“You don’t have to worry about me, little brother. I’m good . . . I’m fine.”
“Yeah,” he says with little faith in my words. “I can tell.”
My brother is one of my best friends, always has my back, and can read me like a damn book. But the thing is, I am fine. I am good. The way he’s staring at me like I grew a third eye in my forehead has me questioning my sanity, though. “What?”
“You’re too uptight.”
“I have good reason to be.” I drag the keyboard closer and return to my work.
He makes himself at home on the other side of the desk, sitting there without a care in the whole fucking world. “You always have been, but if it’s possible, you seem tenser than usual. What gives? Work? The move? Let’s grab a drink and talk about it.”
“Like you said, it’s only seven thirty.”
Nudging the desk with his knee, he says, “I didn’t say only. Come on, Andrew. It’s Friday night, and no one’s left in the office but you.”
“You’re here.”
“I’m here because I need to suck up to my boss.”
“Ha!”
I’m given another shrug, and then he chuckles. “Only between these walls.” He stands again, and as he walks to the door, he says, “Come on. I’m meeting Jackson, and I can introduce you to The Watering Hole.”
“Natalie’s brother, Jackson?”
“Jackson St. James, himself. Did you know he’s brought on four new clients this month, and not one of them is investing under a mil?”
I’m thinking he’s not going to let me get out of this despite leaning back like I’m not budging from this chair. “I did know, but what about Natalie?”
“She has her own company.”
“No.” I toss a pen across the office at him. “I mean, she’s not expecting you home?”
He flicks the light off again. “Why do you think I’m still here?”
I shake my head as the puzzle becomes clear. “Because besides Mom trying to marry me off, your wife is now sending you on the same mission? What is it with women not appreciating a single man? Maybe I’m fine being on my own. Not that anyone would know that since they don’t ask.”
“Actually, Natalie called it a sympathy offer since all you do is work. Tomato. Tomahto, though. Am I right? Wrap up, and I’ll meet you at the elevators in five.”
“What if I don’t—”
The door closes before I have a chance to set a different proposal on the table—like me working another two or three hours and then going home. Ignoring him, I start analyzing the numbers on the screen again. I’m determined to figure out where the discrepancy is in this report.
But a beer, a bar, and blowing off steam do sound tempting. I won’t give him the glory, but Nick’s probably right. I should get out. I’ve been following the same routine since I arrived in this city.
Seattle kept me too busy to enjoy the fact that I was actually in Seattle. Am I going to repeat that mistake in New York? I might as well make the most of it since I won’t be here forever.
Scanning the page on the screen, I realize there’s nothing I’m working on that can’t be handled over the weekend. I always work then anyway. I close it down and grab my jacket.
Nick’s waiting at the elevators when I arrive. I hadn’t noticed earlier, but my brother’s looking sharp. “Nice suit,” I say.
“Back atcha.”
I can admit the Christiansen brothers clean up well, but even messy, we can pull more than our fair share of attention. Thanks for the good looks, Cookie and Corbin.
He rests against the wall of the elevator as we ride down the twenty flights. I can feel the weight of his stare and turn back. “What is it?”
Grinning, he says, “I’m glad you decided to come.”
“You didn’t think I would?”
It’s a subtle shake of his head, but I notice. “I wasn’t sure.”
Maybe I do owe him some credit. “Thanks for inviting me.”
He reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “Life’s passing by.”
Nothing more needs to be said. I know they want me to be happy.
Am I?
I’m not sure if I’ve felt that emotion in a while. I’ll have to think about that.
We travel the rest of the way in silence. Outside, we catch the last of the remaining daylight before the skyscrapers engulf it. “I’ve been here, what? Three weeks and you haven’t introduced me to your bar until now?”
“It wasn’t for lack of trying.” He pats me on the back. “It’s around the corner.”
It feels good to forget about work, to get out of the office, and not feel like I’m behind on a million things. I confess, “I miss the good ole days sometimes, too. What happened?”
“Life got in the way.”
“Work piled up.”
I was busy earning my MBA while working my way up the corporate ladder. There were rumors I got the job based on my last name, and I’m not stupid enough to think that didn’t play a big part in it. But my dad had expectations of Nick and me. We exceeded them, and that’s why we’re here today. Not at the bar, but sitting atop a company that we’ve given our lives to.
One night hanging out with my brother feels like old times. My mood has improved, and I’m actually looking forward to it. He says, “Let’s not let it get in the way again.”
I shake his hand. “I’ll hold you to that if you’ll do the same for me.”
“You’re on.” Holding the door open, he grins as if we’re about to enter a secret world that only he knows about. “This is where tycoons to tellers, day traders to corner shop owners hang out. You never know if you’re talking to a billionaire or someone just starting out in their career until you get into some drunken conversation with the stranger next to you. That’s what makes it so great.” He peers over the heads of the crowded bar and then adds, “Come on. You’ll fit right in.”
7
Andrew
My worries about work were forgotten the minute I walked into this place, my jacket discarded before the first game of darts, and my tie loosened after the second round of drinks.
The server tried to take up residence on my lap several times, pawing my arm and touching my hair. Margie’s cute, and I’m not opposed to hooking up for the night, but I am opposed to expectations in the morning. She’s already sticking to me like glue, which is not a good sign this early on. Add a jealous bartender scowling at me into the mix and I think I’ll stay clear.
“Andrew?”
I look up to find the guys staring at me. “What?”
Nick asks, “What the fuck was that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking—Oh.” Margie. “She’s not my type.”
Jackson asks, “Hot, flirting, and wearing a shirt that reads ‘ready when you are’ isn’t your type?”
Glancing a few tables over, she smiles at me just before my eyes go lower to the design across her chest. “I didn’t notice.”