Fixer for the Billionaire: A Spicy Billionaire Romantic Comedy (Seattle's Anderson Family)

Chapter 2

QUENTIN

”You”ve gotta be kidding me,” Alton”s eyes widen in disbelief. ”You actually said that to Carmina”s face?”

The surprise isn”t limited to my oldest brother, Hare Holeton”s CFO and Lead Counsel. Around the table, the entire Anderson crew mirrors his shock, even Derek, who”s usually as stoic as they come.

I tap my fingers on the pristine white tablecloth of Sopra, the crown jewel of Derek”s Italian restaurant empire. Just seven hours after my luncheon with Carmina, it was clear I needed a drink.

However, I hadn”t expected my older brothers and cousin to ambush me for details, especially after Ryder spilled the beans on my latest ”assignment”—playing Best Man to Carmina”s Maid of Honor.

Inside my CEO brother”s downtown Seattle establishment, I find him, Alton, and even Killian, our cousin who typically avoids family melodrama, all leaning forward with the kind of eagerness I usually reserve for the latest Blumhouse horror flick.

After a day like today, I”d normally collapse on my sectional, jalape?o pizza slice in hand, yelling ”Don”t go in there!” at the TV. But here I am, trapped with my overly curious family, who only seem to unite over our collective mishaps.

And, as luck would have it, this time it”s my turn in the hot seat.

I mentally vow to stockpile pizza and horror movies for the foreseeable future.

”Quentin, answer the question,” Derek demands, his tone sharp yet amused.

I sigh, taking a long sip of cognac. ”Yes, I did say it to her face,” I confess, eliciting cheers and howls of laughter from my brothers. ”But it was...it was just a joke.”

”Reminding her that her problem with you is because she hasn”t been laid since the Eisenhower administration? Classic joke,” Killian says, grinning devilishly.

I groan, covering my face. ”Why did I agree to this Best Man gig again?”

Derek claps my shoulder. ”Because you love Ryder enough to endure us for a day.”

”Yeah, well, I love my sanity more. Hanging out with you lot is a one-way ticket to insanity.”

”Look on the bright side,” Alton interjects. ”The Best Man speech is your chance to roast Ryder.”

That idea actually brings a smile to my face. I already have a mental list of embarrassing stories about my brother and his bride-to-be.

”Yeah,” Killian says, sharing my smirk, ”just steer clear of the pasta comments. Like the one about her bra...”

”Damn, I told you that one too?” I sigh, dragging my hand down my face. ”If chivalry isn”t dead, I definitely killed it today—with a rogue piece of spaghetti. I desperately need another drink.”

Images of spaghetti-draped Carmina flash in my mind. Dark hair, darker eyes, and warm bronzed skin.

Shaking my head, I reach for the wine list.

”Seriously, a drink?” Alton raises an eyebrow. ”After the pasta debacle, you need a whole vineyard.”

”Listen, I may be the ”chosen one”—Best Man extraordinaire,” I wave dismissively, ”but all this maid of honor and best man nonsense is way over the top, don”t you think?”

Derek grins. ”Finally admitting you”re not the golden child?”

”You know what I mean. It”s a lot of pressure.”

”And you”re allergic to that,” Killian interjects, breaking his silence.

”You”re hilarious,” I deadpan.

”But seriously, Quen,” Derek”s smile softens. ”From a newlywed: Being Best Man is about supporting the groom and avoiding any major disasters. Given your track record, that might be a tall order.”

”Whoa, whoa,” I protest, raising my hands. ”I might slip up now and then, but I”m not a complete disaster.”

Derek fixes me with a pointed look. ”Remember the Christmas tree fire?”

”That was one time.”

”And losing your pants at last summer”s pool party?” Killian adds.

”To be fair, I thought it was a clothing-optional event.”

Alton chimes in, ”And the time you forgot Uncle Joe”s birthday cake, settling for gas-station donuts instead?”

”Then left them out for Uncle Joe”s dog to devour,” Derek continues, unrelenting.

”Okay, I get it,” I concede, signaling surrender. ”I can be a mess. But this is my brother”s wedding. It matters.” I reach for my cognac, annoyed. ”Feels like I”m at an intervention.”

I expect laughter or light-hearted jabs, but silence falls.

”This is an intervention, isn”t it?” The realization dawns as their grins wane, eyes flickering with uncertainty.

Alton, the de facto spokesperson, clears his throat. ”Actually, Quen...yeah. It is. Ever since Ry chose you, there”s been concern. Your commitment skills are...questionable.”

“We know a formal wedding like this wasn’t in Ryder’s plans. But look, the plan changed.We just want Ryder”s day to be great. We”re here to help,” Killian says, tone softer than usual.

