Page 63 of Billionaire Bachelor

I narrow my eyes. “The rent on thistiny loftis three thousand dollars a month! LA is expensive. We can’t all be married to billionaires, you know.”

“Oh, bite me. You know I don’t give a crap about the money.” She rolls her eyes. “Also, never say never, Rosa. I’d say you have a damn good shot at marrying a billionaire one day in the near future.”

My jaw drops. “Wha?—”

A sharp knock on the door makes us freeze.

“Fuck,” we mutter in unison.

My stomach knots as I check the peephole.

“It’s him,” I whisper-shout.

I open the door, stepping aside to let my brother in. “Hey.”

“Hey.” His eyes dart between us as he steps over the threshold and hands me a bag of delicious smelling food. “What’s with all the yelling in here?”

Did I say my stomach was in knots? Scratch that. It’s plummeted to the damn floor.

“Yelling?” Sylvie scoffs, like the accusation is highly offensive. “We weren’tyelling.”

He snorts, hanging his coat on the hook behind the door. “Uh, yeah, you were.”

Oh, fuck.The coat.

My head whips to the barstool, whereLogan’s coatis still hanging.

Sylvie gets an ‘oh shit’ look on her face as she follows my gaze. Thinking fast, she casually crosses the room and parks her ass right over the black leather.

You’re stuck there for the rest of the night, my eyes tell her.

“Pfft.” Sylvie waves him off. “I wastalking with purpose. Have you met me?”

Ryan’s eyes narrow, trying to figure out what the hell she meant by that.

Good luck, bruh. That’s a level of chaos even I can’t interpret.

“So, anyway, Rosa,” Sylvie says, throwing a pointed glare at Ryan, “as I was saying before we were sorudelyinterrupted…Antonio is seeing this new guy and can’t figure out if his bossy, domineering energy is sexy or just straight-up toxic. Which…fair. If this were a romance novel, it’d be a no-brainer. But in real life? It takes averyspecial kind of man—and a strong-ass partner—to make putting up with that shit worthwhile. Like with Quinn and my bosshole.”

Quinn is Antonio and Sylvie’s shared bestie. Hudson calls their triothe Unholy Trinity, but I’m pretty sure Quinn is only guilty-by-association on that front. The bosshole—a.k.a. Ronan Maxwell—is Quinn’s husband, but also Antonio and Sylvie’s boss. From what I’ve heard, he’s a real hardass at the office, hence the absurd nickname.

Ryan rolls his eyes and swipes the food bag from me, long since resigned to ignoring our girl talk.

“And even with those two,” Sylvie continues. “It took me a while to be convinced Ronan actually deserved her. Honestly, I wasn’t so sure until I saw how pathetic he was after she left his ass…”

As Ryan plates our food, Sylvie keeps blabbing about anything and everything guaranteed to make him tune out. When she asks him a direct question and he doesn’t even blink, she winks, clearly pleased with herself.

Crisis averted.

Maybe.

“You good, Rosa?” Ryan asks.

Or…maybe not.

Shit.

I force a casual laugh. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”