All Chapters of The Boss I Shouldn't Want, Now My Stepbrother : Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

RhysandEvery once in a while, I am left speechless by my actions. Just like today, I had overslept.I, Rhysand Warner, had overslept, and no one had woken me up. The first thing I saw was sunlight bleeding past my curtains.Shit. I reached for my phone, and another expletive escaped my mouth. Past 9 a.m.I hadn't intended to stay up so late, much less talk to my father for more than five minutes, but last night had been different.For once, we hadn't argued about work or expectations. We'd sat by the pool, sipping aged scotch and talking about trivial things.My childhood, his. Old songs, and even a few stories about how he struggled to take care of me. Then he'd switched to Margaret, his love for her and how amazing she was. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen my father so emotional, so soft, like his marriage to Margaret had been the salvation he needed all along.Strangely, I was happy for him. Margaret was good for him, and I didn't regret the conversation. Not even as I

RhysandThorne Clarkson stood before us looking every bit as cocky as I remembered him, dressed in a flamboyant Armani blue suit, a white dress shirt, and a hat of the same color. He looked like a miniature version of his father, though a less smart and more watered-down version."Is now a good time?" he asked with a cocky smile, his eyes fluttering between me and Bridget before resting on our joined hands. "I don't want to interrupt anything. I can always come back."I scowled, my lips parted, ready to tell him to fuck off, when Bridgette snatched her arm away from my grip, her tone steady."Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Thorne," she said with a professional smile. "There's nothing more important than speaking with you. To what do we owe the honor?""Is that so?" Thorne drawled, his eyes darting towards me before looking back at Bridgette."Why are you here, Thorne?" I spat, willing him to disappear as quickly as he had arrived.Like his name suggested, Thorne had been a prickly thorn in

RhysandThe car ride was silent. Bridget had taken my offer to drive to the party, while Thorne rode in front, guiding us to the venue.Despite the joy I had felt when she'd taken my offer to go together, I was beginning to feel a sense of loss. Bridget wouldn't speak to me. She refused to acknowledge my presence and gave me no chance to bring up our earlier discussion.Currently, she sat with her eyes fixed on her phone, scrolling mindlessly through social media. Whenever I tried to broach the subject, she would ignore me or answer me with one-word sentences, giving me no chance to clear the air.The closer we got to our destination, the more panicked I felt. I couldn't brush aside the feeling that she was slipping away from me before she could even be mine.The opportunity to talk soon came when Thorne slowed down and turned into the hotel's parking space. I closely followed, purposely taking my time to find a good spot. Despite the valet sign offering to park, I waved him aside and

RHYSANDI kept my gaze fixed on Bridgette as she walked away, her heels tapping softly against the polished marble floor. Despite her expression being unreadable, I didn't miss the spark in her eyes or the way her lips tugged slightly at the sight ahead.The antique glass-covered stamp was displayed at the far end of the exhibition hall. I'd seen how excited she'd been at the mention of the charity event, and the promise of an antique stamp.It was the reason I'd accepted Thorne's offer for a celebratory party. I was ready to do anything to bring a smile to her face, and if it meant swallowing my pride and listening to rats bickering, I would.I sighed, then extracted myself from the overly enthusiastic grip of Mr. Thorne Clarkson, director of one of the biggest conglomerates in the world and son to the titan himself, Mr. Clarkson, who had singlehandedly created the company from a tiny shop.Despite Clark Clarkson being so widely known and respected, his son wasn't much to brag about

BridgetteWould this day ever end?The director just wouldn't stop talking—more like bragging. Even his voice was becoming annoying, the accent grating on my nerves.He'd moved away from his vast collection of stamps to his vast stock spread, and now he talked about his job. I stood there, half-smiling and nodding, listening to his endless string of achievements like he was reading aloud from his résumé."And then, of course, we had to cancel the Berlin tour because the organization couldn't meet my demands," he chuckled, pulling at his buttons as if he'd just said something amazing. "But you know how it is—someone else is constantly searching for raw talent."I let out a dry laugh, trying to be polite. "I'm sure that was… exciting."He leaned closer, his accent thicker than ever. "You know, Bridgette, I know I said it before, but… Why don't we have dinner sometime? Just the two of us. I could show you my collection of stamps, although they are in my bedroom. That's if you don't mind.