I could strangle Chloe right now—a feeling I’d grown increasingly familiar with since the day we met. All this time and she could still push my buttons like no other. To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure which of us was more fucked up: her for getting off on teasing me like this, or me for enjoying it so damn much.

“So . . . plans?” Will repeated, pushing away from the building. “Are we standing here all night watching Bennett throw a fit or. . . ?”

Max checked his watch. “Dinner,” he said. “Mum made us reservations for the Steakhouse over at the Wynn. Supposed to be top-notch.”

Looking for our driver, I turned to look down the street, and a flash of green caught my eye at the opposite corner. Chloe. I’d last seen her with Sara, all bright eyes and teasing smiles as she’d left me inside the club. Now they waited on the sidewalk, arms outstretched as they attempted to hail a cab.

I blinked quickly to Max, who was busy arguing with Will and Henry about whether it was physically possible to eat a twenty-four-ounce porterhouse in less than fifteen minutes. Perfect.

I spotted our car as it rounded the corner and began its way up the drive toward us, and realized I’d have to act quickly. With only the vaguest threads of a plan in place, I grimaced, hunching over and pressing a hand to my stomach.

“You okay over there, Ben?” Will asked, eyebrows raised.

“Fine, fine,” I said, waving him off. “My stomach’s just a little . . . I think my ulcer’s acting up.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “You have an ulcer?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding, and sucking in breath for added effect.

“You,” he repeated. “An ulcer.”

I straightened a little. “Is there a problem?”

He scratched his eyebrow and looked at me skeptically. “Suppose I’m just having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that the great and powerful Bennett, the one whose blood-pressure barely blinks even in the most stressful meetings and has zero fucks to give about anyone’s opinion”—he motioned between all three of them—“including ours,” he added, “has an ulcer.”

Our car pulled up to the curb in front of us just as a taxi stopped in front of Sara and Chloe.

“Well, I do,” I said, meeting his stare again. Our driver opened the door and waited. Everyone waited, eyes moving from Max to me and back again.

“Why is this the first I’m hearing of this ulcer business?” Henry asked.

“Because you’re not my doctor or my mommy,” I said. They all stared at me in silence, looking various degrees of concerned or, in Max’s case, doubtful. “Look, why don’t you all take the car while I run to the pharmacy. I saw one just down the street.”