Hale Damage (Highway to Hale #3)

Chapter 1 – Remington

CHAPTER ONE

Introducing Joe Blow

Remington

I forgot to tell you, but I joined a cult and have to be back to the commune by ten.

My gout is acting up.

I have raging diarrhea.

It’s time to give my cat her glaucoma medication.

These are all excuses I’ve come up with to leave this bar. None of them are actually true. Hell, I don’t even have a cat. Nor do I have diarrhea, raging or otherwise. But I’d rather be at home checking my emails than at this bachelor party.

Looking around at our group of about twenty, I consider sneaking out. They probably wouldn’t even miss me, right? And then my eyes fall on my brother Phoenix. He’s grinning in his gaudy groom T-shirt, looking so damn happy, and the guilt sets in.

Helix, my other brother, catches my gaze, and I can tell he feels the same.

This nightclub isn’t either of our scenes.

Helix is a scientist in our family’s cosmetics laboratory, the quiet, studious type, while I’m focused on the business side of our company.

Some may call me a workaholic, but I find that such an ugly word. I’m simply driven.

Phoenix, the groom, who also happens to be Helix’s twin, works in marketing for Hale Cosmetics, which suits his personality perfectly. He’s the loud, outgoing brother, and a noisy nightclub is his jam.

So I’ll stay. It’s one night, and your brother only gets married once.

Well, hopefully. I think part of my problem tonight is I’m not thrilled about the woman Phoenix is marrying.

In my opinion, Beatrice Bettencourt is not the right person for my brother.

She’s stodgy, stuck-up, and has no sense of humor, the complete opposite of Phoenix.

But maybe that old saying opposites attract holds true.

I want to support my brother, but this wedding shit has been a lot.

Beatrice’s father has turned the entire week into a farce, with multiple parties and events every day, each one more extravagant than the next.

The only bright spot was the wedding golf tournament, which I won, thank you very much.

Besides that, it’s been exhausting, and I’m ready for it all to be over with tomorrow.

Tuning back in to the conversation, I catch our cousin, Dutton, asking which of us would be next to get married.

Helix kindly nominates me, and I graciously decline with my middle finger before telling the guys, “I’m focused on my career.

Maybe I’ll think about marriage later, but it’s too much fun playing the field right now.

” I shrug. “They all want to get too serious too quickly, and I’m not ready for that. ”

That sparks an in-depth analysis of my love life, and I listen impassively as they theorize that the women I date only want me for my wealth and the status of potentially being married to the future CEO of Hale Cosmetics.

“You’re certainly not getting laid due to your personality,” Phoenix observes, and I tell him to fuck off.

Though he’s probably not too far off the mark.

I’m not exactly what you’d call a “people person,” but no one cares about my personality anyway.

All the women I date seem to be cut from the same designer cloth. Society women and social climbers.

I take in the group of women nearby who are eyeing our group.

We’re in the VIP section of this club, so they know we have money.

I check out one of the blondes looking me up and down.

She’s rail thin, in a tight black dress with sleek hair parted down the middle.

Her face is pretty and her smile perfect, almost annoyingly so.

In the past, I probably would have given the bottle blonde who’s now eye-fucking me a subtle lift of my chin, and she would have strutted over, resulting in me taking her back to my hotel room for some one-night-only fun at the end of the evening.

But she holds no interest for me tonight.

Nor does the cookie-cutter blonde beside her. Or the one beside her.

I sigh inwardly. This has been happening a lot lately, this raw annoyance I feel with the women I meet. They’re all the damn same. The same blueprint looks. The same inane conversations. The same lack of… personality.

I return my attention to our party in time to hear Phoenix say, “Remi, I bet you can’t hook up with a regular girl, someone who’s completely unaware of your net worth.

” The smugness and challenge in his tone light something inside me.

Hell, I’ve never been able to turn down a bet from Phoenix, which has gotten us in trouble more times than I can count.

So I answer with a confident, “I most certainly could.” After all, I’ve never had trouble in the hook up department.

In fact, none of the Hale brothers have any difficulty with the ladies.

There’s definitely a family resemblance as far as having tall, muscular builds and strong jaws that seem to be attractive to women.

We all have dark hair, though mine is slightly darker than the twins.

And I’ve inherited our mother’s brown eyes, while Helix and Phoenix have blue ones.

“Prove it.”

These fools honestly think women only want me for my money and status, and it irks me that they might be right. So I will prove I can get a girl based on just me. I can be charming… ish. “Fine. What did you have in mind?”

Helix and Dutton follow our exchange, both of them grinning like loons.

“You take a girl from this bar home tonight,” Phoenix challenges.

“No problem,” I retort arrogantly. “This is going to be the easiest bet ever. Hold my scotch.”

Then Phoenix delivers the kill shot. “One of our choosing.”

Shit. I can feel my eyebrows lowering to hood my brown eyes. “Who gets to pick? I don’t mean to sound like an asshole, but I don’t trust you, Phe.”

