Youngest Everett Brother in Trouble Again.
The “Other” Everett Brother Parties Hard in Milan
Youngest Son of Cato Everett Destroys Another Resort
It’s not exactly like he has his shit together.
But then I see some more.
Brooks Everett Spotted with Italian Supermodel Francesca P.
Youngest Everett Brother Steps out in NYC with New Mystery Woman
Brooks and Sienna? Everett Brother Seen with Pop Star in SoHo
Not only is he a serial partier, but he’s a serial womanizer too. Each headline is accompanied by a photo of him with a different jaw-droppingly gorgeous woman, and in some instances,morethan one. And in every single photo, he is also obnoxiously jaw-droppingly gorgeous. His tan skin glows like he has an airbrush artist that follows him everywhere. His yellow-brown eyes glow in every photo—even the shitty ones—and his smile is absolutelyfucking killer. It simultaneously makes my blood boil and my vagina tingle.
Asshole.
As much as these headlines should prove to me that his life isn’t so perfect, and make me feel better about our situation earlier, it doesn’t.
Because all I notice is him. With a female on his arm.
And I want tobeher.
The way his hand rests on their hips or his arm drapes protectively around their shoulder. The way he helps them in and out of their cars, or how he has his hand rested on the small of their backs.
Ugh.
I slam my laptop shut dramatically and stand up from the table, walking toward the kitchen. But my phone vibrating violently across the table makes me jump. And when I see the wordsUnknown Caller, I practically leap across the table to grab it.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Wren, hi,” I hear Julian’s calming voice on the other line. “I’m sorry to bother you again so quickly, but we just got word that the job post is going up earlier than we anticipated. Sounds like they are trying to get it posted by Monday morning. Are you able to meet with us tomorrow morning to go through some details?”
My stomach twists and turns and does a lot of unpleasant things.
“Yes, of course,” I say breathless. Then I remember that tomorrow is Sunday. Ihaveto be done by three. I promised. “I just have to be done by three o’clock. No later.”
“Done. No problem. I will send a car to pick you up around nine? We can get some breakfast and come back to my place,” he says.
“Sounds good. See you then.”
I hang up and walk to the living room, sinking into my couch.
Shit is getting real.
In a matter of hours, a job will be posted that I will apply for.
And if all goes right, my name will cross over the desk of one of the most powerful men in the world.
And if all goes wrong, I may never be the same.
I joltawake when I hear a loud banging. I sit up, disoriented, blinking my eyes wildly. I’m on my couch, my phone next to me on my coffee table. I tap the screen.
Fuck.
9:13 a.m.
