Filed To Story: Craving The Wrong Brother Book PDF Free by Elysian Sparrow
Hunter frowns, visibly thrown. “Mateo knows Knox?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know.”
“I…don’t.”
We stare at each other. His gaze doesn’t waver.
“So he didn’t give you any reason why you should promote me?” I ask.
“Mateo had nothing to do with it. We talked about reviewing employees’ files, and yours stood out. I made the suggestion. If Knox and Mateo have beef with each other, it has nothing to do with me.”
“So you’re just going to roll with it? You don’t find it weird that a man who has problems with Knox somehow makes you-Knox’s friend-the investment banker who helps him buy enormous shares in a company that Knox’s girlfriend works at?”
He shrugs. “Why should I find it weird? The world’s a small place.”
“It’s not that small.”
Leaning forward on the desk, he says, “Let’s work with your theory here for a second. Why go through all the trouble to acquire a company to get back at someone you hate when you could just harm them directly? I mean, you’re right within his reach. Knox is not that protected either. So why?”
For one uncomfortable second, I don’t have an answer.
I stare at a point on Hunter’s desk that’s safe and blank and lifeless-anything to avoid the smirk in his eyes. In the silence, my brain replays the conversation I had with Knox last Friday.
I remember challenging him on it. Accusing him of jumping to conclusions because of his own guilt or past or whatever he refused to put into words.
And now I’m about to use the exact same logic on Hunter.
I straighten in my chair, forcing the words out. “You never know what’s running through the mind of a victim.”
“A victim?” he says. “Of what?”
I sigh. “Hunter, I really appreciate the offer. But until I know Mateo isn’t crazy, I can’t accept the promotion.”
“You’re kidding me, right? I put your name forward, and you’re going to make me retract my recommendation? What has a promotion got to do with anything? Is your new office going to be rigged with a bomb? Or does being top staff make you more susceptible to assassination? This is Knox’s doing. I just know it. I’m going to speak to that boyfriend of yours.”
“It’s my decision.”
“So you think I want to murder you?”
“It’s not you I’m worried about.”
“Mateo? That man has the cleanest record ever. I did my research, you know? I don’t just take whoever as my clients because they have large amounts in their bank accounts. His father was a minister in a church. His grandfather owned a big winery that passed from Mateo’s father to Mateo. That’s how he got the money for this firm. Man just wants a new life. You and your boyfriend are just being paranoid.”
I stand. “I’d just go with my hunch, Hunter.”
“I’m not letting you. You’re taking that promotion.”
“I’ll see myself out.”
I walk out, not rushing but not exactly calm either. I can feel his eyes burning holes into the back of my jacket.
He won’t let this go. He’s probably thinking about calling Mateo to confirm what I said, and I hope he does.
I hope he goes straight to him. Pushes him. Presses for answers. Because maybe then, Mateo will be forced to stop circling and just say it. Whatever it is he wants from me or Knox-whatever twisted plan he’s mapped out in that quiet, calculating head of his-he better spit it out.
I’m tired of the guessing. And I can’t keep walking around with bodyguards, waiting for something to happen. Your move, Mateo.
After the close of work, I spot Knox’s men outside the building-stationed like sentinels at the far end of the parking lot. One is leaning casually against my car, arms folded. The other stands by the rear of the car, sunglasses still on even though the sky’s bleeding into dusk.
I smile politely at them. Harper’s punishment in the form of work assignments drained me more than I care to admit, and I’m still reeling from the idea that my so-called promotion has become office gossip. I just want to get in my car and drive home-preferably without anyone else trying to control my life tonight.
But then I see him.
Finn.
For one uncomfortable second, I don’t have an answer.
I stare at a point on Hunter’s desk that’s safe and blank and lifeless-anything to avoid the smirk in his eyes. In the silence, my brain replays the conversation I had with knox last Friday,
I remember challenging him on it. Accusing him of jumping to conclusions because of his own guilt or past or whatever he refused to put into words.
And now I’m about to use the exact same logic on Hunter.
I straighten in my chair, forcing the words out. “You never know what’s running through the mind of a victim.”
“A victim?” he says. “Of what?”
I sigh. “Hunter, I really appreciate the offer. But until I know Mateo isn’t crazy, I can’t accept the promotion.”
“You’re kidding me, right? I put your name forward, and you’re going to make me retract my recommendation? What has a promotion got to do with anything? Is your new office going to be rigged with a bomb? Or does being top staff make you more susceptible to assassination? This is Knox’s doing. I just know it. I’m going to speak to that boyfriend of yours.”
“It’s my decision.”
“So you think I want to murder you?”
“It’s not you I’m worried about.”
“Mateo? That man has the cleanest record ever. I did my research, you know? I don’t just take whoever as my clients because they have large amounts in their bank accounts. His father was a minister in a church. His grandfather owned a big winery that passed from Mateo’s father to Mateo. That’s how he got the money for this firm. Man just wants a new life. You and your boyfriend are just being paranoid.”
I stand. “I’d just go with my hunch, Hunter.”
“I’m not letting you. You’re taking that promotion.”
“I’ll see myself out.”
I walk out, not rushing but not exactly calm either. I can feel his eyes burning holes into the back of my jacket.
He won’t let this go. He’s probably thinking about calling Mateo to confirm what I said, and I hope he does.
I hope he goes straight to him. Pushes him. Presses for answers. Because maybe then, Mateo will be forced to stop circling and just say it. Whatever it is he wants from me or Knox-whatever twisted plan he’s mapped out in that quiet, calculating head of his-he better spit it out.
I’m tired of the guessing. And I can’t keep walking around with bodyguards, waiting for something to happen. Your move, Mateo.
After the close of work, I spot Knox’s men outside the building-stationed like sentinels at the far end of the parking lot. One is leaning casually against my car, arms folded. The other stands by the rear of the car, sunglasses still on even though the sky’s bleeding into dusk.
I smile politely at them. Harper’s punishment in the form of work assignments drained me more than I care to admit, and I’m still reeling from the idea that my so-called promotion has become office gossip. I just want to get in my car and drive home-preferably without anyone else trying to control my life tonight.
But then I see him.
Finn.
He’s pacing at the edge of the lot near the hedge-lined path that leads to the rear building. I don’t notice him at first, but once he steps forwar amber glow of the parking lights, I freeze mid-step.
A sling is still looped around one shoulder, and his good arm swings as he approaches. He looks worn out. Jaw tight. Eyes bloodshot in that way yo get from too little sleep or too much guilt. Or both.
“Sloane,” he says.
Before he can get too close, one of the guards steps into his path.
“Hey, man, who the hell are you?” Finn says, lifting his broken arm like he’s gearing up to fight.
I slow but don’t stop, angling toward my car without looking directly at him.
“Those men are here to protect me from people like you, Finn,” I say
“People like me? What the hell does that mean?”
I stop at the rear door but don’t get in. “What do you want, Finn?” atly, pressing my key fob so the car beeps open.
He glances at the guard still blocking his path, then pulls his hand slowly into his coat pocket. The motion is cautious-he’s making it clear he’s not pulling anything threatening-and when his hand comes back out, it’s holding a folded photo.
He lifts it in the air.
“I just want to talk to my brother,” he says. “That’s all. Mom wasn’t lying when she said Lydia is alive. Lydia’s here, in New York. I found out she has a twelve-year-old son. She says he’s mine.”
The words hang there for a moment as my brain takes extra time to fully understand them.