Beauty and the Billionaire: The Wedding

The people standing nearby gasp audibly, loud enough for me to hear. It only pisses me off, more. I’m tired of these hoity toity assholes sticking their noses up when I’m around. I’m just as good as them. Hell, I’m fucking better because I can buy all of them. I turn and shoot them all the bird, too.

“Boone, be reasonable,” Bates begins.

I ignore him. I’ve had enough of his shit. I storm away, ignoring the golf course employees that trail after me like I’m going to start attacking people. It’s fucking ridiculous.

I’ve got half a mind to buy myself a golf course and burn the motherfucker to the ground.

Hours Later

“And then,” Clay yells out over the jukebox wailing in the corner. “When the guy pulls out his contracts and shoves ’em in Boone’s face, Boone throws ’em on the ground and pisses all over them!”

Gage, Knox, and Seth howl with laughter. Clay pounds a fist on the table, throwing his head back and guffawing with the others.

“Yuk it up,” I say flatly, swigging the last of my beer. I’m still in a foul mood. Something about being insulted by a dick in a suit that thinks he’s better than me? It gets to me, every time. At least Clay’s only got this morning’s story to tell—I’m still smarting over Bates and the whole golf course bullshit. That one, Clay ain’t gonna pry out of me. Let them laugh at the way I put a suit into place. I’m fine with that.

The Bates shit? I am definitely not fine with.

“You pulled your dick out and pissed on his papers?” Gage chuckles and raises a hand for me to high-five.

I only scowl at him. “I was angry.”

Still am.

“You know Big Brother here hates it when people don’t take him seriously.” Clay reaches over and tries to grab my cap, but I grab his wrist before he can touch it. That just makes our three younger brothers laugh even harder. Gage smacks the table again, and his beer spills everywhere.

“I’m glad someone can laugh about today,” I say sourly, staring into my beer. He looks just like one of the hands. Look at you, Boone. Of course he didn’t think you were the boss. My hand tightens on the mug. “Waste of fucking time if you ask me. Land was dry, too. Not a hint of oil.”

“Zero? That sucks,” Knox says, tossing napkins down on Gage’s spilled beer while Seth flags down a waitress. The trucker bar we’re drinking at is crowded, and all of our drinks are nearly dry. No one’s hovering over us to make sure that the Price Brothers—all billionaires—get cold, fresh drinks.

Funny how I’m okay with that here, and not out in the field. Maybe because here, we’re all anonymous wallets. Out in the business world, I should be top dog, and instead, everyone fucking acts like I’m some sort of criminal that just waltzed in. Like I don’t belong. I could buy every damn oil rig in West Texas and everyone would still turn their noses up like I’m some sort of idiot. It’s bullshit and I’m damn sick of it.

I think of that golf course and the jackasses in their pink shirts, giving me horrified looks. Like I dared to show up on their turf.

Their turf. I could fucking buy their turf and fucking salt it and they’d never grow another blade of grass there again. I could turn it into a fucking pig farm.

“You’re still pissed,” Gage realizes, sobering.

“I am.” I drain the last of my lukewarm beer and put the empty glass at the end of the table.

“I don’t get why it’s such a big deal,” Gage says.

“Because we’re rich. We’re good with our money. And people that should respect us treat us like we’re fucking ticks on a dog’s ass.”

Clay just snorts. “Worse n’ that.”

He’s not helping.

“So we’re trash,” Gage chimes in. “So what’s the big deal? We might as well own it.” He grins and rips one sleeve off of his t-shirt, then the other. Knox hoots with laughter, clapping him on the shoulder. Clay just rolls his eyes.

“Because it should matter. We should matter. I want respect.” I think of all the assholes in my life that did me dirty, and it burns in my gut. I’ve worked hard to get to where we’re at today, harder than most men. I want the assholes that sit down with me in boardrooms and out in the field to realize I know what I’m talking about. That I’m not just a dumb roughneck that struck it rich. That I took that money and turned it into an empire in less than two years.

Maybe that makes me an arrogant prick, but I don’t fucking care. I want people to tremble when they see me. I want those pencil-dicks in suits to quail when I arrive, not turn their noses up at me. I want them to know who’s in charge.

“It’s all image, brother,” Seth says, returning with the waitress. She’s pretty, with brassy blonde hair and tits that are overflowing her too-tight shirt. She smiles at me but I just nudge my glass in her direction. Ain’t got time for waitresses. Those don’t get a man respect, especially not this one. We come to this bar regularly and I’ve seen her sneak into the back with more than one trucker. If she wants a good time, she ain’t getting it from me.

“You’re one to talk,” Clay calls out, and mockingly runs his hands through his hair. “Oh, look at me, I’m Seth and I’m using product.”

Our entire table bursts into laughter, and I even crack a smile. Seth comes around the edge of the table and puts Clay in a headlock, smirking. Clay just grabs at Seth’s shirt and tries to haul our littlest brother over his shoulder before he gets choked out.