“I get it.”
I give up on the cheese because there’s no way I’m moving my brother. Since he’s of the male variety, he’s always been a lot bigger than I am. It would be like trying to push over a hundred-foot tree. I was going to steal the cheese for spite and also for pleasure, but mostly spite. But he’s denied me the double pleasure of making my point and also enjoying it because who doesn’t like cheese?
“So, you’ll ask?”
“No.”
“I’m serious, Stell. I will.”
“Don’t call me Stell. I hate that.”
“You also hate Stella.”
“Don’t use my name at all. And don’t ask Haladon about the money. I swear I’ll drug you and shave off your eyebrows and buzz a penis shape onto your hair if you do.”
“That would be some awesome artistry. I’m tempted to ask him just to see if you’ll do it.”
“I hate you.”
“I know you don’t. And I’m going to ask. Because you’re fucked otherwise, and I can’t let Daryl—who I always said was a giant asshole—do that to you. You have to understand. I’m your brother, and I’ll do what it takes to keep you safe, even if it means saving you from yourself.”
I shake my head and storm out of the kitchen. Sam runs after me. He opens the front door for me and waves me out with a grin on his face. I wish I had the fortitude to punch him in the mouth, but I do love him, and punching him would just be mean. I didn’t even try that when we were younger, and I didn’t love him so much then because he was horrible to me—older brother duties, as he already mentioned.
He watches from the front door until I’m safely in my car. He probably watches me after too, but I drive off and can’t see him anymore. All I can think about as I drive away is how stupid the name Haladon Windsongs Destinyblade Walker is. How stupidly awesome, if I have to admit. But then it makes me think about the man behind the name, and I hate thinking about Hal in any shape or form.
The one shape and form I will never, ever think of him as? An investor in my business—someone I’m indebted to, someone who owns my ass, and someone I have to make payments and send reports to. A business partner of sorts. Nopes. Never. Especially after all the horrible jokes he did at my expense. He might have been a kid back then, as my brother said, but for me, it is still a really sore spot.
So, nope. I’d rather lose everything I’ve worked my butt off for. All my dreams, as Sam put it. I’d rather close-up shop or sell it to someone else and move the heck on than eat the dirt that is Hal.
It’s never going to happen.
And I really will buy a set of clippers if Sam opens his mouth and starts meddling.
CHAPTER 2
Hal
“Sam! What a surprise. Did you bring beer?”
My oldest friend lifts a shoulder and grins at me. “It’s nine in the morning, so I thought I’d pass on beer and go straight for the hard stuff.”
I laugh. I wouldn’t have doubted it in our younger days, but both of us now work during the day at jobs we want to keep. We have houses, vehicles, and lives we can’t fuck up by being irresponsible. But in college, there were times I didn’t know what day it was, and the whole it’s five o’clock somewhere was just about always the philosophy I rocked, though that hasn’t been true in a long time.
Speaking of regular jobs, I have no idea what Sam is doing here on a Wednesday when he should be hunkered down in a big high-rise downtown, fixing all the technical problems of the company he works for. He’s a technical engineer, which I think is pretty incredible. I can do all kinds of math, and I can do stocks. I can pick out a sound investment, but when it comes to computers, I can’t do more than the next person. And I don’t have the patience to troubleshoot.
“You don’t have work today?” I ask casually. Sam’s already sitting across from me in my office, which is bigger than most people’s apartments.
“Yeah, I said I had a dentist appointment—an emergency. I needed to come this morning. I couldn’t put it off.”
“Yeah, my secretary said you were most adamant, and by that, Charlene means pushy beyond belief, calling in all the favors, resorting to bribery, thinly veiled threats—”
“I did not threaten anyone! I just said it was important, you were my oldest friend, and that you’d understand.”
“True.”
“You don’t have clients to meet with. I know that.”
“You’re right. I never make an appointment before eleven. It’s not good for the brain. Can’t get the thoughts worked out, and I’m a poor judge of character and risk before noon.”