The Fireside Inn
Lily Everett
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Prologue
Miles Harrington lounged back into the deeply cushioned Chesterfield sofa and contemplated the three very different men he’d asked to meet him at The Biltmore Club that afternoon.
Taking a measured sip of his single malt, Miles let the smoky flavor burn down his throat as he silently acknowledged the truth: When he had decided last year to sponsor Leo, Zane, and Cooper for membership to the most exclusive private club in Manhattan, he’d been trying to compensate for his rebellious younger brothers. As if by mentoring some other guys who wouldn’t throw it back in his face, Miles would make up for the fact that his own brothers wanted nothing to do with him.
Of course, everything was different now—because of Greta. Miles allowed a soft smile to cross his face at the thought of his bright-eyed, sheltered fiancée. Greta might not have had much experience of the world outside her small hometown of Sanctuary Island, but she’d taught Miles a lot about the workings of the human heart and the bonds of family.
But even though Miles was finally making strides toward real relationships with his brothers, Dylan and Logan, Miles still felt a sense of responsibility for his young friends.
Even if sometimes they drove him nuts.
“Who do I have to screw to get a drink in this joint?”
Zane Bishop kicked his battered black Converse sneakers up onto the gleaming burled walnut surface of the mid-century antique coffee table and threw his dark head back to cast a searching gaze over the quiet lounge.
“The Biltmore Club is not one of your dive bars,” Leo Strathairn reminded him, sardonic amusement clipping his crisp British-inflected words even shorter than usual. “You absolute heathen. Don’t you understand where we are?”
“The Billionaire Club.” Cooper Haynes, always unable to sit still, prowled their private corner of the lounge like a caged tiger.
Miles stepped in. “Biltmore members do not repeat that ridiculous nickname,” he said sternly. “When I got you all in here, you promised you wouldn’t embarrass me.”
“Sorry, Miles.” Leo apologized more easily than the others. Miles wondered if it was a British thing, or if it had more to do with whatever had made the son of an honest-to-God English earl ditch his family to live the expat life in Manhattan.
“Hey,” Zane protested, crossing his bare arms over his short-sleeved black t-shirt. A t-shirt, at Biltmore…but that was Zane. And, to be fair, that simple tee was probably designer and ludicrously expensive. “It’s not actually our fault that the whole world calls The Biltmore Club ‘The Billionaires Club.’ If you think about it, it’s really the club’s fault for only letting in billionaires.”
Miles acknowledged the point with an ironic salute of his cut crystal highball glass, but it was Leo who said, “True. But we don’t have to be crass enough to perpetuate the nickname.”
“Oh, God forbid we should be crass,” Zane grumbled, most of his attention on flagging down the passing waiter to order a drink.
“Besides.” Cooper shrugged, propping his broad shoulders against the marble mantelpiece over the cold, empty fireplace grate. “We are billionaires. So what? We should be ashamed of it?”
Miles and Leo exchanged a quick glance. Like Miles, Leo had inherited most of his wealth from his family, and they occasionally found that a weird chasm could suddenly open up between their “old money” ideas, and the way Cooper and Zane felt about their “new money.”
What Miles valued about all of them, both the self-made men who worked hard and played harder, and the rogue aristocrat with an actual title and centuries of tradition behind him, was the genuine friendship that had sprung up between them.
But part of that friendship was based on the fact that all four of them had been bachelors, living the single lifestyle as billionaires in New York City. And that was about to change.
“If I could have your attention for a moment,” Miles said. He didn’t raise his voice, but then, he didn’t need to. Three pairs of curious eyes turned toward him.
“Okay,” said Zane. “Let’s get this show on the road. Why did you ask us to meet you here today?”
“Not that we aren’t glad to see you back in the city,” Leo put in, crossing his legs in the exact way that would put no creases in his impeccably tailored trousers. It wasn’t deliberate, Miles would bet—manners like that seemed to have been bred into the Brit, or drilled into him at an early age.
“You’ve been gone?” Cooper asked, perking up at the mention of travel. “Me, too—just got back from Bali last night, matter of fact. Man, that’s a gorgeous island.”
Miles grinned. “As it happens, I’ve been spending time on an island, too. Sanctuary Island, off the coast of Virginia.”
Cooper frowned. “Never heard of it.”
Zane grimaced. “Sounds…sweet. By which I mean, boring as hell.”
And, of course, it was Leo who sat up a little straighter, his piercing gaze sharpening on Miles’s face. “Stow it, lads. I think Miles here has something more on his mind than his recent vacation.”
Not for the first time, Miles studied Lord Leo. With his tousled chestnut hair, lean, chiseled face, and light gray eyes, Leo looked like exactly what he was: a wealthy Englishman, born of privilege and at home in high society. By all rights, he should be an entitled ass, self-involved and arrogant—but he wasn’t. Which made Miles wonder what the hell happened to make Leo so good at reading other people’s moods and expressions.
Time to stop stalling. Miles cleared his throat and braced himself for the explosion he was about to set off.
“Leo’s right. As it turns out, I met someone on Sanctuary Island and…we’re getting married.”
