Romancing the Billionaire (Billionaire Boys Club #5)(26)
Author: Jessica Clare

“Looks like everyone’s here,” Logan said. “This meeting of the Brotherhood is officially called to order.”

“Fratres in prosperitatum,” they said in unison, raising their glasses. Jonathan raised an empty one for the toast. When Reese offered him a bottle of his favorite Scotch, he shook his head. Normally he had a glass just to be social, but the thought of it crossing his lips today seemed revolting. He wouldn’t touch it, not with Violet waiting for him.

“So, boys, what’s on the business menu tonight?” Gretchen picked up the deck of cards and began to shuffle, ignoring the looks the others sent her way. “World domination?”

No one said anything.

She sighed. “Eventually you guys are going to talk business in front of me. Eventually.”

“Not tonight,” Reese said, and only grinned when Gretchen flipped him the bird.

Impatiently, Jonathan tossed his ante into the pile. “So no business tonight?” Why had he come to the meeting, then? He thought of Violet, sitting out in his car, and he longed to be beside her, just drinking in her presence.

“Down, boy,” Cade murmured. “It’ll do you good to give her a breather.”

Jonathan glared at him.

“Give who a breather?” Griffin asked, turning to them.

“No one,” Jonathan said before Cade could respond. His relationship with Violet was . . . private. Private and rather tangled.

Cade nodded in Griffin’s direction. “How’s that lovely Southern belle of yours? She still adjusting to being the next Viscountess Montagne Verdi?”

Count on Cade to say the right thing to distract the man. Jonathan bit back a smile as Griffin grimaced, swiping his cards off the table.

“We are having visitors this week,” Griffin said, tone clipped. “My town house is currently infested with ‘Mama and them.’ They’re helping Maylee pick a location for the wedding.”

“You trust them to do that?” Reese asked.

“Of course not. That’s why I hired a wedding planner to be at Maylee’s side at all times. My lovely Maylee is kindness itself, but she has appalling taste in clothing.” For a moment, Griffin had a besotted look on his face, then shook his head and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, like you’re marrying her for her taste,” Gretchen said with a snort. “I mean, she said yes, so we know her taste in men sucks.”

Griffin ignored Gretchen’s jab. “I’m just bloody thrilled she’s no longer trying to get her hound to be the ring bearer.”

Reese nearly spit his whiskey on the table. The others laughed, and Cade reached over and slapped Reese on the shoulders when he began to cough. It was no secret amongst them that Griffin was the latest to become engaged, to his polar opposite—a redneck southern girl who was as friendly as Griffin was aristocratic and reserved.

Again, Jonathan thought of Violet and her wry, reserved smile. She wasn’t open like Griffin’s Maylee. Maybe she had been, once, but the Violet waiting in the limo was guarded. Like she was just waiting for the next blow to fall, and she was positive it was coming.

He hated that he’d done that to her. What had happened to the wild girl with Carpe Diem tattooed just above her backside?

But he knew that answer now. She’d been abandoned while pregnant and then lost the baby. It had changed her, and he’d lost her for good.

“You in?”

Jonathan stared at his cards without seeing them, his mind still on Violet. He’d give anything to make things right with her. Maybe being friends was a step in the right direction after all. Or maybe it was selfish of him and he needed to take himself out of her life again, cut out like a cancer. What was best for her? He didn’t know, but whatever it was, he’d do it. Violet and her happiness was the only thing that mattered to him. Maybe someday he’d be able to show her that.

A rough elbow gouged his arm. “Hello? Earth to Johnny-boy.” Reese shoved his elbow at Jonathan again. “You in or not?”

He blinked at Reese’s grin without seeing it, then stared at his cards. A pair of kings. “I fold.”

After all, folding would give him more time to think about Violet.

SIX

A few hours later, Gretchen’s first yawn cracked. Jonathan used that to excuse himself from the group. “I have a plane to catch, boys. I’ll see everyone next week.” He cashed out his chips and murmured his good-byes, still distracted. The night had been interminably long, but it was over now, and he could get back to his Violet. Practically bounding up the stairs, he headed out of the cellar and down the hall, back into the club that was still pounding with a wild beat.

He fished his phone out of his pocket, ready to text the limo driver to bring Violet back, but as soon as he hit the street, he was surprised to see it parked nearby. Had they been waiting there the entire time? Why did the thought of Violet waiting for him fill him with such unholy joy? He headed to the limo and knocked on the window.

It rolled down a crack and Violet looked up at him with sleepy eyes. “All done?”

“All done,” he said.

She opened the door and scooted over as he got in. As soon as he shut the door, he was surprised when she offered him a coffee cup. “This one is yours. Still take it black?”

He didn’t¸ but he would for her. “Thank you.” The cup was still warm through the cardboard. “You . . . went and got coffee?”

“Several rounds of coffee, actually.” She gave him a rueful grimace. “I drank the first one and we went back again, and even took a trip into the restroom. I wanted something to drink to pass the time.”

“You didn’t go shopping?”

She made a face. “Of course not. Here’s your money back, minus the cost of the coffee, of course.” She held the money out to him.

He took it, strangely pleased at the thought of Violet waiting for him, even thinking of him enough to get him a coffee. “I’m sorry that took so long.”

She waved a hand. “I did some research on my phone while you were in your meeting. I figured I could work while you were there, since this is what you hired me for.”

“What did you find out?”

“Well.” Violet put her coffee cup down in a nearby holder and lifted her phone, dragging her thumb across the screen. He was fascinated by that small action, by her dainty fingers as they moved across the face of her smartphone, typing. “I started with ‘Ozymandias,’ of course, since that was on my note. But the more I read about fallen empires and tragic pasts, the more I wonder if it’s some sort of veiled daughter-shaming. Knowing my father, that could be part of the reason he gave me the poem.” She cast him a sidelong look. “Which pissed me off, so I tried a different route. So I focused on ‘Glirastes.’ It didn’t take much to find out what the connection was.”