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“So, Ethan.” He shoots me a smile so sincere that it makes me want to knock his teeth down his throat. “What’s up, man? Have you come to help with the cause? You know we’ll never turn you away.”
It’s all an act for the people and the reporters around us, and still it makes me seethe. Still it makes me want to wipe away that smug-as-fuck look he’s wearing. It would be so easy—I can almost feel his face crumbling under my fist. But there are other, better ways than violence to get my point across. None that are nearly as satisfying, but if I’m going to keep Chloe happy—and I am—sacrifices have to be made. Sacrifices that include scaring the shit out of my brother instead of ripping him limb from fucking limb.
For a second, I can’t believe that this is where we’ve ended up. I’ve spent my life protecting Brandon. Taking care of him, helping him make important decisions, paying for him to go to the best universities—and fixing his mistakes. And now I’m here to tear all that down, to destroy it—and him, if I have to.
Six months ago, when he kicked off his campaign for the House of Representatives, it never would have occurred to me that this is where we’d be three months before the election. But six months ago, I didn’t even know Chloe existed. Now I do and that changes everything. She changes everything.
“I tried to catch you at the hotel, but you’d already left.”
“Yeah, well, it doesn’t pay to be late to your own party.” He shoots a grin at Margo French as she approaches from the left. She’s the fifty-five-year-old, tough-as-nails CEO of a company Frost Industries does business with and five months ago I convinced her to pledge her support—and her company’s money—to Brandon. “You taught me that.”
“I taught you a lot of things. Too bad most of them didn’t stick.”
“Is that what you’re here for?” he asks, keeping his voice soft enough that we aren’t overheard. The tells are gone and in their place is the slick, politician’s façade that hides a multitude of sins. “To tell me again how disappointed you are in me? Because I got the memo weeks ago and I’m okay with it.”
Of course he is. As long as he isn’t inconvenienced, why should he care how many people he’s hurt? How many lives he’s destroyed?
“Ethan, hello!” Margo says when she finally reaches us. “It’s so good to see you. I was worried when I heard about the forest fires that took over so much of San Diego. You made it through okay?”
She leans in for a quick hug and as I reciprocate, I keep my eyes trained on Brandon. Once again, just for a split second, his convivial mask falters and I see the quick flash of rage. Like a spoiled child who has to share his favorite toy, he’s furious that one of his biggest donors is more interested in me than she is in him.
Of course, he doesn’t mind using my name to garner votes and fund-raising dollars, but that’s only as long as I don’t take too much of the spotlight off him. For most of our lives, I’ve been happy to play it that way. To give my baby brother the spotlight he so desperately craves while I stay in the background. But not here and not now. Not anymore. It’s past time my baby brother figures out just how many of his donors are here because of me.
“We made it through unscathed,” I tell her. “But a lot of San Diego didn’t. Frost Industries has set up a fund to help people who have lost everything—a lot of people can’t afford to wait for their insurance money to come in. Especially not when they have to pay for a hotel, new clothes, new electronics. New everything, really.”
“Trust you to think of that,” she says with an indulgent smile. “Have Claire give Steven a call tomorrow about a contribution to the fund,” she says, referring to the executives who are, respectively, in charge of our companies’ charitable donations.
“I’ll have her do it first thing. Thank you.”
“Anything for you, Ethan. You know that.” She pats my shoulder, then leans over the bar and orders a whiskey, neat.
“Thank you for coming, Margo,” Brandon says once she’s got a drink in her hand. “Your support means the world to me.”
“Of course, Brandon. Everyone over at CVL is very excited about you becoming the next member of the House of Representatives. Ethan’s told us so much about you and we’re just thrilled to lend our support to the both of you.”
I can all but see his teeth grinding together.
The three of us chat amiably for a few more minutes, and with every second that passes, I can see Brandon getting more and more annoyed. Margo is more than polite to him, but she’s also pretty blatant about the fact that she’s my friend, not his. That she’s supporting him because I asked her to and because a large part of CVL’s revenue each year comes from the deal in place with Frost Industries.
I couldn’t have asked for a better segue into the conversation I came here to have, and as Margo drifts away to talk to someone else, I decide to take the opening she’s inadvertently provided me. After all, Brandon is a master at twisting things around and I’m not going to have that. Not today. Not about this. So it’s better to catch him when he’s pissed off and trying to hide it—he isn’t nearly as slippery when he’s just a little off his game.
“I need a few minutes of your time,” I tell him as Margo drifts back to her table.
His smile never falters. “I’m a little busy right now, in case you haven’t noticed. Besides, if you want to give me more shit about your little girlfriend, I have to tell you I’m just not that interested.”
The fury that’s been riding me for weeks explodes, makes me see red, and it takes every ounce of self-control I have not to lunge for him right here in the middle of this fancy hotel ballroom. But I’ve already done that and it hasn’t changed a damn thing. So instead of wrapping my hands around his neck and squeezing until his eyes bug out, I let all the rage and disgust I’m feeling show on my face, in my eyes.
“Make no mistake, little brother, we’re going to have this discussion. It makes no difference to me if we do it here, in front of all your donors, or if we find somewhere a little bit more private. But either way, it’s going to happen and it’s going to happen now.” I lay a hand on his shoulder to underscore my resolve.
He tries to shrug me off, but I’m not having it. I dig my fingers in, wait for him to decide what he wants to do. It doesn’t take long for him to come around to my way of thinking, though I don’t know if it’s because of the pain I’m causing him or because of the curious glances we’re attracting. I don’t give a shit what the reason is. All I care about is making sure Brandon gets my message loud and clear.
Without a word, I turn and walk toward the balcony doors at the back of the ballroom. It’s a warm day—probably one of the last here in Boston considering summer is drawing to a close—and the doors are closed to preserve the air-conditioning, which makes the balcony as good a place as any to talk. It’s probably the most privacy we’re going to find around here. We are the main attraction, after all.
Already, the handful of journalists he’s invited to attend are watching us, trying to figure out why we’re heading outside just as the room is filling up with Brandon’s supporters. I ignore them. Brandon doesn’t. He smiles and waves, tosses them a few carefully reviewed “off-the-cuff” comments. Then whirls on me the second the balcony doors close behind us.
“What the fuck is your problem, E?” he demands, furious. “I have a room full of people waiting to give me money and you have no business getting in the middle of that. The campaign needs these donations.” Despite his words, and the tone they’re delivered in, his smile stays in place.
The disgust I’ve been feeling since I got here solidifies in my stomach. Fueled by it—and the rage that’s been running just under my skin since this whole nightmare began—I do what I came here to do. I slap him down. Hard. Hard enough to make up for what I won’t be able to do if I keep my promise to Chloe.
