My brother turns his head right and left, popping his neck, a tic he only does when he’s angry. “Can anyone know who we are, or do we need to keep our identities a secret? Like, should I just introduce myself as Mr. Nobody?”
Her eyes narrow and he mumbles an apology. Stone’s as pissed as I am that we’ve been bamboozled. We were supposed to walk onto this plane and find out who was the next president and CEO. But instead we’ve been handed a nasty joke.
“Your identity is on a need-to-know basis. You may tell people who you are, but pick accordingly. Your celebrity status could get in the way, and if that happens, you will be—”
“Disqualified,” Stone mumbles. “Yeah, we get it.”
“What else?” I growl, tired of this nonsense. “Have you picked our businesses for us? Is that in the presentation, too?”
“No.” She rubs her hands with glee. “This is the best part.”
“Doubtful,” Stone mutters.
“You will pick Stone’s business, and he will pick yours.”
“What?” my brother says, jumping up from the couch. “He’s supposed to pick mine? Who knows what sort of sadistic business Pane will pick for me?”
“It’ll be just as sadistic as the one you choose for me,” I remind him.
“Oh, right. You’ve got a point.” He palms the back of his head. “Maybe this is actually the one good thing in this entire game.”
“It’s not a game,” our mother corrects. “This is a competition, one that will sow the seeds of your future. Pick wisely for one another.”
Great. Stone will pick the absolute worst business for me, as I will for him. This is survival of the fittest, brother against brother.
As I watch my mother swivel from side to side in her chair, it’s hard to remember that somewhere deep in her soul, I’m sure that she loves me. The only thing is, I’ve no clue where, orwhat, that love is.
“And”—she glances at her watch—“you’ve got one hour to find a project for each other. Starting ... now.”
Stone snaps his fingers. “I don’t need an hour.”
She stops swiveling. “You don’t?”
His mouth splits into a wide grin, which he focuses on me. “Can someone say, ‘Little pig, little pig, let me in’?”
As soon as he mentions pigs, a dozen images of that woman, Sunbeam, brighten like a solar flare inside my head, taking up space rent-free. I’m subjected to her warm brown eyes, her friendly smile—whenshe smiled—and her wildflower scent.
I’m also subjected to a memory of her ridiculous use of platitudes.
My head snaps up. “No,” I snarl. “No. I’m not going there.”
Stone tsks. “You have to, brother. I get to choose, and that’s what I choose for you.”
Shit. This is going to be harder than I thought.
In front of us, Mom claps her hands. “Wonderful! May the best Maddox win!”
