Queen: BBW Billionaire Menage Romance (Billionaire Brothers, II Book 3) by Meg Watson

CHAPTER 1
    Melita was as cold as ice. I tried to just stay in the small, enclosed parlor at the back of the bungalow and keep out of her way as she (hopefully) defrosted. But she seemed to just carry on fine without me. I could hear her and Tomas chatting over dinner, Tomas getting ready for daycare in the mornings, and their normal daily life, but I sure as hell wasn't invited into it.
    I figured it would all blow over in a day or so, but then it didn't. It was like I didn't even exist to her. I hadn’t heard from the Jacks in a couple days, and I didn't exist to Carl anymore. I was completely unaffiliated.
    Pretty much hated it.
    I was busy planning, strategizing, and studying, so I was glad the Jacks were giving me a couple days to hunker down and get things done. How did they know I needed time? It was just one of their mysteries, but I assumed Owen was keeping tabs on me through his superpower and knew I needed a little space to make everything work out. In the back of my mind, I kept thanking him for that.
    But Melita was going to come back to me — she had to. Running through more than a day without her voice in my ear was strange and awful. I didn’t know how much a part of my headspace she occupied until she shut me out. It was a lot, and the loneliness was unbearable. But she had to know I couldn’t live without her. She had to miss me too. So I just snuck around the house like a bashful poltergeist, keeping out of sight and out of her way until she changed her mind.
    During the daytime while Tomas was at school, she stayed in her room. I could hear the floorboards creaking above my head every once in a while and sometimes I heard her creep into the kitchen for a snack. I would wait, my skin tingling and my ears pricked up, thinking that she was just about to tap on my closed door. But then her footsteps padded away and I could hear on the stairs going up.
    Well, if she's not gonna talk to me then I shouldn't feel bad about not confessing that I un-grounded myself.
    In the dim light of the curtained, tiny room, I stared at the screen of the shiny new Android notebook that I had bought refurbished from a small electronics store. It was small and lightweight, and I could even stow it in my purse if I had to. I figured it was a business expense, so when I whipped out my recently defrosted credit card to pay for it, I only felt the smallest twinge of guilt.
    It was a smaller twinge of guilt then I had felt at that first auction, the one right after the phony Gucci handbag that I prevented her from buying. I had dragged Melita's laptop onto the afghan and just poked around looking for a bag that I could buy her to apologize. I knew I could find an authentic one. They’re out there and often pretty affordable if you get the right seller.
    But within a few minutes I was back looking at collectibles and antiques, and then I was right back down the auction rabbit hole. Before we had even left for that sports bar in Evanston, I had already run up to half the credit limit on my card.
    But it was all really, really good stuff. I swear it.
    My cellphone buzzed at the bottom of my handbag and I glanced at it suspiciously. I had no idea how many missed calls and text messages were on there now, but it was a lot.
    The new Bree doesn’t have to answer the phone just because it’s making a noise. Suck it.
    I could have bought a cell phone, I knew, but I sort of liked being passive aggressively incognito for a while. I even toyed with the idea that I was really the kind of person who eschewed certain technological advances for obscure hipster reasons.
    It didn't take long to realize that in fact I was definitely a cell phone person, even if I had to wait a little while more to get one of my own. Every time I heard a buzz, chirp, or tweet my palms got itchy. Eventually, I knew, I was going to give in.
    But my mission was almost complete. Signing the lease agreement with the property manager had felt like an emotional root canal,