Marrying Mr. English:The English Brothers #7(2)

By: Katy Regnery

“You’re a bitch,” he muttered, looking up at her with narrowed, angry eyes.

“Maybe. But I’m not a chump,” she answered, ripping the bill from her pad and placing it on the table before turning on her white Keds and heading back toward the kitchen with Eve Marie at her heels.


Tom English watched the sassy little waitress make her way back across the bustling dining room, chuckling softly as he admired everything from the sharp way she’d taken down that dickweed to the way her tight ass swayed back and forth under the big white bow of her pink gingham dress.


Pulling his eyes away from the waitress with a stab of regret, Tom looked across the table at his companion, Van, raising his eyebrows.

“Talk about sharp nails!” said Van.

Tom chuckled again, picking up his coffee cup and taking a sip of the strong brew.

Van sneered as his eyes tracked the blonde. “You couldn’t pay me enough to go out with a girl like that. I don’t care how hot she is. That guy had it right. Bitch on wheels!”

Tom’s grin faded as he placed his mug back on the table and looked up at his friend. “I don’t agree.”

Van scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Are you effing kidding me?”

Tom shifted his gaze back to the kitchen, hoping for another glimpse of her. “Nope. I thought she was fairly spectacular.”

“Fairly spectacular,” mumbled Van, grimacing as he shook his head. “Well, you’re not known for your taste in women. I hope to God she’s not the friend the cute brunette was referring to.”

Tom, on the other hand, desperately hoped she was because he had zero interest in the vacuous brunette, but that spitfire blonde? Oh, man. She was something different.

And he could sure use the distraction.

In just four days, Tom English was going to lose every cent of his fifteen million dollar inheritance, because his fiancée, Diantha Montgomery, of the Philadelphia Montgomerys, had run off with her ski instructor, leaving Tom high and dry the night before their wedding.

It’s not like he was heartbroken—he hadn’t been marrying Di for love. No, theirs had been an agreement, a marriage of convenience. Tom’s thirty-second birthday was in four days—on Christmas Eve—and unless he was married by the final day of his thirty-first year, his eccentric old codger of a grandfather would disown him. Tom had heard the lecture a thousand times:

A good woman makes a man honest, makes him work harder, makes him true. If you don’t have a good woman in your life by age thirty-two, you don’t deserve a cent and you won’t get a cent. I’m not letting some devil-may-care wastrel playboy squander my millions!

Diantha, more than happy to pocket a cool million in exchange for saying “I do,” had planned a lavish wedding in Vail, and they’d invited dozens of friends and family to witness the temporary nuptials. The plan was to stay married for a few months, secure Tom’s inheritance, and then get a quiet divorce and go their separate ways.

But when Di didn’t show up to her own rehearsal dinner last Friday, things didn’t look good. A tearstained note shoved under Tom’s hotel room door confirmed the rest: Paolo and I have fallen in love and decided to elope. We’re leaving for Italy tonight. I’m so sorry, T! Love, Di

While all the guests had returned home, Tom remained in Vail with his erstwhile best man and sometime investing partner, Edison Van Nostrand, for the week that should have been Tom’s honeymoon. Time had certainly flown by with Van as their entertainment coordinator—today was Friday and Tom’s birthday was Tuesday.

He shrugged and swallowed the rest of his coffee. If he was being cut off in four days, he may as well enjoy his last few days as a “devil-may-care wastrel playboy.”

Van had asked their waitress—cute, airheaded brunette Eve Marie—to meet them at the bar of the Hotel Jerome tonight for some fun. The young waitress, checking out Van’s brand-new Rolex, snapped her gum and offered Van a sparkling smile as she promised to “do her best” to find a friend for Tom.

Van brightened suddenly, looking over Tom’s head with a lascivious grin. “Hey, angel, don’t break my friend’s heart and tell him your friend said no.”

Tom shifted in his chair to find Eve Marie standing behind him, wringing her hands nervously. She blew a small bubble with her gum and sucked it back quickly, snapping it between her teeth.

“Um . . . she’s not my friend; she’s my cousin.” She shifted her eyes from Van to Tom. “And she needs you to, like, answer a question first.”

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