Page 8 of Moonlighter

He snickers. “Come with me. Upstairs.”

“Why?” I snarl. “It’s not enough that you’re sending me to Hawaii against my will? You have to march me around your office, too?”

He rolls his eyes. “I thought you might want to play some ping-pong, that’s all.”

I make an angry noise. But the truth is that smashing a ball into my brother sounds pretty good right about now.

The jerk calmly tosses a few bottles into the recycling bin and then holds open the conference room door for me. It’s a brilliant move on his part because out here in the center of the suite, I can’t yell at him without sounding like a dick.

“Hey, Eric!” Shelby greets me as we emerge. “How were the tacos?”

“Great,” I say because none of this is Shelby’s fault. “But now I have heartburn,” I mumble.

My brother walks me past the main elevators to a smaller one just beyond. He presses his palm against a metal plate on the wall. There’s no call button here. This elevator only responds to Max and a few of his closest associates, and it’s the only way to get to his apartment on the penthouse floor above us.

The door opens immediately, and we both get in. As soon as the doors close again, I’m back to giving him the business. “I can’t even tell you how uncomfortable this is.Soawkward. So obnoxious. This is heavy handed, even for you.”

“A little,” he admits as the doors open again. “Dad said you’d be mad. But there wasn’t time to find someone else. Come on. Let’s play.”

I follow him into his ridiculous apartment where everything is brick and leather and ten times larger than necessary. The ping-pong table is in the center of the space, between the dining table and the living room furniture. I choose a paddle and take up a position at one end.

“A thousand dollars a point,” Max says. “But I serve first.”

“Sure.” Ping-pong is perhaps the only interest we’ve ever had in common. From birth, the two of us could not be more different. Which is why I’m continuously baffled by the fact that he and my father keep trying to pull me into the family business.

Max serves, and I return it, kicking off a fierce volley. We slam the ball back and forth seven or eight times in a row before I’m able to put one out of his reach near the corner of the table.

He pauses before serving again. “It’s a week in Hawaii,” he says. “You don’t have any better plans.” Then he serves, the bastard.

“You don’tknowthat,” I snap, my eyes focused on the ball. “And why blindside me?”

“Because it works,” the infuriating pissant says.

I will kill you with my bare hands. But first I’m going to destroy him at ping-pong. Our volley lasts twice as long this time, but after a dozen returns, I’ve lulled him into a false sense of security.Bam. I sear his backhand again. He gets the paddle on the ball, but his return misses the table.

I chase flying objects for a living, after all.

“Nice one,” he says calmly. “Youaregoing to help Alex, right?”

“OfcourseI’ll help Alex. And then I’ll never accept another lunch invitation from you again. Why would I, when you manipulate me? You could have just explained the situation, and then asked for my help.”

He leans against the table. “Because every other time I’ve explained a situation and asked for your help you turn me down.”

“Those other times it wasn’t Alex.” Even if she doesn’t remember me, I remember her, and her family’s kindness. They housed me at their beach mansion for eight weeks at a difficult time in my life.

Besides—only an asshole would let a predator menace an old friend. Maybe I’m self-centered, but I’m not an animal. Alex and I used to be friends. She was eleven that summer, going on thirty-one. She was fierce and clever and completely entertaining.

So this won’t be a boring week. And—not that I’m admitting this to Max—I can probably work out as hard in Hawaii as I can at home. With better scenery.

But there are a few details that don’t add up. “What’s the deal with this ex of hers? He was violent?”

“He’s a dickweasel,” Max says. “There are other complications, too.”

“Like what?”

“She’ll explain. What else are you going to talk about on the twelve-hour flight? You’d better go home and pack.”

“You’re just trying to get rid of me before I score on you again. You got what you wanted, and now you have other people to manipulate.”