Page 10 of Finance Bros

“I’m good, thanks. I have work tomorrow.”

“How was your first day? Or should I ask?”

We walk toward the locker room together. Avoiding talking about the reason for my shitty attitude, I ask, “If you had tomake a hundred dollars turn into a huge pile of cash by the end of summer where would you start?”

“Hm.” He takes a few steps and seems to be putting some thought into it. “I’d come up with a genius catch phrase, trademark it, print it on a few t-shirts and make them the next must have fashion item by forcing everyone I know to wear them and plastering them all over my social media.”

“That’s not terrible,” I say. “Got a good catch phrase?”

“Nothing PG, but I’ll think about it. I’d absolutely want a cut if you use my idea.”

“Your idea’s better than anything I’ve come up with so far.”

“This is your job?” he asks.

“It’s like a competition at my job. A side project.”

“What’s your idea?”

“I don’t have one,” I admit. “What’s worse is I think some of the other interns are teaming up so they start out with more cash, which opens up the possibilities a lot.”

“Why don’t you join up with them?” he asks innocently.

I glare at him in response.

He laughs, showing his perfect teeth as he throws his head back—all hair, neck, smooth skin.If I were that pretty, would Malcolm…?

No. I’m not going there. The answer is no. It’s no, it’s no way, it’s always been no.

Calyx was a hundred percent right,of course. I pushed myself way too hard on the treadmill last night, and this morning I feel it in every limb. My legs are wobbly. My arms are heavy with fatigue. My heart rate is so low, I nearly pass out in the shower. Once I’ve had some coffee, I’m a little better, but I’llneed to pick up some breakfast and more caffeine before I get to the office.

There’s a dine-in deli called Big Bites a few doors down from the Marks & Baker building. It’s got a grab and go counter, so that’s where I stop in twenty minutes before I need to be in the morning huddle. My mentor Charlie wants me doing client calls today, and I need my brain firing on all cylinders. Another terrible song is in my head. Thematically it fits—“Don’t Close Your Eyes” by the band Kix. Again, I’m only familiar with the whiny chorus. It’s two lines:Don’t close your eyes. Don’t sing your last lullaby.Over and over.

While I’m waiting in line to check out with my egg sandwich and energy drink, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I give a sharp glance back, pissed off on principle—no one should touch anyone in public period—but my eyes open wide when I see it’s not a stranger. It’s my ex stepbrother. “What?” I snap because he doesn’t get whatever shred of kindness lurks somewhere in my soul.

“We should probably talk,” he says, a grim expression on his annoyingly handsome face.

“I don’t think so,” I say as my heart leaps forward in my chest desperate for any words he’s got for me, no matter how bad they slice or how deep they burrow.

“Maybe you don’t, but I do,” he says through a tight jaw and tighter lips.

To the outside observer, Malcolm Walsh is your basic golden boy. It’s not until you get up close that you see how thick his dark golden hair is—the way it’s the prefect shade for his lightly olive skin tone. You wouldn’t get the full effect of his heavy-lidded blue-green eyes, and unless he smiles, you might not notice how bright they shine. The way I crave the sight of him is fucking pathological. His face is etched into me far deeper than any tattoo I’ve suffered through.

“No thanks,” I tell him. I turn back to the counter, cutting myself off from the source before he sees it on me—the one way Ihaven’tchanged.

“Ryan…”

I stiffen—every muscle, every joint. My heart feels like it has to beat harder to overcome the sudden resistance.

“Look,” he says, his deep voice taking a grim turn and giving me chills. “This internship is only three months. I don’t want any drama. That’s it. The only thing I wanted to say.”

I shake my head, mostly at the situation.

“No one needs to know we know each other,” he adds.

“They’re not gonna hear it from me,” I assure him.

“Not that it matters,” he says. “Or… It’s not like I mind.”

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