Page 67

He eyes me up and down once more before turning back into the house. He leaves the door open for me, so I presume that’s an invitation.

I follow him to the west wing, yes, thewest wing.

Leading to his office, he heads straight for his liquor cabinet. A crystal decanter houses the warm amber liquid, and he uncharacteristically pours me a glass before taking a seat in his large wingback chair, which reminds me of an overcompensating villain chair. The top almost reaches above his head, and I have a sudden vision of him spinning on it for a big reveal, stroking a cat while he’s at it.

The rest of the room is lined with old books and artifacts, some of which I know to be stolen. A particular painting hangs from an old-fashioned frame. I’m sure I read about it in the papers a few weeks ago. Didn’t that get stolen from a museum?

“I don’t have all day. Let’s get down to it.”

His face is stony. A surge of annoyance grates at my skin. Danny and Olivia were so happy to see each other. And despite a few choice words that Danny needed to have removed from his vocabulary, they’ve always seemed to get along. Theysupport each other. They love each other.

“I wanted to let you know Dad has been harassing me to compete with you for the business. I’ve told him I’m not interested.”

He sits for a while, his face white and pale. The guy is lacking vitamin D, that’s for sure.

“Why are you telling me this?”

I sigh. “I’m tired of fighting with you. It should have been me and youagainstDad this whole time, not each other.”

He smirks, the curl of lip mocking. “It was hardly a competition. I’m the oldest and it’s my right.”

I don’t want to argue the point. “Agreed. And I want no part of the business. I have my own endeavors that keep me busy. I came to warn you that Dad might try and make it seem otherwise.”

He nods, sipping on his whiskey. I do the same, feeling the burn of the amber liquid warm my tongue and throat. We sit in silence for a while. I used to be comfortable with this. Eager to let the other person speak first like it was a competition to see who could hold out the longest. But today I don’t have the patience, not when I have Olivia waiting for me.

“Listen, August. I’m sorry for the part I played in our rivalry. Dad set up this competition between us and it was like there was this constant need to earn his affection. He was only happy when we were clawing at each other’s throats. Like somehow it would make us tougher. I’m realizing that’s not true. We could have worked together, been loyal to each other, not to him.”

“A little late for that, don’t you think?” he snips.

“Perhaps . . . Perhaps not. That’s up to you and me isn’t it?”

He grunts, not agreeing but not refusing—a small victory. Olivia may well have turned me into an optimist.

“Do you even want to run the business?” I ask.

“It’s not about what I want,” he states so matter-of-factly, it’s as if it’s written in stone.

“Why not?”

He stares me down like if he gives me just enough time then the answer will dawn on me. I arch my eyebrow in retaliation, which seems to be enough.

“Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

“What do you mean?”

“The jeans, the repentance, the...” He swishes his hand in front of him, swirling it around so his signet ring glimmers. “The hippie nonsense you seem to be sprouting.”

“I don’t think discussing our childhood trauma counts as hippie nonsense, Augustus. But yes, I have relaxed a little in the last year or so. Taking a step away from Dad’s business has cleared some things up for me about how I want to live my life.”

“How new-age of you. I’ll stick to what I know.”

“Of course.” I drain the rest of my whiskey and slap my hands on myjean-coveredthighs. “I’ve said what I wanted to. I’ll let you enjoy the rest of your Saturday night.”

“Who is she?” he asks, taking another casual sip.

“What?”

“The woman.” His grin spreads wide enough that his teeth are bare.