Page 58 of Boyfriend of the Hour

“Thirty-one,” Nathan replied as he draped his wool coat over the arm of the chair. “And I’m just doing what they asked. Prodigal, however, implies I’m returning to Virginia. Which, I assure you, I am not.”

Carrick didn’t smile. Carrick never smiled. Instead, he bared the first six of his front teeth like a wolf and took a sip of his drink.

In some ways, it was like looking into a mirror. While their younger brother Spencer took after their mother’s classical Aryan looks, Carrick and Nathan had both inherited Radford Hunt’s more Gallic appearance, with deep brown eyes, unruly dark hair, and statures that had earned both of them unnecessary athletic scholarships at top universities.

That was where the similarities ended. While Nathan couldn’t be bothered to cut his hair more than once every four or five months, Carrick kept his curls shorn close. He also spent, in Nathan’s opinion, too much time grooming his ever-changing facial hair. This month it was a goatee circling his mouth and chin that, in Nathan’s opinion, made him look like a cartoon pirate.

Carrick was also brash and outspoken, while Nathan tended to keep to himself. Carrick’s charmingly manipulative personality was perfect for a life spent in politics, whereas Nathan’s quiet directness was better suited for his pursuit of medicine. Carrick was a born leader; when he spoke, people listened. Nathan didn’t typically speak at all unless he really had something to say.

Unfortunately, Carrick also had a temper that discouraged his audiences almost as quickly as he charmed them. Were it not for his tendency toward brash impulsivity, he might have had all the qualities needed in an eldest son.

That, however, was Nathan’s job. At which he’d been a total failure for the last thirty-four years.

“Welcome back, Mr. Hunt. It’s been quite a while. Can I get you a refreshment?”

The server, a middle-aged man named Bobby, whom Nathan had seen before, greeted him with a smile. Nathan didn’t knowwhy it was considered polite to smile so much. It didn’t seem necessary when he knew the man wasn’t excited to see him. He just wanted a good tip.

“It’sDoctor,” Carrick corrected Bobby. “Get it right.”

Bobby’s smile grew even broader. “Of course, sir. Please accept my apologies, Dr. Hunt.”

“None necessary,” Nathan told him. “And I apologize for my brother’s manners.”

The waiter had the good sense not to reply. Carrick smirked.

“I’ll have a Perrier,” Nathan said, if only to give the man something to do other than hover.

“Come on, Nate. One drink won’t kill you. Live a little,” Carrick cajoled, just like he had when they were in high school. And college. And at literally every family gathering or social event.

Nathan masked a frown. He also hated being called “Nate.” Carrick knew that. Everyone in his family knew that. But they persisted because it was what his father had always called him, which meant his colleagues did too, as did everyone else within the greater Potomac region.

Or in Carrick’s case, because he knew it would bother Nathan from the start of their conversation. At some point during their childhood, Carrick had appointed himself the emcee of Nathan’s social development, constantly dragging him into uncomfortable situations where he generally came out looking like a fool or at least regretting things the next morning. It was because of him that Nathan had gone to his first party. Had his first drink. Kissed a girl the first time. And so forth.

Nathan had never been certain whether the guidance was actually to help him or just for Carrick’s amusement. But it was now a nuisance that irritated him either way. At thirty-four, he didn’t need his brother to teach him how to live.

He’d apparently hired a stunning twenty-four-year-old dancer to do that instead.

With a grimace, Nathan shook his head. “I have to go back to the clinic after lunch and then the gym. Perrier with lime, and the salmon with steamed broccoli and brown rice, please.”

Carrick sighed, clearly disappointed. “The steak for me. Medium rare. Not that you were even asking, Bobby.”

Nathan tried not to recoil. “Eating like that every day is going to give you heart disease. Possibly colon cancer. Diabetes.”

“Maybe. ButIlike to enjoy myself.” Carrick waved Bobby away. “Why are you still standing theer?”

“Yes, of course, sir.” Bobby, now red-faced, wove his way back to the bar to submit their orders.

Nathan turned to Carrick. “Why do you always have to torment the staff?”

Carrick waved his hand as if he were batting away a fly. It made the overhead lights catch on the gold band of his watch. “It gives me something to do.”

“Lobbying for Huntwell isn’t enough?”

After graduating from Harvard Law at just twenty-three, Carrick had clerked for the Supreme Court before going to work for the firm that represented the family company’s interests in Washington. He quickly realized he could do a far better job than any of the “hacks we hire out,” and so returned to Huntwell to head up the government relations department that he invented for himself. Now, along with his position at Huntwell, Carrick sat at the head of the most powerful industry groups on the East Coast, and as the tax breaks benefiting Huntwell Corp rose, so did stock values.

Their parents were ecstatic. And since they had already talked Spencer back home by promising him control of the family’s horse breeding operation, Carrick’s return allowed them to focus their attention solely on Nathan. And after last week’sbrunch at Bergdorf’s, they had made it very clear that he was expected to make some changes.

He had brooded on that the entire way home, which explained why he had literally run into Joni in the entrance of his building.