Page 64 of Brewer Family Collection, Part 1

Jason

“ T his is Renn’s penthouse?” Chloe asks, spinning in a circle. “Holy crap. This is crazy.”

I tip the bellman—cash is king—and then lock the door behind him.

Renn’s apartment is something to see.

Chloe moves through the sitting area, mouth agape, and passes the spiral staircase.

I follow her into the atrium. High ceilings open to the loft above, and floor-to-ceiling windows give an unobstructed view of the Strip.

A white marble table has been placed in the center of the room.

I can only imagine what Renn has used it for over the years, considering he doesn’t exactly host dinner parties.

“If this were mine, I’d just live here,” she says, taking in the twinkling lights below us. “I mean, look at this view. It’s like you’re a princess perched in your castle, looking across your kingdom.”

I sink into a leather sofa beneath the loft and watch Chloe.

“Renn doesn’t even come here much anymore,” I say. “Hell, he’s never really used this place.”

“Then why does he have it?”

“Gannon convinced him to invest in real estate a few years ago. Renn had more money than he knew what to do with, and Gannon was trying to make him more responsible—think ahead and plan.” I sigh. “Dad said something to piss Renn off, so he bought this place.”

Chloe turns to me. “Why would this make him mad? Who wouldn’t be proud of their son for owning this?”

“Well, Dad and Gannon were thinking of a family home in Nashville or a ski chateau in Aspen. Renn bought a penthouse in Sin City.”

“ Oh .”

“Yeah. Oh .”

She looks up at the loft. “Does Renn not get along with your dad and Gannon?”

I catch my response before it rolls off my tongue and rethink how to phrase it.

Our relationships with our father are complicated, but Renn’s was the most contentious, especially at the end. I’m still surprised that Renn didn’t put Dad in the hospital after what he did to Blakely. Maybe Renn has more self-restraint than we give him credit for.

“Renn and Gannon are okay now,” I say. “Gannon has always been a little harder to deal with than the rest of our siblings.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I guess because he’s good at everything but not exceptional at any of it. He’s the oldest, and the only thing he can do better than the rest of us is golf. Bianca is the smartest of us. Tate’s the funniest. Ripley’s the most charismatic. I could kick the shit out of all of them.”

Chloe grins.

“Renn’s the most athletic, and Gannon is second or third in all those categories except that he was supposed to take over the Brewer empire—but he couldn’t . Wouldn’t. Bianca stepped in and filled that void.”

Her grin falters.

“Dad saw a lot of himself in Gannon, especially when he was younger,” I say, wondering why the hell I’m talking about this with her.

But the thought doesn’t stop me. “He said it all the time. I think as Gannon grew up and saw more of who Dad was, the perceived similarities bothered him. I think that’s why Gannon didn’t take over.

He could’ve. Maybe not as well as Bianca, but he could’ve done it. Yet he didn’t.”

I’ve never admitted that to anyone—not even my siblings. But it’s a thought I’ve always held.

She leans against the table, her face serious. “Did it bother you growing up to think Gannon was your dad’s favorite child?”

I stretch until the pull of my muscles makes me wince. “I don’t know if I would say it bothered me. But I probably have a lot of second-child complexes.”

Chloe smiles softly.

“Dad and I didn’t get along,” I say. “Ever, really. I don’t know if it was because I was the second born or if I was just a different kind of child than the rest of them. But I remember thinking all he cared about was money and reputation, and I hated that.”

“That makes sense. You’re still like that now.”

I smile at her. “I was also pretty hardheaded.”

“ I’m shocked .” She grins. “How is your relationship with your mother? Can I ask that? Or is that pushing too far?”

It would be pushing too far, and I’d shut anyone else down for asking.

But I’m strangely okay with talking about it with her.

It’s no surprise, really. I’ve shared more of myself with Chloe over the years than with anyone else.

It’s why I’ve valued our friendship so much, and why she’s the only person I could ever see myself marrying.

This, talking about the hard shit, the ugly shit , is what we’ve always been able to do.

“Our relationship now is great,” I say. “I love my mother. I can understand why she did a lot of the things she did that bothered me as a kid.”

“Like what?”

I blow out a breath. “I don’t know. Like, she always wanted us to think the best of our father, which I get.

