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Ethan

Just got here. Go playFinal Assaultor something. The rest of us have to adult.

Liam

What you’re doing isn’t adulting. It’s some sick, twisted, workaholic OCD thing you got going on. Don’t think I didn’t see you up at the crack of dawn exercising and eating your healthy food like you’re still on the swim team.

Liam

And I have a job, fucker.

Ethan

I like my routine. Everyone who’s anyone has one. That’s how they achieved greatness.

Ethan

And hacking isnota job.

Liam

I’m denying your allegations officially. Seriously, why would you text that? To the Feds who are monitoring these messages, Ethan’s a jackass, and he’s joking.

Liam

And I’m not hacking. I’m exploring vulnerabilities in a corrupted system.

Honestly, I have no idea what Liam does in his “work.” He’s self-employed and his services are quite in demand, but whenever he talks about firewalls and malware in the apartment we share, my eyes glaze over.

Then, as if his texts aren’t enough, he calls me.

“Seriously. I’m at the library. Is it urgent?” I head toward the business section.

“When are you coming back? Firefly’s ditching me for dinner and Charles is holed up at work.”

“You can’t eat alone?” I scan the shelves for the modeling book.

“I can. But then who’s going to make sureyoudon’t eat alone? You hermit.”

“Can’t. I have dinner with my fam later. Need to get work done before then.”Aha! Here it is.I pull out the brand new volume tucked away in the back.

“You’re working at Fleur, your family’s company. Relax.”

I chew my cheek. “They don’t know I’m an Anderson. This was the plan all along, remember? Why I stayed away from the press? Why you scrubbed pics of me off the internet? I’m working my way up from the bottom to earn my place there.”

And be a worthy Anderson.

Yanking my collar, I rake in a deep breath. My Achilles’ heel.

The great Linus Anderson has five kids. The fraternal twins, my eldest brothers, Maxwell and Ryland, are most like Dad. Maxwell, with his quiet shrewdness, the reclusive heir to Fleur Entertainment, and Ryland, the suave, charismatic visionary who wants to improve anything he touches.

There’s Rex, the third son, and marketing extraordinaire. The life of the party, womanizer, making people laugh whenever he steps into the room. Sweet Lana, the youngest, who’s still in college. She’s sharp and can defuse difficult situations the way an explosives expert can disarm a bomb with a few careful snips of wiring.

Then there’s me, the fourth son. The quiet one stuck between Rex and Lana, but feels like a pale shade of whatever vibrant color the rest of my siblings are.

Sure, I graduated with honors and received my MBA before I turned twenty-two earlier this year. I have the same dark brown hair and gray eyes as the rest of my family and can crunch numbers to the best of us.

But I’m lost.