Page 174 of Double or Nothing

I lift mine. “To good things.”

Bryce raises his.

“Nine days.”

We drink.

Jack downs his as though he’s proving something. I follow, my eyes fixed on him over the rim of my glass. Bryce drinks more slowly, watching both of us like we’ve already gone.

The auction.

Nine days.

Christopher.

Dad.

Jack pretending this means nothing. Bryce pretending he hasn’t been scared shitless like I have. Me ever pretending I could keep hold of both of them without the whole Parker empire tearing us to shreds. Because it would do. The Parker empire would tear us to shreds, and Bryce would be the easiest, stripped bare of everything by Dad’s angry fingers.

So I sigh, drink and suck it up.

All good things do come to an end.

I just never expected ours to arrive on an executive class flight from Chicago in just nine days’ time.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

JACK

Idon’t give a shit about any of this crap I tell myself, under the covers once our night has come to a close. Family politics are nothing but a ball ache, and being so beholden to your boss that you’d kiss his mirror polished brogues is so pathetic I’d rather cook up my own turd in a Toastique Pro.

Christopher Otley can fly in from Chicago on a golden fucking aeroplane for all I care. He can arrive with rose petals falling from the sky and a marching band announcing the return of the chosen prince. He can wear a crown, ride a white stallion, and bring Daddy Parker a signed guarantee of strong sperm if he wants to. Nothing to do with me.

If Alice wants to sit beside the golden boy at Sunday dinners and donate a motherly womb for the sake of the Parker empire, good luck to her. And if Bryce wants to stand behind William Parker, holding his tailored coattails while the grand ceremony happens, be my guest.

Their lives.

Their choice.

Their bullshit.

I roll onto my side and punch my pillow into something resembling comfort, hoping I’ll at least get three hours sleep out of it.

It doesn’t work.

Nothing works.

The shitty crack of dawn is leaking around the curtains, providing just enough light across the room to make everything visible.

Alice is asleep on my right. Or pretending to be.

Bryce is on my left, facing away, finally drifting off into dreamland about thirty minutes ago. Even asleep, he looks tense. Shoulders drawn up. One hand tucked close to his chest.

Mr Responsible.

Mr Stand-There-And-Let-Someone-Else-Choose-Your-Fucking-Life-For-You.

I stare at the back of his head.