I need to know about my future husband?”
“As in?”
“Who is Logan Wilde?”
