Page 60 of Broken Brothers

Otherwise, the name Hunt wouldn’t just be attached to me, it would stalk more forever.

“Promise.”

26

Edwin Hunt was a vicious, savage man who knew no bounds and would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

But he was not omniscient, and I knew that as long as I wasn’t stupid about what I brought out in public, I wouldn’t get in trouble. I could still meet clients for drinks, I could still travel, and I could still put my face out for the world to see. I just couldn’t bring files or laptops with information about prospective deals outside.

Even at my home, I had to be more careful. Over the next week and a half, I doubled down on the security at my apartment, especially my Wi-fi. I strengthened it so much that I had to carry the password in my pocket to give to Morgan whenever he came over, it was so long. I caught a couple of hacking attempts from nearby areas, though most of the attempts were just Russian or Chinese hackers trying to get into my computer.

I felt like I had the proper blend of healthy paranoia and a willingness to charge forward. I did my due diligence on Virtual Realty, and though I felt like they might have inflatedtheir worth a bit, a negotiation was never something I feared, especially since I had learned just enough from Edwin Hunt to be good at it but not so much as to set myself up for future failure. They had potential, and it wasn’t hard to see why Morgan had interest.

The real exciting part, I imagined, would come when we started to get people approaching us for investment opportunities instead of just relying on Morgan’s extensive (albeit useful) network. Sooner or later, we would age out of knowing the next crop of young entrepreneurs—and it wouldn’t take that long to happen—but when that happened, it would only mean we had to get even more creative with recruiting and getting prospective investors.

Days went by where nothing happened, and I settled into a nice routine. In the morning, I would go for a workout. When I got back, I would treat myself to a healthy breakfast, watch TV, and then begin my work for the day. From there, I just grinded on my research and self-development skills until the evening hit. Then, to avoid settling into the fog of social isolation, I would go out to eat with one of my college friends or maybe even Morgan, although we made it a point to never discuss business when outside. We feared too much the reprisal of Edwin Hunt.

This process even continued into the weekend. I didn’t have a choice about working on weekends, not if I wanted to obtain the kind of success I wanted without relying on the name Hunt. The only reason I didn’t go by Chance Givens instead of Chance Hunt was for the sake of selling the Hunt brothers as a thing—it was a lot harder to tell people we were brothers if he was named Morgan Hunt and I was Chance Givens.

After about a week and a half, I woke up on Friday and went about my day as normal. When I got back from the gym, I saw two text messages that left me surprised. Both were about thesame general idea, grabbing drinks to discuss matters, but they could not have come from two different people.

One was from Layla Taylor.

The other from Claire McLendon.

I had resigned myself to continued texts from Layla, if for no other reason than the amount she hated herself for what she had done to me. I could no longer say I hated her, but all the same, deleting her number and just moving on with my life seemed like the most rational choice. It would make it easier for me to focus on work, find a different woman, and not dwell on the past.

But there was just something about our last encounter, the way she had said my name, the way she had reacted… even if I never so much as hugged her, there was something vulnerable about her that left me feeling almost… I didn’t want to say inhumane, but perhaps cruel to just leave her cold. I felt there was a part of her that had experienced that too much for me to just drop her and have her think it was fine. In some ways, her sticking around was less romantic and more about a change in the pattern of her life.

But if I was serious about moving past the Burnson Investments-Hunt Industries-Taylor chapter in my life… could I keep her around?

I didn’t know.

But fortunately, I didn’t have to answer that question right now, because Claire had asked me out for drinks, albeit for much different reasons.

“Want to hammer out the deal tonight. Drinks at Rick’s at 8 p.m. good?”

As usual, Claire had gotten straight to the point and made no bones about what she wanted to do. At least it wasn’t about boning…

“Works for me, see ya there.”

I only got that she had “liked” my message and nothing more. From Claire, though, that might as well have been the equivalent of a massive hug.

I didn’t think anything of her invitation. We had a business deal to finalize; business often got done over drinks and social settings; and it just so happened that this one involved two high-positioned business folks in their 20’s. I really didn’t see what could go wrong.

Well, it wasn’t so much that something could have gone wrong as something much more unexpected.

When I showed up to Rick’s, I had to laugh to myself about the “maturation” I had undergone.

The last time I came to a meeting like this, I ended up drinking too much, getting jerked off underneath the table, and left to clean up for myself after Layla had run away. Suffice to say, not only did I not expect that to happen with Claire, I fully believed that if I suggested a move even a tenth as daring as that, she would slap me and cancel the deal.

I walked to the back of the bar and saw her at a table isolated from the rest of the crowd. She was in business attire, absolutely nothing about her to suggest that she was dressed for sexual attention in any way. I waved to her, she waved back with a smile, and she pulled back a chair for me.

“Nice to see you,” she said. “What will you have?”

Claire McLendon in a nutshell. Sweet in greeting, quick to the point.

“Gin and soda,” I said. “Not looking to go crazy tonight.”