“What thing?”
“Just happened. A PR firestorm is brewing. Skip Bond’s fiancée just went off-script on a podcast and implied he beats her. Might be true. Might not. Either way, we need to quiet this down.”
“Fucking hockey players.” He takes a sip of his five-thousand-dollars-per-bottle rye whiskey, then narrows his eyes. “She’s not the job, is she?”
I chuckle. “The fiancée?”
When Gideon nods, I smirk. “No.”
“Good.”
Gideon doesn’t judge. None of my brothers do. They know what I do, and know it’s something Ineedto do.
Some people are wired differently.
My oldest sibling studies me for a moment, always more perceptive than I’d like. “Will you be traveling?”
I meet his gaze. “No.”
He finishes his drink in one swallow and drops the glass on the table with a muted clink. “Good, then you’ll be home for the holidays.”
I sigh.
Gideon’s wife, Kendra, goes all out for Christmas. Ornaments, candles, the gingerbread crap. She’s sweet, always perfectly put together, and you can tell she sincerely cares for my brother. Unfortunately, that only makes me pity her; loving a Maddox is like swallowing live wasps—it stings, it bleeds, and you endure agonizing pain until you either run screaming…or die.
My brother picks up the second glass of whiskey, arches an eyebrow, daring me to bitch about his wife.
I shrug.
He taps his fingers against the table, thinking. “Have you talked to Adrian lately?”
Adrian is older than me but younger than Gideon. He’s also married.
Logan, the youngest, and I have sworn off the institution. And honestly, seeing the marriages of our older brothers isn’t inspiring in the least. While Kendra cosplays as a Stepford Wife, Cora is so ridiculously young and innocent, I’d be bored within an hour.
“Just in passing. Saw him in the elevator, ” I answer, shrugging.
Adrian runs a hedge fund, and his company occupies three floors of the Maddox Tower.
“Do you think he’s spending too much time working out these days?” Gideon muses.
I narrow my eyes as I try to read between the lines. If Adrian is working out more than usual, that means he’s having problems. He doesn’tfeelhis feelings. He exercises as a form of denial.
“I have no idea.”
Gideon sends me a flat, unimpressed stare.
“Can we talk about work now?” I ask sarcastically.
“Sure.” Gideon waves a hand.
I give him an update on Maddox Sports, he nods here and there, and makes assenting sounds. The truth is that he doesn’t care what I do with my part of the business. It’s small potatoes for him. For me, too—not financially, but emotionally. If the company goes belly-up, I’ll still be fine. But even if my personal wealth were non-existent, I’ll still be fine—my brothers will take care of me, just as I will them.
I’m almost at the door when I hear Gideon utter, “Be careful.”
It’s an order.
“Aye, aye, captain.”