He squinted one eye half closed and hunkered down for the blast, but all that happened was a long beat of silence. And then Zane was up and off the sofa so fast, his battered leather pants squeaked across the tufted Chesterfield cushions like tires squealing on a racetrack. “What the hell, man? You were gone for, like, a hot minute! This is crazy. You—the head of Harrington International, the coolest guy we know—you can’t possibly be marrying some bimbo you met on vacation.”
“You make it sound as if I don’t know what I’m doing.” Miles bared his teeth in a smile that he was fairly sure wasn’t the least bit comforting. “Trust me, I do. Greta is amazing. She changed my life.”
He didn’t miss the alarmed glances zinging back and forth between his three young friends. Reminding himself he’d anticipated this reaction from these commitment-shy men, Miles settled deeper into his chair and finished off his whiskey. The glow from the alcohol was nothing compared to the warmth that suffused his chest when he thought of the woman he was about to make his wife.
“You must admit, it sounds odd.” Leo, ever the diplomat, spread his hands wide in an unthreatening gesture. “Ever since we’ve known you, there’s been no hint of a serious relationship. Much less a desire to marry.”
“What does she have on you?” Zane demanded, blue eyes flashing with the secrets he usually hid behind his loud, boisterous, party-boy demeanor.
Protectiveness rose up in Miles’s chest. No one talked about Greta like that. But before he could get up a good growl, Cooper stepped between them.
“No. It’s not blackmail. It’s worse than that.” Cooper studied Miles’s face with dismay that went deeper than the situation seemed to call for.
Leo’s handcrafted Italian loafers hit the plush carpeting with a muffled thud. “What could be worse than blackmail?”
A muscle ticked in Cooper’s jaw. Crossing his muscled arms over the battered olive drab of his waxed canvas field jacket, he ground out, “Miles is in love.”
Hearing it aloud made something deep in Miles’s chest relax. It wasn’t nearly as strange as he’d feared. He deposited his empty glass on the side table and laced his fingers behind his head. “That’s right. I’m in love, and it’s by the far the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
Leo averted his gaze as if uncomfortable with the blatant emotion of Miles’s statement while Zane openly scoffed. Cooper—well, Cooper smiled a little, but the half quirk that dimpled his scruffy cheek didn’t convey much actual happiness.
“No point trying to talk him out of it,” Cooper advised the others. “He’s got the look. It’s going to have to run its course.”
“Even when that course runs straight down the damn aisle?” Zane sounded outraged. If it were up to him, he’d probably kidnap Miles and hold him captive until he missed the wedding date.
Miles held onto his temper with an effort. “In this case, my course runs straight down the sand. We’re having an outdoor wedding on the beach. And I want you all to be there. In fact, I have jobs for you.”
“Um, I’ve already got a job,” Zane reminded him. As head of Whatever Entertainment, Zane owned and ran live music venues across the country.
“Exactly,” Miles said with satisfaction. “Which is why you’re the most qualified person to help plan the reception.”
Zane looked thoughtful, which was better than an outright refusal, so Miles pressed his advantage. He turned to the tall, scruffy man by the mantel. “And Coop, our resident adventurer, is on honeymoon duty. Greta has never been anywhere. I want her to experience something incredible for the first time, and I want to be there with her when she does it.”
“That…actually sounds fun to plan. A challenge…” Cooper’s green eyes took on the distance of far-off horizons, his toe tapping with the need to keep moving, to never stay in one place too long.
“I’m almost afraid to ask,” Leo drawled, a sarcastic edge to his smile. “What wedding-related business do you have for me, Miles? I eagerly await your will. To business that we love we rise betime, and go to ‘t with delight.”
“Something you’re perfectly suited for, Mr. Shakespeare,” Miles said, his shoulders relaxing. This was the easy one. “Greta and I would love for you to choose a reading to do at the ceremony.”
To his surprise, Leo was the first of the three to tense and frown at the news of his appointed task. The frown lasted only a second, though, before he blanked his face of any expression.
“Of course,” Leo murmured, silver gray eyes as opaque as the surface of a mirror.
Hesitating, Miles frowned. “Is that…are you all right with that? I’ve told Greta all about you, the way you pepper your conversation with quotes and lines of poetry—we’re both excited to hear what you come up with for the reading.”
Leo smiled, wide and easy and nowhere close to lighting his eyes. “If you want a reading fit for a king, you’ve come to the right place. Have no fear, Miles. I’ll find the perfect piece to read at your wedding.”
Miles forced himself to nod smoothly. They’d each agreed to their tasks, and thereby they’d agreed to come to Sanctuary Island and be part of the wedding. In most circumstances, Miles would never have doubted his ability to get his way, but with these three? He planned to take their yesses and run with them.
Standing and rebuttoning the top two buttons of his charcoal wool blazer, Miles gave his protégés a benevolent smile. “Excellent. In that case, I’ll be off. Greta is waiting for me.”
Leo set down his glass of cognac. “Want to share a cab uptown?”
“No, but thanks.” Miles spared a quick glance at his Piaget watch. “I’m not going to the penthouse.”
“The helipad.” Zane groaned, covering his eyes with his forearm. “Of freaking course. Tell me again, how many generations do you need to go back with this club to get helipad access?”
