Page 66 of About Last Night

Derek cursed his wandering mind. Jack would get a kick out of knowing a woman had gotten under his skin.

The bell on the front door rang, breaking into his musings. The first applicant. Glad for the distraction, he stood and buttoned his suit jacket, then made his way to the front. In the hall, he froze. "Well, speak of the devil," he muttered.

"Hi, bro." Wearing a white straw Panama hat, a hideous tropical-print shirt and raggedy cut-off khaki pants, Jack Stillman walked past him, carrying only a brown paper lunch bag. He strolled to his abandoned desk, then whipped off his hat and, with a twirl of his wrist, flipped it onto the hat rack that had sat empty since his departure. After dropping into his well-worn swivel chair, Jack reared back and crossed his big sandaled feet on the corner of his desk. From a deep bottom drawer, he withdrew a can of beer and cracked it open. Then he slowly unrolled the three folds at the top of his lunch bag—their mother was famous for her three perfect folds. The bag produced a pristine white paper napkin, which he tucked into the neck of his ugly shirt, followed by a thick peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

Derek allowed him three full bites of the sandwich, chased by the room-temperature beer, before he spoke. "Care to say where you've been for the past three months?"

Jack shrugged wide, lean shoulders. "Nope, don't care at all—Florida."

"Which explains the tan," Derek noted wryly.

His brother scrutinized his brown arms as if they'd just sprouted this morning. "I suppose."

"I don't guess it would bother you to know that about three weeks ago the agency was a hairbreadth away from turning out the lights."

Jack took a long swallow of beer. "Something good must've happened."

He'd forgotten how infuriating his brother could be. "I landed the Phillips Honey account."

Nodding, Jack scanned the room. "Honey. Works for me." He polished off the rest of the sandwich, drained the beer, then laced his hands together behind his head. "So what the hell else have I missed?"

"Oh, let's see," Derek said pleasantly. "There's tax season, Easter, Mother's Day—"

"Hey, I called Mom."

"—plus Memorial Day, and Steve Larsen's wedding."

Jack frowned and snapped his fingers. "Damn. And I was supposed to be Best Man, wasn't I?"

"Sure was."

"So did you cover for me?"

"Don't I always? When you dropped out of sight, Steve asked me to be Best Man."

Jack squinted. "You and Steve were never that close."

Derek smirked. "I think it's safe to say we still aren't."

"So how was the wedding?"

He averted his gaze. "I have no idea."

"But I thought you said—"

"I went to Atlanta and got caught up in a quarantine at the hotel."

"No kidding? Did anyone croak?"

Derek ground his jaw. "Didn't you watch the news while you were gone?"

Jack grinned again. "Not a single day."

Annoyed, Derek waved him off. "Never mind."

"So what's she like?"

"Who?"

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