Page 7 of The Tycoon (The Douglas Brothers #1)

Dolly

“Go ahead! She wants a refill!”

Shaking my head, I quickly cover my champagne glass with my hand to stop the waitress from topping it off. I’ve got a lovely buzz going, but I don’t want to take it too far.

“I’ve had three, already!” I exclaim.

Rolling his brown eyes, Sam gives the waitress a knowing look before turning back to me.

“Dolly, they’re bottomless. Get your money's worth!” he says.

Scrunching my face in thought, I give the matter a full second before pulling back my hand. He makes a good point; I can’t argue with his logic. I would be wasting my money if I didn’t have at least two more.

“Ok, ok, you’re right, fill ‘er up, please!”

Obliging with a smile, the young waitress fills my glass once again to the brim. This is the first time Sam and I have had brunch at this particular spot, but I will definitely be back. I’ll be sure to leave her a bigger tip for putting up with our slightly inebriated asses.

“I’ll fill you up as many times as you need me to, baby,” she says to us, giving Sam a suggestive wink. “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go check to see if your biscuits and gravy are ready.”

Carefully picking up my drink, I wiggle my eyebrows at my roommate. Bringing it to my lips, I laugh as a cocky expression falls over his handsome face. He already thinks he’s God’s gift to women, he didn’t need her little ego stroke.

“I’d do her,” he says, picking up a thick cut slice of bacon.

I can’t help but snort. He’s such a prick. Loveable, but a prick, nonetheless.

“Sam, you’d fuck any woman with a pulse,” I tease, taking a large gulp of my drink.

It’s true. I swear he brings home a different girl every night of the week. He’s the epitome of a man whore. We’re polar opposites, him and I. It’s probably why we get along so well.

Gasping from my words, he makes a show of being faux offended by my statement. Biting into his bacon, he hums for a second before shrugging his broad shoulders.

“Meh, that’s probably true,” he replies, a smug expression gracing his clean-shaven face.

Nodding my head, I put my mimosa back on the table. I’m still full from my feast last night so even though I’ve only ordered fruit, I’m struggling to make a dent in the mound. Picking up my fork, I stab a chunk of watermelon slathered in salt with no intent to eat it.

“So, what happened to Jasmine, huh? I thought you liked her.”

Shaking his head, he drops his half-eaten bacon onto his plate. Wiping his fingertips on the napkin draped across his lap, he leans in closer.

“Oh no! We’re not talking about my conquests! Not after you went out on a date with a fucking Douglas last night,” he counters, jerking his chin upwards. “Spill it, Blondie!”

Letting out a long sigh, I squirm for a hot minute in my bistro chair.

Sam is the one person I can tell anything to, but I’m not sure he would understand what happened between Sutton and me.

He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, or even the concept of soulmates.

Spreading his seed far and wide like Johnny Appleseed is what he’s all about.

“I really like him. We, uh, I don’t know how to explain it. We just had this instant connection. I felt like I had known him all my life…and I think I’m going to marry him,” I reply.

Dropping his jaw, a gagged sound squeezes from his throat. He blinks at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. Maybe I have.

“Woah, woah, woah…Dolly…I’m sorry. You think you’re going to marry him? What in the actual fuck? You’ve spent what, four hours max with this guy? And you think you’re going to marry him?” he all but yells in disbelief.

Letting my fork fall to my plate, I sheepishly nod my head. My cheeks flush from a mixture of champagne and embarrassment, I can barely meet his dumbfounded gaze.

“Well, when you put it like that I guess it sounds really stupid of me but…yeah? I don’t know how to explain it. I just feel that he’s my future husband. Like, my soul knows it.”

Letting out a full-bodied laugh, the deep sound cuts through the French music playing in the background. See, what did I tell you? I was right! He doesn’t understand my instant connection with Sutton. I hope he does someday, so he can come back and apologize.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ! This isn’t one of your fucking romance novels, Dolly! This is real life! It doesn’t work that way! You’re just into him because he and his family have more money than God!” he barks, his voice tinged in disgust.

Rolling my glassy eyes, I try with all my might not to let his response get to me. If I was stone cold sober, I would probably argue back. But my mind is fuzzy right now, and I’m feeling too good to care.

“Whatever, Sam. You weren’t there! You didn’t see how sweet he was to me!

He was nothing but a total gentleman, he treated me with kindness and respect.

He listened to me, like, really listened to my hopes and dreams,” I say, trying to catch his annoyed gaze.

“He poured all his attention into me while I blabbed about my future plans. He made me feel really hot and desirable, he gave me the sweetest compliments! Oh! And! He let me eat fucking food without making me feel like a beached whale!”

Snapping his mouth closed, Sam listens to me as I ramble on about how wonderful Sutton Douglas is.

After a few moments, his annoyed expression turns unusually serious.

His eyes warm as he stares at me, his athletic body softens in a way I haven’t noticed before.

Clearing his throat, he interrupts my chaotic train of thought.

“I do all of those things too, Dolly,” he says, the smallest grin lifting his full lips.