I glance over at the blonde. I’m fairly sure her pupils have taken on the shapes of dollar signs when she takes in my designer clothes and expensive watch.

It’s not a new experience. Women always look at me like I’m their next meal ticket. I like to dress nicely. Blondie is a beautiful woman, but for some reason, I pray he doesn’t choose her. Or one of her clones.

“I’ll pick,” Helix offers, and my eyes meet his before I nod. He’s level-headed, and I’m pretty sure he won’t do anything stupid like choose the middle-aged bartender who’s been keeping us hydrated the entire evening. Barb is sweet, but it’s a no from me.

Terms are negotiated, and a handshake seals the deal with Phoenix. Then Helix surprises me by strolling over to the wall of windows separating the VIP section from the rest of the club. We all follow, but I don’t even look down there, keeping my gaze firmly on my brother.

He pushes his glasses up his nose, and his eyes roam the people down below before backtracking. I see the instant he spots someone that catches his interest.

“Her,” he says confidently. “The redhead at the fifth table from the left.”

I cast my gaze downward and count. One. Two. Three. Four…

Holy shit.

Stepping closer, I place one palm on the glass and stare at the absolute knockout who’s sitting at a high, round table.

Her hair is a deep red color and falls past her shoulders in waves, framing a face that would make an angel weep.

It’s difficult to see her eye color from this distance, but her skin is darker than one would think for a redhead.

Since she’s seated, I can’t see her entire body, but what I do see is nothing short of phenomenal.

Full tits spill from the top of a red dress that should clash with her hair but somehow works.

She tugs at the fabric, as if she’s uncomfortable with showing her cleavage, and I want to reach down and still those delicate hands because she looks perfect.

“Fuck,” I murmur. “Thanks, Helix. You’re the best brother ever.”

He chuckles his agreement.

I back away and straighten my shirt. “Watch and learn, boys.”

I’m anxious to get downstairs and meet the beauty, to hear what her voice sounds like, but Dutton stops me. “You’re supposed to look and act like a regular guy, not a dude with money coming out his ass.”

I hold my hands out to the side. “What the fuck? I look regular.”

Phoenix snorts. “Hate to tell ya, Rem. Regular people don’t wear thousand dollar shirts, Brioni loafers, and a Patek Philippe watch that costs more than a Toyota.”

My black Bouvier dress shirt only cost me six hundred bucks, but I don’t correct him. The rest of it though? Meh. Maybe they have a point.

“Just take off the watch and change your shirt and shoes,” Dutton suggests.

Dismissing Phoenix’s Barbie-pink tee and Dutton’s western-style shirt, I point at Helix, who’s wearing a button-down much like mine but in a charcoal hue. I prefer black, but gray is close enough.

Going into a darkened corner, we exchange shirts and shoes, and I remove my watch, buckling it onto my brother’s wrist. I try to get accustomed to the feel of his shirt. It’s not cheap, but it’s also not the ultra-soft fabric I normally purchase for myself. I have a weird thing with textures.

When we return to our group, Phoenix is looking at his phone and cackling. “Gotcha all set up at the Hampton Inn, Rem.”

I gape at him. We’re in our hometown of Houston, and the Hamptons are on the eastern end of Long Island. In New York, for fuck’s sake.

“You expect me to fly this woman to the Hamptons tonight?”

For some reason, they think this is fucking hilarious. “Bro,” Helix explains through gasping breaths, “the Hampton Inn is right down the street.”

“Like that hotel chain?” I set my hands on my hips. “Did you at least book me the penthouse?” When Phoenix assures me he did, I grumble, “I don’t know why you didn’t just book me next door at The Guild.”

Dutton shakes his head, mirth dancing in his sky-blue eyes. “Because you’re supposed to be acting like a regular guy, and rooms at The Guild start at fifteen hundred per night. The average Joe Blow would not be able to afford that.”

“Huh, guess that makes sense.” I adjust my shirt, making sure the cuffs are perfect and the tails are tucked in.

I’m an inch taller than my brothers, but Helix has a much broader chest because he’s a swimmer.

Like, Olympic-level swimmer. His shirt fits me pretty well, though it’s slightly looser than I usually wear.

“You look good, man,” Dutton praises. “And try not to look so uptight. Maybe smile a little.”

These fuckers have no faith in me whatsoever. I’m about to teach them a lesson though. I hope. The slightest hint of apprehension creeps in around the edges of my psyche. What if they’re right?

Phoenix musses my perfectly styled hair a bit. “Oh, and don’t tell her your real name.”

“What the hell am I supposed to call myself?” I huff.

Dutton’s lips curl up at the corners. “How about Joe Blow?”

Swear to god, these people give me a headache.

I head downstairs, channeling Joe Blow, just a regular guy and not billionaire Remington Hale.

My eyes lock onto the woman, who is staring down at her phone. I lose sight of her for a second as people flood onto the dance floor, but once she’s in my line of sight once again, I frown.

Some blond asshole is standing beside her table, chatting her up.

Fuck no. This won’t do. This won’t do at all.