Page 22 of Bound To Be Mine

“I don’t only have suits,” I retorted. “I have T-shirts and khakis that I wear in my downtime.”

“When’s the last time you had downtime?” Sebastian asked.

I didn’t respond because we all knew the answer. I didn’t have downtime. I had work, and I had more work, and occasionally I had family obligations that also felt like work.

Sebastian disappeared into my closet and emerged with a crisp white shirt. I had hundreds of white shirts but it was the flashy tie he brought with him that had me recoiling. “Where did that even come from?”

“This,” he said, handing them to me. “No arguments.”

I put on the shirt and knotted the tie. He stepped back, tilting his head critically.

“Better,” he said finally. “Much better.”

I looked at myself in the mirror. I looked different. Still professional, still polished, but somehow less like I was about to cross examine a witness and more like I might actually be a guest at a social event.

“Cinderella is ready for the ball,” Dash said, grinning.

“Shut up,” I said.

“I’m imagining you actually loosening up,” Sebastian said. “Maybe even dancing.”

“Not happening.”

“You’re going to need a few drinks,” Dash said. “Let your hair down a little. Show Mandy you’re not a complete robot.”

“Hell no,” I said immediately. “I’m not drinking. Ever. I need to be on my best behavior to get Mandy back onboard.”

They insisted on helping me pack. Jeans, polos, and T-shirts that still had tags on them.

I looked at my phone. I had exactly four hours before my flight to Vegas. I was still a little irritated I had to fly commercial. The Blackwell jet was in maintenance. Callum and Cleo had already left, which meant I could try to charter a jet or just fly like a normal person.

“Just watch her work,” Dash said. “Don’t try to tell her what to do.”

“I’m not going to tell her what to do. Although I would like to point out, me actually watching a wedding isn’t going to do shit for the contract. I think this is more about her showing off.”

“It is,” Dash said. “She told you that directly. So listen to her. Let her show you how good she is.”

“I know, I know. This is my apology tour. She’s not making me grovel. She’s just making sure I know she’s the boss.”

Dash chuckled. “Yeah, she’s going to make sure you eat your words.”

They let themselves out with some last-minute important advice that I would definitely be ignoring. I called a car to take me to JFK. Jasmine made sure I had a room at The Venetian. I wanted off the Strip, but apparently the only other options weren’t great. I didn’t hate Vegas, but it had never been my scene. Too loud. Too hot. Too everything. The excess was just not my thing.

Thankfully, I had a first-class ticket. I settled into my window seat with my laptop open and a sparkling water. I worked most of the flight. By the time we landed, it was just after seven Vegas time. The airport was chaos as usual.

My car was waiting to whisk me away. Vegas traffic was better than Manhattan. It moved at least. The driver deposited me at the valet drop off. I checked in, went up to my room, ordered dinner from the room service menu, and ate at the desk with a contract open in front of me.

I did not go down to the casino floor. I did not have a drink at the bar. I did not investigate what was happening in the several thousand square feet of entertainment options that the elevator bank suggested were available to me. I had zero desire to see one of the hundreds of shows.

I was only in Vegas to work and observe. I just had to be a good little boy and pay my penance. Then, and only then, could I go home and get the partnership paperwork underway.

I set an alarm, turned off the light, and closed my eyes. If my brothers knew I was in bed by ten in Vegas, they would never let me live it down. But to be fair, it was after one back home. So, if they asked, I would tell them I stayed up until after midnight.

8

MANDY

I’d been awake since four-thirty in the morning, which was honestly late for a wedding day. My team and I had been going nonstop, checking and rechecking every detail. The chapel was perfect—white roses cascading down the aisle with custom pew markers with Victoria and Bud’s monogram. I had worked for weeks to get the lighting just right. It was soft enough to make everyone look like they’d been touched by an angel. None of the garish LEDs. It looked like candlelight. Everyone looked good in candlelight.