Page 9 of Fake It For Him

CALAN

Sitting at the bar in one of my clubs, I swirled my whiskey around in the glass after taking a sip and I sighed before doing it all again. Joe, the bartender who also happened to be a close friend, slid in next to me and chuckled as he pushed the entire bottle toward me.

“Here,” he said. “It looks like you need that. What did the old man want today?”

I sighed again, my head shaking, and I picked up the bottle and topped off my drink. “Freya’s getting married.”

His light blue eyes flared wide open. “Your little sister, Freya? Isn’t she, like, fourteen?”

“Nah, man. Try thirty.” I squeezed my eyes shut and smirked as my head shook some more. “You and I are sixteen years older than we were when we met. Figures that she would be too.”

He chuckled, inclining his head so his dark, shoulder-length hair dropped forward over his face. He brushed it back and lifted his eyebrows at me. “So the old man wanted to tell you she was getting married?”

“Nah. She wanted to tell me she was getting married. It turns out she was the one who wanted us there. My father just wanted to lay down the rules for the big day.”

“Rules?” Joe frowned. “I didn’t know weddings had rules for the brother of the bride.”

“This one does.” I picked up my glass and took a long sip of the oaky, amber liquid. Smacking my lips, I leaned back and took a look around.

The club wasn’t that busy yet, but it was early. We’d only been open for thirty minutes and this place was not a first-stop-of-the-night joint.

I owned a string of bars and clubs all around the city, but this was one of my favorites. There was a large dance floor and a massive bar down below, with strobe lights, and smoke machines, and the whole nine yards. It had an industrial look about it on the main floor, but up here, we’d made it cozier.

It was like a lounge where our patrons could come to take a break from all the sweating and gyrating on the floor below. This mezzanine deck still had a view of the action, of course, but we had comfortable booths and sitting areas, and even the bar stools had padded backrests.

The music up here also wasn’t as deafening as it was downstairs. Conversations were still slightly louder than normal but they weren’t altogether strained. As I looked around now though, I didn’t really see any of that. I wasn’t paying attention to all the little details I usually made note of when I was here.

Instead, I kept picturing my sister in a place like this—and not when she was with me, which was the only time I’d ever seen her out. I pictured her and her little minions coming here to blow off some steam, and then I pictured guys hitting on her and I shuddered.

Shit, it’s worse than that, though. She’s already been hit on. She’s fucking getting married.

My features contorted into another hard scowl at the thought. I’d known she had a boyfriend. I hadn’t known it was serious. I definitely hadn’t known it was that serious.

I don’t like it.

Not one little bit.

Joe cleared his throat, and when I refocused on him, I exhaled heavily and took another long sip of my drink before I finally replied. “I don’t think regular weddings have rules for the bride’s brother, but this isn’t a regular wedding. It’s a Reid wedding, and apparently, that means that there are rules.”

“Like what?” he asked easily, light eyes curious on mine.

A couple more people came up the stairs. Another of my bartenders went over to help them, and Joe cocked his hip against the bar as he waited for me to respond.

“They’re using the distillery and the family grounds as a venue for the wedding and I won’t be allowed in unless I show up with a date on my arm. It’s my own family’s place and my own fucking father said that they’ll turn me away at the gates if I’m alone when I arrive.”

Joe paused for a moment, then burst out laughing so hard that it took him a full minute to get any words out. “You? A date? Does your father not know you at all?”

I grunted. “It’s not that funny, but it is a ridiculous demand. Again, it’s my family’s property, and the last time I checked, I was still part of that family. Where the hell does he get off telling me I’ll be turned away, as in, not allowed onto our grounds, if I don’t bring someone?”

“I hear you, but your dad is probably just trying to make sure you don’t fuck up another family wedding. The last one didn’t exactly go according to plan, so I’m not sure I blame him.”

I rolled my eyes and swirled my glass around absently again before I took another sip. “Wedding shmedding. If my siblings would stop trying to marry the wrong damn people, I wouldn’t have to fuck anything up. She was a manipulative bitch. I did Finn a favor.”

If I had a dollar for every time I’ve said those words, I’d have enough money that even my great-great-grandchildren would never have to work. Not that I was going to have any grandchildren since I was never going to have any kids—not intentionally anyway—but the point remained.

Joe, however, snorted as he flipped the black rag he’d used to clean the counter over his shoulder. “You and I might think that you did him a favor, but I doubt that’s the way Finn sees it. Not even now.”

I waved a hand around the mostly empty upstairs area as the music started intensifying from below. “Do you see him around here? Of course, he doesn’t see it that way, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t do him a solid. Eventually, one day, he’ll come around, but you’re right. For now, he’s still blaming me for everything.”