Page 22 of The Older Brother
These favorsfor my father are piling up. At some point, I’m going to have to refuse to indulge him. But I haven’t hit the breaking point yet. He’s still too influential over my life and the business I’m fighting like hell to get off the ground. One grudge from him could sink us, and I know it. I’ve seen him do it to others for petty reasons. It doesn’t matter that I’m his son. When David Anderson’s ego is bruised, he fights dirty, with every financial tool in his pocket.
When my father requested my attendance for photos this morning for the big profile piece the Financial Times is running on him, I begrudgingly agreed. I even accepted the suit he had ready to go for me when I stepped foot in his office. I’ll admit, it did help ease my discomfort that Caleb was annoyed to have me there. My brother is loving being the anointed heir, and my presence seems to make him feel so threatened. But as territorial as he is over our father’s attention, it’s nothing compared to the way his hairs seem to stand on end when I come near Saylor.
My hunch is confirmed the moment I exit the elevator in the parking garage and spot her leaning on the back end of the Camaro. I drop my hands in the pockets of the expensive slacksmy father bought me and pause just outside the elevator doors, indulging in a few moments of staring at her.
The sweet girl who was always my favorite family member, despite having zero relation to me, has become my siren. I know the thoughts that run through my mind are bad. I own how wrong it is for me to think about stripping her naked and sinking into her while she clutches my skin and screams my name. I’ve never wanted a woman more. And the fact that me wanting her makes my brother sick to his stomach is simply the cherry on top.
“I got your invitation,” I say, pulling my key fob from my pocket and pressing the unlock button. My car beeps, and the taillights flash on either side of Saylor.
Her smirk dents her cheek with a fresh dimple as I approach, and I let my gaze travel down the center of her body. She’s wearing a white tank top, and the dark green strap of her purse crosses between her breasts. It would be so easy for me to run my thumbs over her perfect nipples. It’s tempting.
“For a guy who claims to be the black sheep, you sure do seem to be in the center of the Anderson family functions a lot.” She crosses her arms over her chest and tilts her head.
“Yeah, well, money gives people power.” I loosen my tie, then slip off my jacket before moving to the passenger door.
“You want a ride to your car?” I tilt my head as I pull the door open.
Saylor’s lips pull into a suspicious smile.
“Courtesy driver on top of mechanic. I’m impressed,” she says, sliding past me.
I hand her my jacket when she settles in the seat, and she lays it across her thighs. I glance across the roof of my car before walking to the driver’s side. The garage is quiet, which surprises me. I was sure Caleb would follow me down here when I backedout of grabbing lunch with him, but his BMW is still tucked in the corner, away from any possible door dings.
Saylor has slipped her arms into my jacket by the time I climb into the driver’s seat, and there is something unmistakably sexy about the visual. The coat covers her shorts, so it’s nothing but her sun-bronzed legs and my imagination, which naturally, pictures her wearing nothing under my coat.
“So, it’s fixed?” She arches a brow.
I crank the engine and let the rumble vibrate my spine in that familiar way. There’s something about this car that puts me at ease. Maybe it’s because the engine sounds the way it does because of my own two hands. This car is priceless because I will never be able to put a price tag on the hundreds of hours I spent under the hood.
“Yeah, I told you it would be an easy fix once I got the part. I had it done—” I stop myself, suddenly remembering I told Saylor I wouldn’t be able to get the part until late yesterday.
“Let me guess,” she says, sucking in her lips as her gaze drifts up in faux thought. “You were up until the wee hours getting it done for me.”
Her eyes drop down to meet mine, and I can tell by her smirk that I’m caught.
“Something like that, yeah,” I say, my voice laced with a wry smile.
I roll out of my spot and take my time winding down the levels of the garage. When we reach the exit, I idle for a few extra seconds before pulling onto the roadway. My motivations aren’t pure, and my body rushes with dopamine when I spot my brother walking along the front of our father’s building toward the brunch spot we had planned to go to together. It’s the short pause in his steps that I catch in my rearview mirror that really ups the endorphins, though, because I’m almost certain he saw two people in this car. The sudden vibration in my pocket frommy phone seals the deal. I don’t even have to look to know it’s a text from him.
“What’s that smirk for?” Saylor asks.
I roll my head to the side after pulling to a stop, smirk stamped in place.
“You know what’s satisfying?” I counter.
Her brow pulls in.
“What?”
I chew at the corner of my mouth as a silent laugh pulls it higher.
“When people get exactly what they deserve. Karma, I guess.” I hold her stare for a beat, her eyes hazing as she seems to be working through my cryptic words.
“Tell me, then, Rowan. What do you thinkIdeserve?”
The directness of her question hits me surprisingly hard, jolting my pulse for a few beats as I blink and refocus on the stoplight and the roadway ahead. My insides twist with her question, torn between wanting to tell her every dirty thought running through my head right now and the desire to protect her from men like me. Fromallthe Andersons, really.
“Better,” I finally say, punching the gas at the green light and peeling through the intersection only the way a man craving attention can. “You deserve better.”
