Page 27 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

Christ. I’ve never been like this before. Never been so needy. Never felt the wanting like a physical thing.

“Serena,” Travis finally speaks. I think he might say something about how good I am or what I’ve accomplished so far shooting for Onyx.

Or that he wants me there just so he can take me to the penthouse floor and fuck me in the shower. But then, with aspark of pleasure in his eyes at the control he wields, he simply says, “Just say yes.”

And so I do.

Chapter 13

Travis

“Aw, come on, man—who the fuck cares?”

“Ryan. She’s ten years younger than me.” It’s the third time I’ve said this to him since we got here, and the third time he’s either shrugged, rolled his eyes, or done both at the same time.

We’re atCap-Size, one of the many bars he owns. The grand opening for the Onyx Embassyis tonight, and though I knew he couldn’t make it, he did have time to meet me for a drink.

Ryan almost always has time for a drink. Plus, he likes going “undercover” to make sure things are operating as they should.

For Ryan, every new place is more than a bar or restaurant—it’s a concept, and this one is submarine-themed.

On the far side of the room is a massive fish tank with several fish species I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to own. Deep blue bulbs shine through the water, painting the inside of the space with wavering light, like you’ve opened your eyes at the bottom of a pool.

The menu is exclusively seafood, and the drinks are infused with seaweed, squid ink, and essence of pearl.

“AndI’mlike ten years younger than you,” Ryan says, taking a drink of his fancy cocktail and clapping me on the back. “We’re still friends. No biggie.”

“First of all,” I say, glaring at him, but that has never worked. Ryan is either the kind of guy who doesn’t realize you’re giving him a look at or just doesn’t care. “I amnotten years older than you. You’re thirty.”

Ryan and I met when he was looking for a commercial space to rent. He wanted to open a bakery in Manhattan, and my team needed a coffee shop to take up the ground floor of one of our buildings.

We’d just started recognizing the potential of food and drink in our properties. From my perspective, having a coffee shop under my apartment sounded like hell. Potential tenants thought otherwise—it made them feel like they belonged somewhere. Especially when those cafés and restaurants were owned and run by Ryan.

Up-and-coming celebrity chef. Handsome and single. Someone had to take over for Bobby Flay, and Ryan isn’t just about the Food Network—he has millions of followers across his social platforms. He’s the first iteration of the playboy chef that’s been accessible to the wider public, and not just middle-aged mothers watching shows about making casseroles.

“Twenty-nine,” he corrects now, sending his own glare my way. I do recognize it, but Ryan is shit at glaring. That comes from his cheery, Nebraskan upbringing, where his parents—I assume—spoon-fed him corn and love while singing him to sleep every night.

“Even so, we’re just friends,” I counter, because I’m not going to argue with him about how soon his birthday is, and how thirty is a more accurate descriptor. “There’s a power imbalance to consider when it’s…”

I trail off. Despite his many attempts at getting me to share details, I’m not going to. I want to keep what Serena and I had private.

“Whoisthis woman?” Ryan asks as he leans against the bar. “This mystery woman who has you thinking aboutmoralityall of a sudden?”

I could tell him that it’s the woman he flirted with at the Onyx event, but he likely wouldn’t remember. Ryan flirts with everyone. Charming is his default setting.

And, if he did remember, I wouldn’t want to lead him in her direction. I didn’t like the way she was looking at him in the ballroom. So, instead of telling him, I steer the conversation in a different direction.

“Are you trying to say that, up to this point, I’ve had no qualms about morality?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. I’m mostly joking, but a hidden doubt creeps up inside me, reminding me of the man who raised me. Would it be surprising if I turned out to be another money-hungry piece of shit, with the father I had?

Ryan shakes his head, giving me a look like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. Maybe he does. For some reason, he’s one of the few people I’ve met since starting Onyx who really feels like a friend to me. “I’m saying, you wouldn’t normally be getting all twisted up in how old she is. She’s got a college degree. A fully developed frontal lobe. Sounds to me like she can make her own decisions and doesn’t need you making decisions for her.”

I work hard to keep my face passive. That’s exactly what Serena said to me right before the second time I fucked her. Ryan shrugs again, moving the little gummy shark around the top of his drink. “And it’s not like you’re asking her to marry you, right?”

Staring at the vile, bright blue concoction he’s drinking, I nod. He’s right—it’s not like I’m asking her to marry me. I toldRyan a long time ago that I had absolutely no plans to marry anyone. Ever.

It would fulfill the last requirement my father left behind to receive his trust. According to my attorney, I can’t just refuse it. Which means I have to make sure I never meet all the requirements for the funds to be released to me.

When I first told him about the situation, Ryan had laughed. He asked why I didn’t just accept the money and donate it all to something that would have pissed my dad off.