Law #1: Never Bet on Love: A Sweet Billionaire Love Story (Laws of Love) by Agnes Canestri (the beginning after the end novel read .TXT) 📗

the Desert Rose’s sultry interior, I’m still wondering what Murphy had in mind when he decided to park and rush inside without even waiting for me?

Did he get thirsty all of a sudden? He can’t seriously expect to find the woman for our bet in this shabby place, can he?

Murphy has always had a fetish for the life of the poor. He loves to mingle with people who are less fortunate than him. As if he’s somehow embarrassed about having money. Probably because he never really had to work for it. Even if his psychologist gig brings in some bucks, it’s nothing compared to the monthly payouts Mother hands him.

From the deals I make, despite my so clearly lacking people skills.

I ignore the bitterness as I recall the injustice of the situation I’m in.

Murphy has settled on a stool close to the bar, which must’ve been cushioned properly in its early days but now only looks like a rigid board. From his seat, he can look directly at the large stage that, except for the instruments of a band set up and ready to play, is completely empty.

A waitress, wearing a hideous uniform that’s probably meant to look attractive but comes across as vulgar due to her large thighs and prominent bosom, cruises by carrying a large plate of hamburgers and grilled steaks.

I cringe as the smell of deep fry tickles my nostrils.

The woman’s thin brows round as she blinks at me, then her mouth twitches into a smile. Her cheeks blush and she thrusts her chest forward. “Hello, there!” she calls out in a husky voice before continuing toward the booths that constitute the dining area of the bar.

I saunter to my brother, feeling less annoyed than when I entered. The waitress’s reaction gives me hope that I won’t have much trouble ticking off the task that stands between me and my promotion.

I sink down on a stool beside Murphy, realizing with displeasure that my previous assessment of the chair’s condition was a tick too generous.

“Making friends already?” Murphy beams approvingly.

“Just getting warmed up for your challenge,” I answer with more cockiness than I feel. “What are we drinking?”

Murphy snaps his fingers, then waves at the bartender, a man with a grey beard and jutting jaw. “Amigo!”

At Murphy’s call, he glances up. Setting down the blender he’s cleaning, he steps over to us. His lips are set in a line which makes his hostile opinion of us rather obvious. “Can I get you something?”

Having seen the hasty gestures with which he rinsed off that mixer, I quickly decide to order a beer. And probably drink it straight out of the bottle.

“A beer para mi, too, por favor.” Murphy smiles at the man.

The guy mumbles something under his breath that sounds like gringos, then pops open two bottles and hands them to us. “Here you go.”

“Cerveza,” I tell Murphy when the bartender is gone.

He raises his brows at me as if I’m an alien. “What?”

“I said, cerveza. It’s beer in Spanish. If you want to order something in another language, you should do it right. Otherwise, just stick to English.”

“Good point. I love to feel like a local when I visit these places. But maybe my effort to adapt is more offensive than flattering.” He chuckles, then points at the stage. “So what do you think about this place? Is it a gem or what?”

“I don’t know if I’d stretch it so far as to call it a gem. But they have decent beer.” I take another sip from my bottle. “Even if the bartender could be more cheerful.”

Murphy waves. “He’s just used to a rougher crowd than us, that’s all.”

“Ah, my good Murphy, always putting yourself in other people’s shoes.” I pat his back.

Though I can’t argue the validity of his point as I fix my attention on the large group at the other end of the counter. Those guys clearly belong to a motorcycle club. Their unity is highlighted by their shaved heads, countless tattoos, and black leather jackets, all adorned with the same symbol. Perhaps a gang identification, though it looks more like a five-year-old’s scribble to me.

I turn back to my brother. “So let’s talk business. Have you chosen my victim yet?”

My word choice is meant as a joke. But a secret part of me hopes it will play on Murphy’s conscience and he’ll reconsider this whole thing. After all, he is asking me to plan a deception on an innocent woman just to prove I’m good enough to lead our company…

Who is the one with blind spot again?

Murphy gives me a slanted glance while his lower lip curls up. “Yes, I did. She isn’t here yet. But you’ll see her soon enough.”

Great. So he is going through with it. Fine, so am I.

Murphy said he’s already chosen the girl and that she’s coming. Who could she be? Did Murphy choose someone ugly just to discourage me from winning? If so, he’ll be disappointed. I’d pursue Godzilla if I needed to in order to become CEO.

I know the drill of a good courtship. I’m not a playboy, nor have I ever been, but I’ve had my share of women. I’m not sure whether any of them has loved me though. Some have been after my wealth, for sure. Not entirely their fault, as I’ve never given them the chance to stick around long enough to get to know me. As soon as they became too needy of my time, we split.

Okay, now that I’m thinking about it, Murphy might be right about me never having been in love or knowing what real love feels like. But it can’t be as difficult to ignite such an emotion in someone as my brother said, can it?

“Ladies and gentleman!” A voice from the microphone jars me out of my thoughts.

It belongs to a man with a prominent belly, too many gold necklaces around his short neck, and a bright blue shirt, which he wears without a tie beneath his