Adoration claws its way into my black blouse covered chest.
Brandon is my total opposite in most ways.
Vainglorious.
Greedy.
Ruthless.
But he’s still my big brother – by one whole minute.
He still does shit like buy me an ice cream cake every year for my birthday – because that’s what we shared growing up – and holds my hand when we visit our parent’s grave on their wedding anniversary. He still reminds me to lock the deadbolt when he leaves my apartment so that I don’t end up a case on Olivia Benson’s desk, and nags at me to not forget to inflate the back tire on my bicycle because there’s no triple A for that if I get a flat. He may live by a different set of rules and guidelines, but it’ll never change how protective over me he is.
And I’m secretly thankful.
“You’re getting a security team,” he casually announces.
“No.”
“This is not a negotiation.”
“That’s exactly what this is.”
“I just told you your life is at risk!”
“And I’m telling you that me surrounded by The Men in Black isn’t happening.”
“Bl-”
“Security clearance to be in the levels of this building I need to be in are difficult to achieve. Even if you fast track the shit, fast-tracking it for multiple people, still takes time, not to mention the privacy and integrity it could possibly compromise for certain projects.”
“True, but-”
“Plus, having a collection of physically endowed, prime specimen hanging around my labs would be quite distracting – not for me – but for many of those that I work with. One inattentive assistant being careless due to wondering what the dick size of the lead Hunkasurus is at the wrong moment of an experiment and boom! She’s lost an eyebrow, and I’ve just wasted ten grand.”
My brother unconsciously goes to touch the aforementioned area on his face.
“Some of the spaces I move through are limited in the number of people they can hold meaning a team wouldn’t be able to go anyway. A team is not going to work.”
“Fine. We’ll give you a two-man operation.”
“English may not have been your strongest subject-”
“Says the woman who didn’t have a weak subject.”
“But a two-man op is still a team. That’s multiple people. You may assign me one.”
“Oh, may I?” Brandon bitterly bites.
“You may, or I’ll do the one thing I have yet to ever do, which is go above your head to the next in line.”
“And tell them what? That you’re refusing the very services they want provided?”
“That for the next three months, I won’t leave this fucking facility. That I will eat and shit and sleep in this building where there are enough cameras and local security that there will be no need to waste additional resources on something such as a team.”
“They would simply counter by adding members to the buildings unit, which would still be you ending up with a team.”
“That is until the ‘overwhelming pressure’ of having too many people in my presence forces me to shut down entirely for my mental wellbeing, delaying any pending projects from releasing and progress on any that are still in the testing phases.”
Brandon twitches a questionable glare. “You wouldn’t.”
“I will if you wanna play a game of Chicken instead of compromising with me.”
He sneers, has a sip, and sucks his teeth in what can only be described as surrender. “One agent.”
“Deal.”
“He goes everywhere you go.”
“You want him to hear what happens after you force me to eat Tom Yum soup practically every time? That’s on you.”
Despite his best efforts, my big brother flashes a small grin. “Protocol for bathroom situations is to thoroughly sweep the facility, first and let you shit in peace, second.”
“Your protocols have protocols, don’t they?”
“They do.” He tips his glass in my direction on a wink. “We’ll get him the security clearance he needs, and you’ll do everything necessary to accommodate him here. Agreed?”
“He can’t be married. I’m not interested in possibly turning any wives into widows.”
“Understood.”
“And he can’t have kids of his own. The only type of superheroes this company should be focused on making are the genetically altered ones, which is in a different building, in a different branch, in a different city, at a top-secret location – although I do know that location.”
Mirth fills his expression, yet he does his best to ignore it. “Anything else?”
“Taller than me.”
This time he lightly chuckles. “You don’t want to deal with someone’s Napoleon complex?”
“Did you know that he wasn’t actually that short for his time? He was like an inch below average.”
“Still below.”
“That whole thing about him being Troll size comes from a political cartoonist.”
“Is there anything you don’t know, brainy-mainy?”
His personal nickname for me results in a glare immediately thrown in his direction. “Why you still call me that.”
“Because you still say shit worthy of the label.”
I fold my arms across my chest in irritation.
“And now you’re pouting, which means I win.”
His smug smirk has me contemplating the idea of using him for one of my test subjects.
Perhaps adding a non-lethal drug to the ink pen that doubles as a syringe.
Prick him with it and then draw a villainous mustache on his arrogant face to match his attitude.
“Single. No attachments. And over six feet since I know we become the same height when you’re in heels – something you will wear at least once over the next three months. Anything else?”
A shake of the head is given.
“Your terms are acceptable. He’ll be on your doorstep by morning.”
“Have him meet me here,” I counter at the same time I dip my hand into my shirt to retrieve the flash drive I always keep securely within my literal reach. “Chances are I’ll be crashing on the very couch you’re too good to actually sit on.”
Brandon glances at the gray piece of furniture he’s barely occupying. “It doesn’t look comfortable.”
“You mean it doesn’t look expensive.”
“I mean…,” he shoots me a smirk as he rises to his feet, “I need to be going. I have an operative to find.”
“And I have test results to review.”
Brandon empties the remaining contents of his glass into his mouth, abandons the glass next to the crystal decanter, and exits the room on a warm, dismal nod.