“Lachlan?”
“That’s the one.” He turns towards the closet. “I’ll explain it all in a bit. But first…” He flicks through the hangers there, picking one. “I need you to get dressed.”
I cross my arms with a tilt of my head. “You moved my clothes back to your bedroom?”
He shrugs, smiling. “In a wildly optimistic gesture… I was hoping you’d come back.”
“You were right. And God, you know how much I hate when you’re right.”
Completely nude, the smell of sex still on my skin, I can do nothing but smile as Andrew performs the quickest wipe-down in the history of post-sex wipe-downs. Helping me slip the pretty peach bridesmaid dress I was fitted for over my head, his hands skim my skin as he helps me put it on.
He peers down at my face before kissing my forehead. “Dammit, you look ravishing.”
“Ravishing? I need a shower. I still smell like I came twice already… Oops, sorta did.”
His tone sinks. “That's nothing compared to what I’ll do when this ceremony is over.”
“You’re the worst groomsman ever, you know that?”
“Hey, Hannah and her fiancé just better be glad I don’t take you on a table while everyone’s eating their filet mignon.”
But before we can get any more explicit, Andrew leads me away to the bedroom door, where Lachlan Quinn (also known to me—and many other women—as the international playboy of New York) awaits.
“Finally,” the sandy-brown haired man standing beyond the threshold exhales, “I was scared I was going to have to send a search party for you two.”
Andrew slaps his shoulder. “We do get lost a lot, I know. But we always resurface. Now should we get to it?”
“Yeah, absolutely. But first, I guess we should share with Nancy?”
He looks at me, casting eyes the same color as his sandy hair my way.
I look at Andrew. “That would be nice.”
But by the time we reach the end of the hallway we're walking, as Lachlan fills me in on all that I've missed between him and Andrew, I am shaking, trembling like a leaf in the wind—rage and fear pumping hard through my nervous system.
I stop at the end of the ginormous, grand hall, my voice barely audible above the commotion just a floor down in prep for tonight's wedding.
“So, let me get this straight… Chris Jackson—former finance genius turned escaped prisoner Chris Jackson, is behind all of this? Jesus, this guy never stops.”
Lachlan nods. “He’s been dead set on demolishing anyone or anything that has ever been in his path to, what really boils down as, world domination. A narcissist with no bounds, this guy definitely seems to self-identify as a god in the body of a man. And I get why he thinks that way. He’s like Teflon. Nothing sticks to him. And if it does, he discovers a way to get it off…by any means necessary.”
“Means like last year when he was responsible for the burning down of my bar?” I ask, my hands shaking.
“Just because he cheated in a few battles doesn't mean this prick wins the war,” Lachlan says. “He didn't. Your brother stayed. You stayed. You're staying,” he emphasizes. “And all of us together are going to make sure you stay.”
“How?” I demand, my voice growing shrill.
“Because we're cutting off all of his connections. Starving him out. Cutting every tie. One by one…” He swallows. “The way he cut off ours,” he explains, his voice cracking.
I've only met Andrew’s best friend from college a handful of times, but I've never seen the cocky playboy so affected.
On the outside, Lachlan Quinn is still swaggering and charming, but the history and anger behind his eyes shows that there's a broken man on the inside.
“Chris Jackson swindled my family—shook hands with my grandfather only to then stab us in the back. Bastard stole our money and left us crawling in debt until a deal with Andrew's grandmother got us out of it. The professional liar that he is…he should have known better. Should have guessed that the victims of his lies might unite against him.” He points, finger wavering. “Especially now that Fletch here is taking over his family's business.”
I gasp, twisting towards the tall man beside me, who looks even taller, regal and respectful in his tux. He’s not smiling. But his eyes are.
Especially when he peers down at me.
“Is he serious?” I ask him.
“Never been more. I already talked to Hannah. It's why I went missing so many times this weekend. I should have explained earlier. Hannah is my grandmother’s personal attorney—the only esquire in the family. And I needed to tell her…tell her that I'm respecting my grandfather's old wishes and taking Fletcher Financial Group under my wing.”
I gawp. “Can you do that? I mean, you're just a—just a—"
“Bartender?” Lachlan interrupts with a chuckle. “Hardly.” He gestures. “This man was the best business grad to ever come out of Oxford. He was valedictorian of our class. He's a genius…” he grins. “Just like his grandfather.”
“More like him than I care to admit,” Andrew confesses, looking chagrined. “But I'll take it. And speaking of taking things, I'd like to get back to other item I plan on taking tonight… The head of whoever is helping Frank and Chris threaten the safety of my family.” He gazes down at me, eyes warm. “All of my family. New and old.”
Lachlan stalks forward in his suit, looking like the sandy-haired counterpoint to Andrew's dark stony determination.
The two men face each other. “And I'm not done, either.” Lachlan pipes in. “Not until I have the truth and Chris Jackson's back with law enforcement. I'm going to make sure he goes to prison for what he did. And it's not because of my family. I'm going to do it because he's not going to get away with this. I won't let him.”
“Then I want to help,” I tell Lachlan, my voice
