The Bet by Natalie Wrye

Author:Natalie Wrye [Wrye, Natalie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wrye Writing
Published: 2018-12-29T18:30:00+00:00

Chapter 17

HEATH

This woman could out-drink a fish.

Seven shots in, and I am barely scratching the surface of where Miss Violet Keats, Esquire, is, my brain practically pounding from chugging all the cheap alcohol.

The taste of the cocktail on my tongue is sickly sweet, and I order another cup of the bile, my ego not letting me lag too far behind the petite redhead beside me, swinging a pair of long legs along her sturdy stool.

The hour is late, the bar nearly empty.

Happy Hour has turned to Hysterical Hour, and through the haze of bad tequila and even worse memories, Violet and I reminisce together, our laughs long and loud as we re-tell the story of the last time we talked, nearly a year ago, at Elsie and Brett’s surprise engagement shin-dig.

Violet wipes at her eyes, swiping away tears of laughter instead of sadness this time, her hand brushing against her pretty face. She pokes me with a free finger.

“What about you, Mr. Scotch on the Rocks? That dancing?” She giggles, holding a hand over her pink mouth, her blue eyes bright. “You looked like a baby bird crawling away from the nest for the first time.”

“Hey,” I answer, swinging my latest cocktail through the air, the liquid sloshing over the side and onto the floor. “That was the scotch dancing. You kid, but some of my best moves come out when I am completely, utterly and irrevocably fucked up.”

I take another swallow, the swill in my mouth barely burning this time. I close my eyes briefly, feeling better than I have all week.

When’s the last time I laughed this hard? Drank bottom shelf liquor and talked about something other than business?

Too long ago, that’s when.

Being a professional investor was killing me. Literally.

I’d had two near strokes in the last week, watching the stocks swing, my mood constantly dependent on the market. The trip to New York hadn’t helped, and as I prepared to possibly win—or lose—the bet of a lifetime, my nerves could be shredded on the edge of a needle, they were so thin.

To add insult to injury, my best friend Brett was caught in the throes of his infamous father Christopher Jackson’s court case for fraud and a pre-wedding planning nightmare.

My promise to take part in Marilyn’s pre-nuptial festivities was quickly spiraling into a lie, and though the wedding was weeks away, I feared that me fucking up my father’s firm was going to drag me away from Brett’s special day.

A day I was secretly dreading.

In my eyes, marriage was more a prayer than a holy matrimony. And I’d stopped praying long ago, my last plea to the universe ending at the tender age of eight.

I swallow another gulp of the tequila, chasing the memory of my youth away with its bite. I glance at Violet.

“And what about you, Stubborn Spice?” I ask, my eyes fixed to her smiling face. “Who knew that every lyric from the Spice Girls movie would come flying out of your mouth as

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