Page 80 of Finance Bros

“I’m still debating that,” she says.

“Can I say I don’t think it should be shirtless?” I offer. “It’s one thing on TikTok, but if we’re offering real content that dives a little deeper, maybe it’s better for them to see what we’re actually like? I mean—not whatI’mactually like, but at least how I dress.”

“What’s wrong with what you’re like?” Malcolm asks.

Bailey looks like she’s wondering the same thing.

“Nothing,” I say defensively, not wanting to get into it. “Forget I said anything.”

Bailey’s not done with me yet. “Do you mean off-putting and cynical? The step the fuck away vibe?”

Mal interjects, “He’s not?—”

“Look who’s talking,” I say, not letting him finish. I don’t need Malcolm defending me. It’s too fucking disconcerting.

Bailey shrugs. “I’m self-aware. My therapist says that’s a good thing.”

“You see a therapist?” Malcolm asks, turning toward her.

“Yeah. So?”

“So, nothing. I do too.”

She nods at him. “Respect. Okay, Ryan, we’ll try it your way, but if we lose subscribers, shirts off. And don’t look like a slob, okay?”

Ouch. When have I ever looked like a slob in front of her? “You want us in suits or what?”

“No, I just mean, no piles of laundry in the background. No tacky t-shirts. But you can look real. I’m fine with that. For now.”

“I might have better luck keeping my shirt off,” Malcolm mumbles.

“You look good in clothes, too,” I say and immediately want to find a stapler to shut my mouth.

“Ryan!” Bailey exclaims. “You complimented your stepbrother!”

“Shh!” No one else here needs to knowthatabout us. “He’s not my stepbrother anymore,” I add quietly.

“Not for more than two years now,” Mal adds quickly.

“Whatever. You grew up together. You’re brothers.”

“We’re not,” he insists, and he sounds a little tense.

She lifts her hands in surrender like Deacon had in the bathroom earlier. “Fine. Whatever you say.”

“I’m saying we’re not fucking related,” he mumbles, slumping back in his seat.

There goes his mood. Georgie walks in before I can say anything to him, so I send him a quick text.

Me

Don’t fucking go there

He reads the text and looks at me. His mouth is tight, and there are a million things going on behind his eyes I couldn’t follow if I tried.

“Don’t.” I mouth.

His nostrils flare with a deep breath.

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