Page 3 of Strictly Business

Reece moved away smoothly, his irritation masked by a cool façade as he reached for his drink at the bar, leaving me breathless and disoriented. "Damn it," I muttered, hastily adjusting my dress, missing the feel of his hands all over me.

Talon, clad in loose sleep pants and looking adorably disheveled, entered the room. His confusion is evident. "Damn, Reece, what the fuck are you doing back?"

Reece's reply was terse. "I live here, you ass. What are you doing here with your...friend?" His gaze, sharp and probing, flickered in my direction, lingering just a moment too long before returning to his drink.

Talon's eyes darted between us, a frown forming as he pieced together the scene. "We just needed a place to crash after the party. Didn't know you'd be back tonight. I thought you'd be...busy," he said, hinting at the woman Reece had been with earlier.

Ignoring the tension, Talon moved to the bar and grabbed a bottle of water. I observed the two brothers, so alike yet worlds apart: Reece, already the embodiment of sophistication and restraint, and Talon, still the carefree spirit.

Reece's voice cut through the silence. "Maybe you should go."

"Okay," I agreed, my voice barely above a whisper as I searched for my purse. His words stung more than I cared to admit.

"Hold up, she doesn't have to leave," Talon interjected, his tone a mix of concern and confusion.

"No, Tal. It's late, I really should go," I said, more to Reece than to Talon. "I'll text you tomorrow."

Talon approached, touching my arm gently. "Are you sure? Did he say something?" His eyes flickered to his brother, searching for answers.

"No, no, I'm fine," I replied, my voice unsteady. I was anything but fine.

Talon looked at me, his expression a mix of worry and disbelief. "Gen?"

I forced a smile. "I'm fine, Talon."

As I left, I cast a final glance over my shoulder at Reece. He was still watching me, his eyes intense over the rim of his glass. The air between us was charged with unspoken words and unfinished business.

ChapterOne

Ten years later - Reece

There we were, the Forrester sons, huddled in Dad's study like we were back in high school, awaiting the bi-weekly sermon before the sacred Thanksgiving Eve family dinner. Mom still expects us to turn up with empty stomachs and plastered smiles despite us having flown the coop years ago.

Dad, puffing on his cigar like some caricature of a tycoon, scans through Forrester International Inc.’s figures, then dramatically whips off his glasses. I half expect him to yell 'Eureka!' or something equally archaic.

"We need a fresh angle for the magazine division, Reece. That's your circus," he announces, eyeing each of us. There's Knox, the elder statesman; me, the proverbial middle child floating in corporate limbo; and Talon, the golden boy, practically glowing with parental approval.

"I've got an idea. Let's do what everyone else in the publishing space is doing but crank it up a notch," Talon chimes in, ever the eager beaver but offering nothing of real substance.

Dad's eyes light up. "That's my boy!" he exclaims, pointing at Talon like he's reinvented the wheel. I can't help but roll my eyes. Talon, the family's darling, can do no wrong, while Knox is practically Dad's clone. Then there's me, the 'black sheep,' relegated to magazines and publications because nobody else wanted to deal with them. Even Mom only remembers I exist on alternate Wednesdays for this family come-to-Jesus dinner.

"Well, do enlighten us, Talon. How exactly do we turn up this metaphorical ‘notch?’" I can't resist the sarcasm dripping from my voice.

Knox, swirling his scotch around glass and clearly over all this, chimes in with a snort. He's got his own piece of the empire to run—resorts and casinos—and couldn't care less about magazines or publication—except, of course, when it involves flirting with my editor-in-chief, Robyn Ayyagari. Our parents aren't thrilled; she doesn't exactly fit the 'Forrester mold.' Whatever that means.

"Dad, you hear this? He acts like I don’t know what I’m talking about," Talon prods, winking at me. Knox grunts in agreement, side-eyeing me as he sips his drink.

I clear my throat, giving Talon a 'shut it' look. The last thing we need is a family brawl.

"Dad?" I venture, "About the marketing side—"

He slams a fist on the desk. "We need a hook, Reece. How about a 'stag' series?"

"Wait…a what?" I can't help but laugh. This sounds like a bad reality TV pitch.

"Like 'Men of Forrester'?" Knox chuckles.

"Exactly," Dad beams.

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