Page 27 of A Cold Hard Truth

With a passing glare at himself, Sebastian flicked off the light and ventured into his living room, taking his cell phone with him.

“She’s saying things, Sebastian,” Rhys told him, his voice laced with the politest tint of speculation and inference.

“What kinds of things?” he asked, even though he feared he knew the answer. Sebastian sat down at the breakfast bar and dropped his phone onto the marble, using the edge of one finger to spin the device in a circle. He and Daniella had been married a year. There were plenty of things she could have said, but only a handful which he knew she would.

“Sebastian,” Rhys chided. “Don’t make me say them out loud.”

Shivers sparked up the back of Sebastian’s neck. “Who is she saying them to?” he asked.

“Anyone who will listen.”

“Thenstoplistening.”

Rhys chuckled, a patronizing noise in Sebastian’s ear.

“I’m sure you can find a way to shut her up if it’s that much of a problem for you,” he said.

“It’s not a problem for me.” Rhys laughed again. “If you don’t mind the whole town knowing that you used to have her…”

“Shut up,” Sebastian snapped, cutting his older brother off before the words could tumble out of his mouth.

“Christmas will be interesting this year,” Rhys said.

“If I come.”

“I hear that you do.”

“You’re a piece of shit, Rhys. Do you know that?” Sebastian’s earlier discomfort over Daniella telling everyone in his hometown what interested him in bed morphed into a singular rage directed at his closest family member.

“Am I?”

He could picture Rhys’s face in his head, the smug arrogance, the knowing judgement. Sebastian clutched the edge of his counter to steady himself, eyes narrowed on his phone, the screen lit up with a picture of him and Rhys when they were children.

“You’re manipulative. You use people until they no longer serve your needs. You lie. You treat people like they’re disposable.”

“Aren’t they?” Rhys asked.

“No!” he practically shouted. “No, they’re not. Ashley wasn’t, Callahan wasn’t, I’m not.”

“And am I?” Rhys proposed, his tone softer and genuinely curious.

“You’re my brother,” he said with a sigh.

“Your non-answer is duly noted.”

“Rhys.”

“Point taken, little brother. I was just calling to check in.” Rhys’s tone quickly returned to its casual flippancy. “I heard that in addition to enjoying being tied down during sex, you’re also quite the up and coming philanthropist.”

“I hate you.”

“A quarter million to a museum?” Rhys tsked. “There’re easier ways to get into someone’s pants than lavish spending, Sebastian.”

“That’s not… I’m not,” he sputtered and stopped, his frown deepening.

“I’ll see what I can do to quiet your wife,” Rhys said.

“Ex-wife.”