It’s important for kids to have someone to look up to, and for boys, that’s generally the dad.

But I never wanted to be like him.” My stomach twists.

“He wasn’t the man I wanted to emulate. I found my heroes in books, and Mom and I often fought about that.

She wanted me to be like him, and that’s the last thing I wanted.

Then you factor in that she had five other kids.

I either had to pretend to be something I wasn’t, like interested in business, or behave badly, which I didn’t like to do, to get their attention.

There wasn’t space for me to just be myself—to be real.

Someone was never just cheering for me because they were all too busy.

I see that now, but I didn’t then. I carried that with me for a long time. ”

Chloe shoves off the table and sits next to me. She pulls her bare feet up and under her, her knee brushing against my arm. The contact lights me up. I want to draw her closer … but I don’t.

“Do you want to be a dad?” she asks, her eyes searching mine.

I nod, holding my breath. I don’t want to scare her off, but I can’t lie to her. Omitting the truth or being vague is not being honest.

“I do,” I say slowly. “The older I get, the more fucked up life becomes, and the more I want a family of my own. Just my own little family to pour my energy into, you know?”

“I understand although I’ve never really wanted kids.”

My stomach drops.

“My father …” She sighs. “He wasn’t very nice to my mother.

And the last thing he said to me was that he loved me, and I never saw him again.

That’ll screw with you. And then my grandfather wasn’t a nice man.

My first memory of him was yelling at me for spilling my drink at dinner.

And the last memory I have of him is telling Mimi she caused his heart attack.

” She sighs again. “I guess I’ve always felt like having more people to love is a burden because, eventually, they’ll disappoint you.

I do a good job of disappointing myself. ”

She grins, but I can’t return it.

“You’ll be a good dad someday,” she says.

“You never know. You might meet a man someday and want to have kids.”

Her shrug is noncommittal. “I’ve wondered what that kind of love would feel like. It may be the only form of real love that exists.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve seen it between my mom and me, and I’ve experienced it with Mimi.

That’s all. Because from what I’ve seen, love between two adults is so transaction-based.

It’s all about filling a role in the other person’s life and not this undying selflessness toward someone.

At least, I’ve never seen that in real life. ”

My breath stalls in my throat as I focus on her words. “It’s all about filling a role in the other person’s life and not this undying selflessness toward someone.” That’s exactly what we’re doing here. We’re filling a role in the other person’s life via a transaction.

The idea that she sees me like every other man in her life bothers me. A lot. I don’t want to feed into her wound. I want to fix it. I want to heal her by loving her sacrificially and by showing her that love isn’t a burden.

Loving her is the easiest thing I’ve ever done.

“I think that kind of love exists,” I say.

“Well, it doesn’t matter what all the men I’ve encountered have done,” she says. “I’m only concerned with one man right now.”

Her tongue darts along her bottom lip, leaving a glistening trail behind.

Fuck.

She stretches backward until her shirt slips up her stomach, displaying her smooth skin just below her tits. As she lowers her arms, she catches me watching her and grins.

“What do you say we call it a night and go to bed?” she asks coyly.

I chuckle. “There’s no way I’m getting in bed with you right now.”

“Why?”

I place my hand on my lap and squeeze my jeans around my hard cock. Her gaze drops to it and then back to me.

“And how is that a problem?” she asks.

“Because I’m not touching you until we’re married. I told you that.”

She groans. “We’re not taking serious vows, for crying out loud. What does it matter?”

It matters to me because I don’t want her to look back on this and think it was a joke.

Even though it is technically a bet, and the premise of this isn’t exactly love, if I can figure out how to make her fall in love with me, I want her to reflect on this day and know I was in love with her even now.

And if that doesn’t happen, then it doesn’t.

“Fine,” she says, standing. She faces me and slides her sweater off her shoulders. “You don’t have to touch me. But what if I touch you?”

I want to tell her no—to hold firm to my decision not to make this physical until tomorrow after we’re married. But the way she’s looking at me makes it really fucking hard.

My knees spread farther apart, and I reach up, unable to help myself. I keep my hands on the outside of her skirt and grab her ass, guiding her to sit on my lap.

I hiss as her pussy sits against me, and her tits are in my face. This was a terrible, amazing move. She pushes her weight down and smiles as if she won a battle.

A battle, maybe. But not the war.