Chapter Forty-One

“Hey, where’s Vincent?”

Trenton turned his head from admiring Kennedi in that black off-the-shoulder number hugging the perfect curves of her body to find Dom stuffing his face with cake. To the guy’s credit, he worked out daily, and had a fast metabolism. “Vin’s stuck in Chicago. Flight delay,” Trenton said.

“What in all the fuck is he doing here? And he’s got that watchdog of his with him.”

Trenton quickly pivoted to see who his brother looked ready to murder. Alan Lange. Silas Gerety lurked but a few yards away from his master. “Who the hell oversaw the invitations?” He bit down hard at the sight of Lange on a narrow path straight for Kennedi.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dom handed off his plate to a waiter who passed his way, “because after I show him the door, I’m going to put my size twelves in his ass on the way out. I’ll bet this is his angle—to corner a VC and try to worm his way in on any prospect brewing in the pipeline.”

“Fuck that. That’s not happening.”

“Damn right, especially not after that dick move of his, blabbering like some fucking sixth grader to Kennedi. But I believe I managed to get her to see your side.”

Trenton looked at him. “My side?”

“Yeah, I told her what really went down with you and Claudia. I think Kennedi took it to heart.”

“Why the fuck did you do that?” He glowered. “I don’t need you blabbering your damn mouth to her about me.”

“Dude, I was trying to help you out. You’re welcome.”

Grinding down even harder on his molars, Trenton wondered if shit could ever just be simple. “You have two tasks—stay out of my fucking business, and keep an eye on Lange. Don’t make waves. If you see him trying to crowd a guest, intervene. Otherwise, keep things quiet.”

“I’d rather kick his ass, then kick him out.”

“You heard me.” Trenton walked off to avoid kicking his brother’s ass.