“Hey,” she says. “Know what we should do?”
Josie and I exchange a look: whatever it is, it won’t be good.
Chapter 3
Nolan
This isn’t fucking real.
Yeah, Dad was unpredictable and cagey at his worst, but he wouldn’t pull this. Not on me.
Damn it, the old man was a bachelor from the second he left Mom all the way up until the day he died! He wouldn’t have…
I pause to lean on my Porsche, cursing as the car alarm shrills into action.
“Fuck’s sake,” I mutter, jamming the button on my keys.
Even after the alarm shuts up, it still feels like it’s going off in my head.
Married… in three months… Married… in three months… Jesus.
“Nolan,” Landon calls from behind me.
I swivel around to see the others heading to their cars with sad waves my way, while he strides towards me purposefully.
“I’m sorry,” he says, coming to a stop in front of me. If his pockets weren’t the stupid sewed-up kind, he’d probably have his hands shoved in them, judging by how they’re awkwardly tensed right over the pocket area. Realizing that my own hands are shoved inside my leather jacket, I rip them out, unball them. Sometimes it’s funny how Landon and I unconsciously mirror each other. Right now, though, nothing is funny.
I don’t want his ‘sorry’. I just want tonight swept away, thrown out.
First, the renos are insanely behind, and now this…
Though who am I kidding? ‘Now this’ is in a league of its own, if I don’t get it sorted out. Which I will. There’s no way whatever cockeyed nonsense Dad wrote in his will is the last say on this. ‘Marry in three months’. What am I in, some B-level romantic comedy destined straight for DVD?
“I don’t know what to say,” Landon’s saying now.
Yep, this is all fucked. Normally, I’m the one saying things. Cracking jokes, filling the silence.
Only the wheelbarrow of my thoughts keeps churning along unsteadily…
Married… in three months… Married… in three months…
No. Fuck no.
“I don’t care what Dad wrote,” I snarl, feeling for my phone. It’s not in my pocket, but this jacket has a shit-ton of pockets—it’s bound to be in one of them. “He can’t actually expect…”
“No one expects you to actually marry in that time frame,” Landon says reasonably.
“No one except Daddy dearest,” I mutter, dropping my hands.
I can find my fucking phone later. Right now, I need to get my head around this. Not that I’ll be able to, I think.
After all the grief the old man put me through in my teens, I would’ve thought his last act to me would’ve been… I don’t know, not complete bullshit? Is that too much to ask?
“Hey,” I say, eyeing Landon as an idea forms in my head. “How about we pull an old Nolandoner: you impersonate me, pretend that I stole Kyra from you, then marry Kyra, then get the money and…”
Landon’s already shaking his head, not that I expected anything different.
“You could’ve at least pretended to think about it,” I grumble.
Landon shrugs. “Waste of time. Listen, I’ll just give you half of my portion. It’s only fair.”
What really would have been fair is if our dear father hadn’t royally fucked me over, but who’s keeping track?
“Nolan,” he repeats.
“I don’t want your charity,” I snap. “I have my own money.”
Problem is, most of it is tied up in the goddamn club, three-quarters of which is closed until who-knows-fucking-when. The quarter we have open is just covering rent and operating costs—barely.
I force my thoughts off the problem at hand to my surroundings.
Manhattan’s busy tonight. Taxis and cars zip past, some university girls howl with giggles as one of them recounts a stupid-sounding story. Gasoline fumes from the cars and fast food aromas from the hot dog stand nearby fight to see who will come out on top.
Landon tries to pat me, although his hand is as tense as my shoulder.
“Whatever you need,” he says. “I’m here.”
I peer at him. “Who are you and what have you done with my brother?”
Landon and I don’t do heart-to-hearts, and that’s the way I’d like to keep it, thank you very much.
Landon has the decency to at least look rueful.
I let out a low whistle. “Has you well-trained, Kyra does.”
He scowls. “It’s not like that.”
“No?” I round to shoot him a sardonic smirk. “Alright. Come out with me tonight, then. I can get us in Axel, no problem. Get us our old table. Emerson would probably be game to join too.”
His scowl deepens. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Why? Didn’t clear it with the wifey first?”
His glare cuts to me. “I have responsibilities now, Nolan. It’s not the worst thing in the world, you know.”
“No,” I say quietly. “But it’s sure not the best thing, either.”
He stands there, shaking his head. Yeah, yeah, he thinks I don’t get it. And he’s right. I didn’t understand his fixation with Kyra back then, and I still didn’t now. Yeah, they had history together and she is hot—but there are tons of hot girls he has history with. Hell, there are tons of hot girls I have history with, and you don’t see me sliding a ring on any of them.