Page 87 of Broken Brothers

Instead, I would tell the truth and nothing but the truth. If Andrew told us that he had gone with Hunt Industries, at least I could go down having seen my career perish because of the truth. Morgan would suffer, and I wouldn’t get off scotch-free, but…

It was a nice thought to console myself with.

But given how much was riding on the line with this deal, it wasn’t enough to quell the nerves and anxiety beginning to take over me.

36

Icalled Andrew two hours later, only to have it go to voicemail and then receive a text message.

“I’m going to take everything I know and make a decision. Will get back to you around 11:30 tomorrow. Thanks for coming out here, really appreciate it.”

Once again, I knew how Edwin Hunt would react in such a spot. He would find a way to force himself into the conversation, using tenants of the art of the deal, and find a way to get a selfish deal done that in no way benefited the other party. If he could undercut someone else who had aspirations of succeeding, well, all the better for him.

But I just could not do that anymore. I saw what damage Edwin had done to me and what kind of damage Craig did to his niece through acting so ruthlessly and cruelly. Maybe I was soft. Maybe, despite my appearances, I was just a giant bitch who couldn’t act and make a move when he had to.

I said fuck that. No. There was a difference between tough and conniving. There was a difference between firm and greedy. There was a difference between gentle and soft. My mission to prove I could make money without the help of Edwin Hunt wasas much about proving Mr. Hunt’s methods wrong as it was proving the man wrong. Even if Morgan had suggested I use my looks and charm to seduce Claire, I was not going to engage in such underhanded tactics.

Granted… that was easy here. Andrew was a man. I wasn’t sexually attracted to men. I could easily play it straight. Claire was a relatively small fish in the investment scene, so the damage I would have done there wouldn’t have hurt as much.

But what would happen later on a larger scale?

We’d have to find out.

I didn’t sleep at all that evening. Sometimes I felt great about my chances, other times I felt nihilistic and began researching places I could move to across the globe. Sometimes I felt true and honest to my beliefs, and other times I felt like a giant hypocrite full of shit. Sometimes I was on the verge of sleeping, and then at the last second, an anxiety-provoking thought would jolt me awake, making it impossible for me to fall asleep.

11 p.m. Midnight. 1 a.m. 2 a.m.

Even as I would have seen the sun rise on the east coast, I couldn’t fall asleep. Morgan texted me more than once, also unable to sleep. He had work with his father the next day; I could only imagine the hell he would go through if his father found out in the afternoon that his own son—and me, but he didn’t give a true shit about me—undercut him. It would be a miserable experience that might just break that family apart.

2:30 a.m.

Layla and Claire had not yet texted me on this trip. Layla didn’t have a reason to after our most recent conversation, and Claire knew I was here on business. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to hear from at least one of them. At least then I could have something to distract me from the chaos of business.

Instead, I relied on ESPN and other sports to take up my mind, but they didn’t do nearly as good a job as a beautiful woman I would soon be home to.

I thought about the previous night with Claire, how incredibly powerful I had felt in that moment. And I knew exactly why I had felt so real, so raw.

Sure, part of it was just not having had sex in about a month beforehand. Part of it was the rebound aspect. Part of it was the “forbidden fruit” part in that neither of us were probably supposed to hook up with the other.

But the real reason was that we were truthful with each other.

I wouldn’t pretend to be clairvoyant with Layla and say that my dick knew she was full of it when we were hooking up, but her suspicious behavior—constantly leaving me hanging, her willingness to fuck me in the office but then not talk to me for a week—always left me wondering what the hell was going on. With Claire, there was zero doubt where I stood at all times.

All these thoughts did, though, was allow me to kill a few more hours before the judgment time.

I think around 4 a.m., I finally dozed off, but it didn’t last long, because I forgot to shut the blinds in my hotel and the rising sun woke me around 6:45 a.m. I fought with all my damn power to go back to sleep, but it had about as much effect as trying to tell Edwin Hunt to be an honest, fully upfront person.

I went downstairs, ate some breakfast, and headed back to my hotel room where I moped and tried to pass the time as best as I could. 8 a.m.

9 a.m.

10 a.m.

We were only an hour and a half away from the all-important decision. Morgan bombarded my phone like a love-struck teenager. I felt tempted to text Andrew and ask him for adecision like an impatient love-struck teenager. I kept checking my phone like a desperate, impatient, love-struck teenager.

But like that teenager who can only learn through time that patience wins battles, I had to just sit there and stew.

At 11 a.m., I started contemplating good luck charms. I had never been that superstitious a person, but I kept looking for signs. It was a rare sunny day in San Francisco, which seemed awfully promising. I felt as fresh as I ever had after my shower. Even Claire shot me a text around 11:21 a.m., asking if I had heard anything.