Page 22 of Finance Bros

Which is just as well because what he said pissed me the fuck off. “You can think whatever the fuck you want about me, but don’t pretend you know more than you do. You haven’t known me since we were fourteen. I know who the fuck I am. Do you want to do this or not?”

He swallows hard. “I don’t have a choice.”

“Sure you do. You canlose. I’m not the one who called my mom in the middle of the night begging for help.”

His cheeks twitch, and his tone turns nasty. “I didn’tbeg.”

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but you need me more than I need you.” I’m not sure that’s true, but he doesn’t need to know that having no ideas for how to tackle this challenge is eating me alive.

His expression remains grim. He nods once.

“Thenyouask Bailey if you want her on the team. Don’t assume you know who she is either.”

“Do I need to apologize?” he asks.

“To Bailey?”

“No, asshole.” He gives me another intense look.

“I’m not getting into this right now,” I say. We need to focus on work. Malcolm’s a big enough distraction already. I’ve learned to cope with having him around—the masochist in megets a sick thrill from it, but what I have no time for is hope. Forgiveness? Great. What the fuck ever. But this stupid hope that I could ever get my brother back is theworst.

No—not my brother. My friend.

“Ryan, dammit,” he begins, but shuts up when all eyes are on us as we enter the conference room.

I plaster on my fake smile and take my seat. Murmured good mornings pass across the table. Mal takes his usual seat next to Bailey, and she visibly shifts away from him like he stinks or something.

He smells fucking incredible. She’s clearly not a fan.

This is going to end up being him and me. Ergo, a nightmare.

I make a rule for myself as Georgie touches base with everyone. If Malcolm and I actually team up, there will be no drinking. No mind-altering substances of any kind for as long as he and I work in the same building. I will never speak to him without thinking first again.

I can’t risk it. Of all the things to come out of that phone call other than my hands deciding to up and quit on me is the realization that missing himhurts.

Part of me must enjoy the pain, though, because I’ve also come to the conclusion that I’d rather have the opportunity to see and not touch, have and not hold because his existence reminds me who I am. After this summer, I may never see him again, and that’s healthy. It’s right for me. But there’s a sweet and only slightly depressing nostalgia at the chance of having him talk to me like a peer again. He’s like a song that changed my life—a part of me crystalized in space and time. He’s a memory of me when I was happy, and I don’t want to let this chance to remember go. If it hurts, it hurts. It’s just for the summer.

It’s closure. And who knows? Maybe I’ll be less of an asshole afterward. Or maybe I’m the same idiot for him I’vealways been, but at least I won’t live in the same town with him much longer. Distance worked well enough while I was in Portland.

The morning goes smoothly with me and Charlie. He gives me the two client files and talks me through an overview of them while I take handwritten notes. My handwriting is shit, but otherwise I’m focused. That he’s trusting me with this is a big deal, and I’m excited to get to work.

I spend an hour taking my own notes on each file before calling to introduce myself to the clients. I’m getting better on the phone, mostly copying Charlie now. He has a kind, confident way about him that isn’t shy about cutting someone off when they’re on the wrong track or stressing about something. He’s also good at listening.

When I hang up with the business owner, Charlie’s arching an eyebrow at me with a half grin. “Nice,” he says.

I blow out a breath. “Thanks,” I tell him. “Felt good.”

“Take a break and bring me back a latte, will you?”

“Sure thing.”

Bailey corners me at the coffee bar, standing way too close, her neck craned back to look up at me. Her hair is down today, a slightly frizzy mop. She’s stopped wearing suits and started wearing loose-fitting dresses I assume are more comfortable. Today’s dress is black with small red flowers on it, the same color as the cardigan she’s got on. Overall, Bailey is unremarkable to look at, but it seems intentional.

“Do you want me on your team, too?” She asks it like she’s daring me to say no. Or yes. I can’t tell.

Her right earlobe has more piercings than it should technically be able to have, and this is what catches my attention as I decide how to answer her question. I wouldn’t mind having Malcolm all to myself, but that’s the stupid part of me. Someone absolutely needs to be in the room with us. He’s much morelikely to not act like a total shit, and I’m more likely to keep my brain in reality where it belongs.

“Yes,” I say.

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