Page 52 of Finance Bros

He hates onions, but I guarantee he’ll suffer through Bailey’s cheeseball.

She takes a look around the equipment-filled living area. There’s a sofa, but it’s behind the bench press. “Um…”

“We can go to my room,” I say, gesturing toward the short hallway that separates my bedroom from Deacon’s. Malcolm wanders that direction while I help Bailey plate her cheeseball. It’s softball-sized and wrapped in cellophane.

“What inspired this?” I ask.

“Gotta keep my cash cows fed and happy,” she says.

I laugh and open the box of Wheat Thins she brought before pouring them into a bowl. Bud makes his appearance, leaping onto the kitchen counter and dropping a few hairs before I swoop him back to the floor. “He’s untrainable,” I apologize.

“He’s a cat. I have one, too.”

“Any chance he made it into the cheeseball?”

She lets out a peal of laughter. “One way to find out.”

“Want anything to drink, Mal?” I call out.

“I’m good,” he saysfrom my bedroom. I shake my head at the concept—too surreal to contemplate. This evening feels like a mindfulness exercise. Stay in the moment. Focus. Acknowledge the intrusive thoughts and let them glide by.

I make him a glass of water anyway. He’ll thank me later. Maybe not out loud, but I’m not picky.

He’s on the bed when Bailey and I come in with the food and drinks. That’s where I’d mentally placed Bailey, so I have to make a mental adjustment. I hand him his plate of cheese and crackers and the glass of ice water. “Thanks,” he says, meeting my eyes.

I nod. Bailey plops onto the beanbag, makes a spot for her food, and immediately pulls out her phone. I sit at my desk and swivel my chair around to face them.

Bailey opens with, “I spent twenty-five bucks. My little brother is all over TikTok, so I paid him to destroy his For You Page to find me all the biggest finance influencers. I found three I want us to stitch. One is a Harvard student, another is a trader on Wall Street, and the last one wrote a book calledMoney Sense. They’re all cis men, all white, which is good. We don’t want to compete with people who are already marginalized.”

She gives us each a look to make sure we understand she’s not joking.

Both of us nod agreeably.

“Okay, so the Harvard guy is the absolute worst. He puts the bruh in liberal elite.”

I snort a laugh.

“He’s all yours to take on, Ryan. You’re way smarter than he is.”

“Thank you,” I say, flattered she thinks so.

She glances at Mal. “You’re gonna study up on the author.He’s got some stupid advice, but he’s cute, and he’s targeting housewives, telling them how to sneak box wine into restaurants to save money. It’s so gross. Anyway—we’re gonna steal his ladies from him without playing into the mommy juice propaganda.”

“Mommy juice?” I ask.

“Have you noticed how alcohol is marketed lately? Directly at women. What am I saying? Of course you wouldn’t notice that.”

“I’ll pay more attention,” I mumble.

“What about the trader?” Mal asks, saving my ass.

She scrunches her nose. “I’m gonna send you guys his handle, and you tell me what you think. He’s smart, good-looking, funny, and he’s got a killer apartment with a view.”

“Maybe we leave him alone then,” I say, knowing we can’t compete with that.

“Maybe we assess the situation first,” Mal says. “Put our heads together and see if anything comes up.”

I stare at him with my mouth hanging open a little. He’s got a half grin and that look he gives the camera when he’s giving a smoking hot tip.

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