Page 26 of Broken Brothers

But why? Why, of all places, would she be here?

I tried not to ponder the question too much, which of course meant I would soon be pondering it for days on end.

Shortly thereafter, Morgan and I stood, shook hands, and headed back to our respective offices. For once, though, I almost felt like I might win. I had a deal on the table, Morgan didn’t;I had the beautiful woman, the daughter of the CEO, Morgan didn’t; I felt somewhat happy where I was working, and Morgan didn’t.

It was just a question of how long that would last.

10

Goddamnit, Layla.

I was beginning to hate myself for how much this girl had gotten under my skin and, worse, wouldn’t be leaving anytime soon because of the business deal Burnson Investments had taken on. Granted, at least she had gotten under my pants as well as my skin, but…

No one had done this to me. It wasn’t just her looks—yes, she was one of the most attractive women I had ever seen, but her looks had become by now the default, just a part of her that was around me as much as the color of her hair. Rather, it was the sheer aggression with which she acted; we had gone from 0 to 60 faster that she could jerk me off.

No one ever moved that fast, and if they did, they were usually someone I didn’t want to be caught dead with. No one as hot and as in a position to succeed in their life as she did moved like she had.

But goddamnit, Layla had.

And now, as a result, I felt like a twelve year old once again, thinking about her and thinking about what it would be like to have her by my side no matter what activity I undertook.Walking to the copier? I could see her teasing me and making small talk. Taking the subway to work? I could see us waking up in the same place, sharing small talk, and kissing her goodbye… with a hint of something much more arousing that evening. In bed? Oh, yes, that was just a matter of time.

Actually, I really wished we could do it in the office before we got to the bed, but I had to be a little patient. I figured we had to do a little bit more than have some sexy time in a private bar.

But, then again, I had just thought of how much of an accelerated freak she was, so who knew?

In any case, though, on this day, for once, I wasn’t actually doing any work. I was, as I had in the past, crumpled up a paper ball and tossed it to the ceiling, trying to see how close I could get to hitting the tiles without actually hitting the tiles. I had to wait on an email to come from Mr. Taylor to print out and read for approval.

Mr. Burnson, not surprisingly, had relocated himself to the golf course. Must be nice, I thought. To have so many billions of dollars that having an intern spend eight figures for an investment means nothing to you.

Just because I’d grown up in the Hunt household didn’t mean my outlook on money had changed. It was something to value and cherish, not something to just fitter away without thinking only because you had so much of it. Amusingly enough, it seemed each of our attitudes work for us.

I heard the “ding” of my inbox alerting me that I had new mail. I saw the name “Taylor, Craig,” and a single attachment with no text. It was all I needed to see. I clicked print, pulled out the printed file, and then headed to the copier, as my norm was, to make an additional copy on which I could scribble and make notes on.

Imagine my surprise, then, that waiting at the printer was a man I never expected to see in any situation talking to me, let alone at my work place.

Edwin Hunt.

“Chance, how are ya?” he said.

Notably, he still didn’t use his last name with me even though I had it, although that was the furthest question from my mind. Instead, I kept wondering “what the fuck?”

“I’m good, Mr. Hunt, and yourself?”

Perhaps he spoke to me distantly because I did the same to him. It was hard to remember who had requested the other to not speak like family to them. In either case, though, I doubted that Mr. Hunt had a heart beneath all the ice; suddenly calling him Dad would not magically bring him around.

“I am doing mighty fine as I always am, let me tell you, it is great to be a Hunt.”

I had to smile and force a laugh, even though I wanted to explain how being a Hunt was great financially but not in many other ways.

“What brings you down to these parts?” I said as casually as I could.

Because, frankly, there was zero chance that Edwin Hunt had come to Burnson Investments to see his adopted son for anything. I found it almost infinitely more likely, quite literally, that he had arrived not for me but to meet John Burnson, failing to realize their tee time was earlier.

“I came down here to discuss business with John,” Edwin said. “Yep, he just ain’t here yet. It’s nice seeing you here, though. I’m glad you finally got some work worthy of what you can do.”

I knew what he was doing. Being condescending without outright mocking me. Reminding me of his position by referring to the CEO of Burnson Investments on a first-name basis.Letting me know that I had been a failure for the last several years, or at least a disappointment.

But I refused to show it. In fact…