Page 12 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

“No.” The word rushes out of me. “Thank you—I mean, I’ll keep it. It’s okay.”

The room goes quiet, and I know they’re all looking at me. This is a chance for me to let them in. I could tell them about my grandmother. About losing her. Explain why the record player is so important to me.

But I can’t get the words out.

Years ago, when Bianca and I were cocooned in the dark of our freshman dorm, I was able to do it. To use the night as a shield, to tell her about the foster homes, and the day my grandma found me. The strange, surreal feeling that maybe even that would fall apart, too.

I told Bianca about losing her, about being grateful for having known her, about being pissed off at the universe. About the sense that I was cursed to lose everyone I loved.

I also told her about the record player, sitting in a storage unit I could barely afford. How she would put on her records and dance in the mornings, and how she had toteachme joy. Had to show me that I could make it for myself.

This is the moment—I could open up to them. Share even a small part of it.

But instead, I plaster a smile on my face and turn to Lillie, who’s looking at me with a hopeful expression. “Did someone mention playing Monopoly?”

Sid’s face lights up immediately. “Yes! I knew it would be good to have you home!”

He disappears into the hallway, no doubt heading for the closet that contains his many, many versions of the game. Lillie makes a face at me, and Grayson throws his arm over his eyes. “Why can weneverhave a movie night?”

From the couch, without looking up from the note she’s highlighting, Georgie deadpans, “Because you’ll make us watch something like that boring black and white?—”

“ThatwasCitizen Kane, and it’s a classic?—”

“Yeah, but our living room isn’t film school,” Lillie laughs. “Thankgod.”

Grayson glowers as Sid returns with Animal Crossing Monopoly. “I know this is your favorite, Serena,” he says, setting it down reverently on the coffee table.

It’s not, actually.Noversion of Monopoly is my favorite. But I’d rather play a board game any day than open up about my life and my feelings.

The lasagna comes out of the oven. Grayson stops pouting and sinks down beside Sid, reluctantly agreeing to be the little man with the fish. Georgie sits this one out, focusing on studying for yet another exam, while occasionally chiming in about thetechnicalrules for the game.

“Aren’t you supposed to be out of school now? Didn’t you just have finals?” Lillie whines, leaning against me as Sid rolls.

Georgie barely glances up, “I always take classes over the summer.”

I open my mouth to point out that Sid is—like always—cheating at the game when my phone chimes loudly. Cheeks heating, I quickly pull it from my pocket. I never take it out of silent mode, so I have no idea why it’s ringing now.

“That better not be Alex,” Grayson says, his tone far too dark for his boyish face. Sid, however, actually manages to look properly menacing.

“It’s not,” I breathe as I pull down the notification bar and read the text that just came in. I look up at my friends, stunned, and say, “It’s Travis Oakley. Asking me to meet him early tomorrow morning, in his office.”

Chapter 7

Serena

Rows of lilac bushes bloom outside the Onyx building.

I stop on the sidewalk, looking at them as pedestrians walk around me. It’s a dick move to interrupt traffic like this, but it’s the first time I’ve reallyseenthe flowers around the building, the way they contrast with the sleek black marble facade.

Before I’ve really given it much thought, my camera is in my hand, and I’m capturing the gentle sway of the flowers, the way the morning sun hits them. Midday would be too harsh, and golden hour would betray the feeling of the lilacs—these are a morning bloom. Unassuming. A scent that floats throughout the city. I get closer, press my face into one of the flowers, and breathe deeply.

They bring back a memory—my grandmother telling me about her love for lilacs, about the old bush outside her place that bloomed lopsided, mellow purple flowers dotting one half only. I swallow down the grief that rises in my throat at the thought and tuck my camera back into its bag, walking through the sliding doors and into the cool, air-conditioned hush of the lobby.

The Onyx building houses all the administrative work that takes place for the management of the property firm. I know that because last night, after getting the text from Travis, I took a little more time to investigate the company.

Turns out, Onyx is completely separate from anything Stephan Oakley—Travis’s father—did in his lifetime. According to an interview with Travis, he didn’t use a cent of his father’s inheritance to start the venture. It seemed important to him to do it on his own.

My roommates all had their own thoughts about whether or not that made Travis a self-made man.