Page 7 of Filthy Rich Ex's Brothers

The creative director had practically yelped, grabbing her and tugging her away, surely thinking he would lose his job anyway. And, for the rest of the goddamned week, I could think about nothing but the tiny gold ring on her finger, the delicate swirl just along her knuckle. I could think about nothing but the fact that I didn’t get to hold that hand in mine.

And then, exactly one week after she started working there, Alex called me, pissed off and demanding. Pretty typical from my youngest brother.

“It’s weird,” he’d said. “Like, a HIPAA violation or something.”

“That’s for healthcare.” Finding out he was dating the whirlwind photographer was not welcome information. Except itwas—the last thing I needed was to be thinking about her all the time. This was exactly the perfect roadblock. “And I don’tsee why she wouldn’t work here. We pay better than competitors and it’s great for her portfolio.”

Alex’s voice took on the slightly whiny, entitled tone I’d heard throughout his whole life. “I don’t want her working with you. Take care of it.”

“Deal with it yourself. She’s your fucking girlfriend,” I’d replied, filling my voice with as much venom as I could muster. It’s not like Alex and I had a bad relationship, but we’d never been close. Maybe a product of the age difference. Or maybe he’d just experienced a much lenient version of our father than I had and that led to two very different personalities.

Still, I care about him. It’s why I’ve allowed him to live in an Onyx property, rent-free, while he finishes school. And why I’ve never thrown a fit about his mother staying in our late father’s house while she burned her way through the estate’s money.

I have my own money. And, unlike Alex, I have no interest in meeting the requirements for the trust Stephen Oakley left behind.

Alex hung up on me, and I ignored his follow-up texts about firing Serena. He demanded that I give her an excuse for why we wouldn’t need her services anymore.

I told myself I hadn’t fired her because Alex was in no position to order me around, that he could learn a lesson about how he spoke to me. It certainly had nothing to do with me seeing her in the marketing department. Nothing to do with her presence, her scent, the way the light caught on her hair.

Stupidly, I kept thinking about her hair. The curve of her hip under her skirt. What it would feel like to tug the collar of her blouse down, expose a pale, freckled shoulder?—

“Hey!” There’s a commotion outside my office door, and my head snaps up just as Serena MacKenzie herself pushes through the door, breathing hard and looking frantic, her hair wildaround her face. She’s appeared out of nowhere as if she could tell she occupied my thoughts.

Today, she’s wearing high-waisted green pants, a floral blouse, and a pair of strappy sandals. Her camera bag is ever-present at her waist. She smells amazing, like some kind of flower, but I have no idea which one.

Fucking ridiculous, the thoughts I have when she’s around.

Her eyes meet mine, shining and determined. I’m surprised to catch, somewhere in her expression, a ghost of hurt. Betrayal. Tears. I stifle the urge to ask her if she’s okay.

I shouldnotbe asking her if she’s okay. Especially not when she just barged into my office unannounced. I should be standing, telling her to get out. Firing her on the spot.

My security guard comes bumbling in a moment later, embarrassingly slow.

“Sorry, sir, I—” he cuts himself off and grabs Serena by the arm, starting to physically remove her.

The hurt vanishes from her expression and she seems to remember what she’s doing. Digging her heels in and yanking back against the security guard, Serena turns her bright, determined eyes on me and says, “If you’re going to cut my contract, just do it now and save me the waiting.”

Chapter 5

Serena

See? Georgie would say, if she were here,This is your problem, Serena. Too impulsive. You never think things through!

Impulsive enough that when I arrived here for my gig, instead of going to the marketing department like I should have, I pivoted right and barreled down the hallway, into Travis’s office, heart pounding, blood like a roaring ocean in my ears.

It’s been less than twenty-four hours since Alex unceremoniously dumped my shit out on the lawn, and apparently, I won’t even give myself a full day before looking for another Oakley to trample all over me. My therapist might say I’m seeking out conflict in an attempt to express my rage. She would have a lot to say about what I’m doing right now.

Self-sabotage.

Travis Oakley stares back at me with a perfectly stoic expression. He’s a decade older than me, with smooth tan skin, deep brown eyes, and a perfect jawline. Before I started working here, I’d seen him on magazine covers, standing in a perfectly fitted suit, his arms crossed.

Even now, wearing a suit just like it, I can imagine the body beneath. The way his biceps and forearms would strain againsta short-sleeve shirt. In fact, I saw that very image in an issue ofMen’s HealthI quickly hid from Alex.

Ishould notbe imagining the body beneath. I should be focusing on the fact that he’s about to fire me, most likely.

Slowly, his gaze refocuses on his assistant before shifting to the exact spot where his security guard’s fist is squeezing the shit out of my bicep. I can feel the weight and heat of his gaze like a physical touch.

“Let her go,” he orders, and the guard obeys like a dog dropping a toy.