Freezing as his words wiggle their way into my brain, their implications cause my heart to jump into my throat. Did I just hear what I think I did? Or is the champagne finally getting to me?

“What?” I ask.

Arching a brow, he moves to take my hand.

I pull it away before he has a chance.

Pushing out a sigh, he reluctantly sits back in his white bistro chair.

“I said that I do all of those things, too,” he repeats.

Swallowing hard, the heat in my cheeks burns white hot. I blink at him, a disbelieving huff leaving my shaky lips. The cafe around me begins to spin, I have an overwhelming need to create some type of distance. I’m not prepared to deal with whatever this is right now.

“I, uh, I gotta pee,” I murmur.

Standing from my seat, I grab my purse from the back of the bistro chair and step away before Sam can reply. Carefully maneuvering around the other tables, I make a beeline for the restrooms at the back of the restaurant. Opening the door, I shuffle my steps into the first stall.

Slamming the metal door closed behind me, my fingers fumble as I secure the lock. Taking in large gulps of air, I try my hardest to calm my heart as it smacks against my ribcage.

“Holy fuck. Holy fuck.” I whisper, my gaze darting around the small stall.

Sam has been my best friend since I met him almost two years ago at a hole in the wall bar not long after I moved here. He’s like a brother to me, I’ve never seen him any other way. Never in my wildest dreams did I think he had feelings for me. This new information throws me for a loop.

Closing my eyes, I shake my head as my body calms down. Every heartbeat brings a little more clarity, but it doesn’t help the panic that’s still lodged in my stomach. I don’t want to leave the restroom, I’m not quite ready to face Sam. I think I might just stay here for another minute. Or ten.

Actually, when do they close?

My phone alerts me of a text, the sound jolts me from my thoughts.

I’m almost afraid to look at who it is, though I have a pretty good idea.

Pushing out a sigh, I reach into my purse and grab my phone.

To my surprise, and relief, the name Sutton Douglas graces the text bubble.

Unlocking my phone, I immediately dive into my messages.

Butterflies replace the anxiety in my belly, until I actually read his message.

Staring at the screen, confusion passes over my flushed face. I repeat the question out loud, not understanding what he means. Holding my phone with both hands, I type my reply.

Barely ten seconds later, my phone pings again.

Swearing an expletive under my breath, I realize my error.

When I woke up this morning, I had a quick text exchange with him where to make plans for this evening.

But before that, he asked me what I was doing after he had my car returned to me.

I mentioned that I was going out to brunch with my roommate, but I don’t think I ever told him that Sam was a man.

Gliding my fingers over my phone’s keyboard, I type my reply. I already know this isn’t going to go well.

I know it’s my fault for not telling him, but his dry responses are leaving me with a bad taste in my mouth.

Probably because of what is happening with Sam.

Oh, and the mimosas might also have something to do with my annoyance.

Letting my irritation get the better of me, I answer him rather flippantly.

He replies quicker than I’ve ever seen in my life.

Swallowing hard, I read his text four more times to make sure my brain is comprehending it correctly. I don’t know why, but I feel guilty for upsetting him. I don’t want him to be mad at me, it makes me feel terrible. Taking in a breath, I force myself to reply the way I know he wants me to.

Confusion crashes into me, causing my face to twist. He was staring at my ass as I walked away? Holy shit, is Sutton here?

I laugh a little too loud at his question. If only.

Nodding my head at my phone’s screen, another laugh leaves my lips.

I hear a deliberate cough come from the next stall but don’t pay much attention.

This conversation with Sutton just keeps getting better.

Of course he’s right, but I’ll be damned if I give him my confirmation. Not here, and certainly not like this.

.

Rolling my eyes, I shake my head at his reply.

As if it is just that easy. It might be for him, but for the rest of us poor peons, we have to make do with what we have.

If that means I must share an apartment with my best friend, who apparently harbors feelings for me, well, that’s what I have to do.

Staring at my phone, I freeze in place. His text leaves me completely dumbfounded, I have no idea how I should respond. Is he serious? Is he being glib? Ugh, I really need to be sober for this.

How the hell do I respond to that? I’m at a total loss. But I suppose it doesn’t matter; I don’t even get a chance to before his next text comes through.

“Holy shit,” I whisper.

Reading his text again and again, my woozy mind runs a mile a minute.

He protects what’s his. That means I’m his, right?

I wasn’t crazy! He felt everything that I did last night.

This realization makes me smile. My fingers try to move over the keyboard, but another text comes through before I make headway.

It takes me a good minute before I physically react.

Taking in a ragged breath, I brush the now damp hair from my face as I collect my thoughts.

My hands shake so much that it's difficult to hold my cell. I know I should feel weird that he’s clearly watching me, and that he’s dictating what I do.

But strangely, it’s almost comforting to have someone looking out for me. Oh my God, that sounds so fucked up.

I am so fucked up.

Lost in my own mind, my phone’s melodic notification brings me back to my restroom stall.

Nodding in obedience as if he was standing directly in front of me, my trembling fingers type out a reply before I follow his orders. This will probably be either the greatest decision of my life, or the worst. God, I hope it’s not the worst.