Page 13 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

“Can you really beself-madewhen you received the best education? Didn’t have to work when you were in school? When college was always a given?” Georgie had asked, crossing her arms, not even trying to hide her envy.

“Yeah, but think about it,” Lillie had said, lifting her hands up and framing them as she stared at the ceiling. “Rich people have to go through so much shit, you know? Like, their parents never spend any time with them or whatever.”

“Is your thesis that the rich trauma balances out the rich privilege?” Grayson asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Lillie dropped her hands and shrugged, “Guess it depends on the person.”

“Good morning, Miss MacKenzie!”

A chipper voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and I blink at Travis’s assistant, Dianne.

“Good morning, Dianne,” I say, and if she’s surprised that I remembered her name, she doesn’t show it, waving for me to take a seat outside Travis’s office. I’m a little early and wearing one of my more conservative outfits: a vintage mini-dress with large black, red, and white overlapping triangles. Paired with casual shoes and a ponytail, I’ve dressed it down enough to not come off as eccentric.

I hope.

After the text came in last night, Monopoly was forgotten. Instead, my roommates spent the evening trying to figure out what Travis might want with me, while Grayson put onWolf of Wall Streetin the background and kept trying to entice us into watching it, saying it was “thematic.”

Bianca must have gotten home after we all went to bed, because I didn’t see her come in.

“You can go on in—he’s ready for you.”

At the sound of Dianne’s voice, I startle out of my thoughts and stand, hand going to the camera bag hanging at my side. Just like before, my heart beats in my throat as I push through the doors, but this time it’s not from adrenaline.

It’s from the knowledge that I’ve been thinking about this man. Way too much.

Last night, I dreamed there was a knock on my bedroom door, and when I opened it, he was standing on the other side.

“You forgot something at the office,” dream-Travis said, darkly, before pushing inside my bedroom and sliding his cool hands up under my tank top.

Now, I walk into his office and come face-to-face with him once more. In my entire time freelancing for Onyx, I’ve never had this much time alone with the CEO.

“Good morning,” he says, setting down a tablet and facing me. Rather than sitting behind his massive desk, he’s standing, and it does something to the air in the room. Once again, his face is stoic, purely passive, and even though I’m looking right at him, it’s hard for me to get a read on what he’s thinking.

I wonder if that’s what people feel when they look at me, and I recognize the walls he’s put up. The effortless way he’s shuffled his emotions to the background, covered them with apathy.

“Good morning.” I resist the urge to run my hands over my dress, then immediately give in. Travis’s gaze tracks themovement, and I feel its effects in my pulse. Even standing in this room with him is too fucking much. Thick, syrupy tension.

Slowly, Travis turns and walks around the side of the desk, bringing himself closer to me. When he’s just two feet away, I catch his cologne. Woodsy and smoky.

This time, I actually do resist the urge to close my eyes. It’s completely juvenile, this reaction. But being aware of it doesn’t make it any less intense.

“Sorry for the late notice,” he says, mercifully stopping his advance toward me. Instead, he leans back against his desk and picks a non-existent piece of lint from his cuff. Looking down at his hand, he says, “I was hoping I might be able to hire you for a job. All day on Saturday, I’d need you there early and potentially into Sunday morning.”

“A… job?”

Now he looks at me, one eyebrow raised. On anyone else, it might be playful. On him, it’s precise. “Yes. This weekend is the launch of the hotel line—featuring the condos you photographed before—and apparently the photographer we hired for the event can’t make it. Obviously, we can discuss a bonus for you. And it would be doing Onyx a great favor.”

Face flushed red, I look down at the camera hanging at my side. What the hell was I thinking when he mentioned a job over the weekend? I’m not an escort. If he even suggested such a thing, I’d shove it down his throat.

Or, at least, I like to think I would.

I like to think I would never agree to something like that. No matter how handsome the man was.

Swallowing, I remember that I’m supposed to go to the farmer’s market Saturday morning with Bianca.

And then I also remember that I’m out all the money I put into that shared savings account, and I need to build my emergency fund back up. I need to be able to help with rent.

What I donotdo is allow myself to go anywhere near the truth—that I’m saying yes to this offer not because of the money or what it might do for my future career. I’m saying yes to this offer because I can’t deny the urge to be near the much-older, impossibly handsome brother of the man I’ve just gotten out of a relationship with.