Billionaires Dollar Series

Nick’s voice is satisfied. “He was, then. But he didn’t come.”

“He couldn’t,” I say, hating how defensive the words sound. At the time, it didn’t seem odd that Becca had invited my billionaire big brother. I’d thought it a kindness. How had I been so stupid?

If Nick sees my realization, he doesn’t acknowledge it. He unbuttons the clasp of his gray suit jacket instead, a smirk on his lips. He must be aware of the way the other guests are watching him. Watching us.

“Is that why you were invited too? For the press and prestige?”NôvelDrama.Org owns this.

Nick’s chuckle isn’t amused. He understands the words as I’d meant them-having him attend an event made it noteworthy, but not always in a particularly good way. If my brother is seen as a powerful businessman, Nick is the unscrupulous one.

“We’re up,” he says instead, voice like crushed glass. “Don’t miss.”

And of course I do. Despite my aim, there’s no scoring after his words. The opposing teams cheers, high-fiving each other.

When I turn to Nick, his lip is curled. “I told you not to.”

“I didn’t know I needed advice.”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

I grit my teeth against the annoyance that rises up inside me. I’m a happy person. I like to smile and converse and make people happy. It’s what I’m good at, damn it. And somehow Nicholas Park always makes me forget that.

No longer. I give him a blinding smile. Judging by the faint widening of his eyes, it wasn’t what he’d been expecting.

“Here, why don’t you throw the next one.”

He accepts the corn-bag I hand him with suspicious eyes. “I see,” he says. And that’s all he says, even as he lines himself up, focusing on the cornhole. Tall and muscular, with wide shoulders, he’s an imposing figure. Always has been.

He throws. It flies in an arc through the air and lands solidly in the hole. I don’t look him in the eyes-I turn away instead, but I don’t head to the back of the line.

Nick follows me towards the bar.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m participating in the wedding activities. I was recently told that I wasn’t being a good guest.”

“Why are you really here?”

His gaze fastens on something in the distance. I’m left staring up at the column of his throat, the rough-hewn features that have held me captive for ages.

“Nick, I-”

“Shh.”

“Did you just shush me?”

He looks down at me, speculation in his gaze. His words come quickly. “Pretend you like me for fifteen minutes.”

I blink at him. “Fifteen minutes?”

“I know it’s a rather long time frame,” he grinds out, “but yes, fifteen minutes.”

“No one’s that good an actress,” I mutter. He rolls his eyes at my words.

And then Nick does the most amazing thing. He puts a hand on my low back, like it belongs there, as if he touches me all the time-as if this isn’t the first time we’ve touched since we shook hands eight years ago.

He bends down. “Look up at me,” he instructs. “Laugh as if you enjoy talking to me.”

“Why?” I hiss back.

Brief hesitation. “I’ll owe you one.”

“Whatever I want?”

Longer hesitation this time. “Within reason, yes.”

I turn on my biggest smile, then. The one that stretches wide and reaches my eyes. It’s my killer mingling smile, the one I only pull out when I really need to pack a punch. “Fifteen minutes,” I say, batting my eyelashes. “Start the timer.”

Nick blinks once. Twice. Then he gives a subtle nod to a few men standing not too far from us, drinks in hand.

“See the one with glasses?”

“Yes.”

His hand drifts higher, flattening against my back. The touch is warm even through the fabric of my dress. “I’m going to talk to him, and I want you by my side as I do.”

“Pretending to like you.”

“Why?”

“Need to know basis, honey,” he says sweetly. The endearment sounds mocking from him.

“All right, sugar muffin,” I respond just as tartly. “Fourteen minutes left.”

He grits his teeth audibly at that.

The men look up as we approach, their conversation abruptly dying.

“Mr. Park,” the man in glasses says. His tone is cold. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Last-minute invite,” Nick says, an odd tone in his voice. Is that… gentleness? He must be trying to win points here somehow. “This is Blair Porter.”

I extend a hand, still smiling widely. “A pleasure to meet you all.”

They introduce themselves. “I’ve met your brother a few times,” the man in glasses-Mr. Adams-says. “Lovely guy.”

I resist the urge to glance at Nick. So that’s why I’m here, smiling at him. He’s using me in all of my trophy invitedness. “Yes, he is,” I say, leaning into Nick’s side. “Despite being friends with this one.”

They laugh at my joke and Nick is forced to join in. The pressure of his hand on my back increases in a not so subtle warning to behave. Idiot, I think. I just made you look more likeable.