Page 50 of Broken Brothers

It was one thing to wake up next to a beautiful woman, not remember anything from the night before, and take some satisfaction in what had happened. It was another to be sober, see two walk in, and be able to enjoy it to the fullest.

We did just about everything and anything, including sex against the hotel window, one of my favorites after Layla and I had done it. There was just something about presenting the girl to the world of New York that felt so primal—as if saying “she is mine, I have her, and none of you can.”

When I finished, though, I felt a strange feeling that I had not expected.

Yearning.

Even though a large part of me hated Layla for what she had done and wanted to not just never forgive her but to enact revenge, a small voice in my head missed the company. Wild sex like I had just had was fun, but part of me remembered us cuddling up for Netflix and eating tacos. Part of me missed those baby wipe jokes, those looks we’d give each other in the office, the smiles we traded.

Part of me wanted…

No, I couldn’t quite say I wanted Layla back.

Well, there was a part of me that did, but it took no heavy thinking to push that away. Even if my mind stupidly wanted Layla back, an ounce of common sense said she wasn’t worth it.

I think, instead, I just missed having that emotional connection that I had with Layla. Time had proved thatconnection fake, but it sure as hell felt real in the moment. It sure felt like something that I needed to go back to.

And as fun as a threesome with two busty brunettes was, as much as it seemed like a fantasy out of a porn movie, it just didn’t provide as much satisfaction as being close to a single person.

Not to say I didn’t enjoy the hell out of what had transpired. The only reason we left was because we had to check out of the hotel and the girls had to be somewhere. I didn’t pretend I would ever see them again, which was fine with me. Morgan obviously knew them well enough to contact them for me if need be, and they didn’t pretend to have fallen for me in some mad fashion. It was a mutually pleasurable exchange.

But thinking about Layla had fucked with me.

Nevertheless, as Sunday night approached, I managed to get her out of my mind well enough. I instead was able to consider the deal in more detail, now that I didn’t have the salesmanship of sober Morgan against hungover me. It still felt like a good deal. I appreciated that Morgan was honest about the degree of work I’d have—that alone told me he wasn’t like his father, Mr. Hunt, who never would have uttered a word that might have made someone hesitant.

But there was the reality that if I did this, I was still tied to the Hunts. It was a much better proposition than being tied to Mr. Hunt, but being tied to Morgan meant I could never be Chance Givens. I would always be Chance Hunt, brother of Morgan.

Of all the possibilities, I guess that worked, but…

Then again, what did I really want to be distinct from—did I want to move away from the last name Hunt, or the businessman Edwin Hunt?

Mrs. Melanie Hunt had never steered me wrong. Sure, she had her quirks and her lack of life energy upset me, but she was not a bad person like her husband that she didn’t really love.Morgan was, in many ways, the only true friend I had in this world. They had the last name Hunt, but that was far different than the name Hunt from Edwin.

Just like someone could have a last name associated with an evil world ruler, that did not automatically make them the evil person.

It wasn’t something that I had figured out in my head yet, but it was something that I was getting closer to solving, at least.

I went through the particulars of the deal. We each had a 50-50 split, which also told me Morgan was being honest. We would both be fully vested after two years, with 25 percent becoming available after every six months. If someone left early, the unvested ownership would go to the other person. Morgan had put up $100,000 to help us research, meet, and engage clients; if we gained a client we needed to invest in, he could easily put up the money but swore he would not tilt the investment percentage in his favor. He swore as much in his contract.

We would try not to take outside money, because why the hell would we when we could just slip some of Mrs. Hunt’s allowance in there? If we did, however, we would take the hit equally, and we would discuss it for a period of at least seven days before coming to a mutual conclusion, the better to avoid rash, stupid decisions.

Although we were listed as co-owners and co-CEOs, the job duties made me more of a COO and Morgan more as a CEO. That was fine—I really couldn’t be picky at this point about job titles. Just having something to do besides watch Netflix and sit there depressed until I picked myself up beat that alternative. If nothing else, it would keep me so busy I wouldn’t be able to think of Layla.

Maybe in the future I’d ask for more duties, but if that happened, it was a problem of luxury. I wouldn’t have to fight forscraps on the table—then we’d be asking who had a right to the juicy part of the steak and who got the tender part of the steak.

I got to the section about what would happen if one of us perished when I got a notification on my phone.

Layla.

I had not yet deleted her number… why, I don’t know. Maybe the voice in my head begging to forgive her had some sort of clutch on me.

I sure as hell wasn’t responding here, though.

“Sir!”

I shook out of my slumber in staring at my cell phone to realize I had committed the ultimate faux paus in New York—I had delayed the efficiency of the line.

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “Footlong ham sandwich and a cookie, please.”