Unease settles in me. They”re not wrong; commitment hasn”t been my forte.

Life changed after my parents passed when I was fourteen. My dreams of a conventional life seemed to go with them. Commitment became a foreign concept.

Yet here I am, about to spin this into something positive, when my phone buzzes.

It”s a message from Carmina, the Maid of Horror.

She”s probably got a battle plan ready.

Killian peeks at my screen. ”Looks like you”ve got that to handle.”

I roll my eyes and open her message.

Your escape from lunch? Cute. Faking a work call? Really?

I sigh, putting my drink down.

Hope you”re ready to talk about the engagement party for Ry and Jen

Oh, and then the bachelor and bachelorette parties, of course

I’m thinking a joint one is better

Thoughts??

I start typing.

Just thinking about how to survive this planning without a casualty. But yeah, let”s talk.

Killian laughs. ”Good luck.”

I glare at him before returning to my phone.

I”ll manage the logistics. I’ll tackle the engagement party first. Just show up on time. And try not to be so...you.

Understood, boss. Now, can I get back to my drink?

My phone pings again. I groan.

Don”t forget, we still need to pick out your outfit for the party. I”ll send over some suitable fashion options when I get a chance.

No worries, I”ll wear my finest fanny pack for the occasion

Or better yet, I”ll break out the light-up sneakers. They”re vintage ”90s and guaranteed to get people talking.

Haha, very funny. We”re going for classy, not ”time traveler from a questionable fashion era.” Though, those sneakers might make it easier to find you when you inevitably wander off

Wandering off sounds like a great escape plan. But alright, I”ll stick to the dress code. Classic tux, right?

Exactly. Elegant. Simple. Clean.

Hey, I clean up well when I need to. But tuxes are so restrictive

How am I supposed to show off my breakdancing moves at the party? ??

Please, for the love of all that is holy, keep off the dance floor. And save yourself a trip to the emergency room

I chuckle, remembering my impromptu DJ and dance session at the company retreat three years ago. One sprained ankle later, and I”m forever branded a dance floor hazard.

Trust me, Sanchez. I”ll be the epitome of boring, responsible adulthood at this party.

Just curious: Were you always this annoying, or is it a finely honed skill?

I”d say it”s my superpower.

Now, back to business - any specific dress code details I should know about, Mommie Dearest?

How about sticking to what”s already in your wardrobe? Nothing neon

Black, navy, or charcoal gray will do.

You really know how to suck the fun out of things

You”re so childish. I don”t suck anything

Pro tip: Maybe if you did, you”d enjoy more of a social life

After a pause, Carmina texts back.

Have a nice evening, Quentin. And while you”re at it, take a nice, big leap into hell.

Aww, love you too ??

P.S. I”m already in hell, Sanchez. Wedding party hell. Goodnight

I set my phone down, reaching for my cognac as Killian glances my way. ”Let me guess: you pissed her off even more.”

I shrug. ”At least it”ll spice up my Best Man speech.”

My phone buzzes again, pulling my attention to the latest arrival.

A calendar notification from Carmina pops up with the title ”Exciting Meeting with Party Planners (a.k.a. Napkin Folds Table Settings Discussion).”

My lips curl into a smirk, though the amusement quickly fades as I”m reminded of the real reason my brothers dragged me here tonight. The very reason I”m supposed to steer clear of any fun or distractions.

Apparently, no one—neither Carmina nor my family—believes I can stay focused on my work without getting tangled in some fling or, worse, distracting myself with a donut-munching dog.

I down my cognac in one smooth motion and swipe a pork chop from the table. ”Thanks for the free drink, guys. Now, if you”ll excuse me, I”ve got an early meeting tomorrow and need to wash off this ”intervention.””

Stepping out into the cool night, the air feels like a refreshing change from the restaurant”s warm glow.

The pork chop, now an offering of peace, grabs the attention of the alley”s unofficial sentinel, an orange tabby with a critical eye for food.

”Consider this a critique from the high table,” I say, offering the chop. The scruffy cat takes it with a nod, then turns to its meal.

I flag down a cab, sliding into the backseat, feeling like a man who”s just begun to rewrite his narrative. My phone lights up as I review the note attached to Carmina”s invite.

Looking forward to our enthralling venture into party planning ????. Who knew discussing napkin folds could be a highlight of my otherwise mundane life ???

Get ready, Carmina, for a deep dive into table settings and, if we”re daring, the exhilarating world of chair covers ???. Yours, Quentin, in eager anticipation of an epic saga of decor.

I hit Send, no second thoughts.

Day 1 of being Best Man is over. 59 more to go.