“It’s not the job.”
“Do you not want Grayson to have any money?”
Loyal frowned. “The money’s for charity, not for h
im.”
“So, you don’t want the veterans to have it.”
“No, of course not. I don’t give a f—” He broke off and drew in a controlled breath. “I don’t care about the money.”
“Which means Grayson is the only problem.”
“Brilliant deduction, psychic.” He downed the rest of his drink and wished for another. Damn Roxanna wasn’t so relaxing anymore.
She turned her head and glared at him.
Guilt slammed forward. “Sorry. That was me being an ass again.”
“Yes. Kind of like you refusing to help veterans because you don’t want to work with your brother.”
Well, fuck—she sounded like Grayson now. And he really hated that the guy had kind of sort of extended an olive branch the other night at the Halloween party. If anyone was going to do that, he would.
Out of sheer peevishness, he corrected, “Half-brother.”
“You don’t have to call him that. I know who you’re talking about.”
“I call him that because that’s what he is.”
She sipped her wine, her expression contemplative as she eyed him over the rim. “Does it make you feel better that he’s half and you’re whole?”
“What kind of question is that?” he snapped with annoyance.
“When you insist on making the distinction he’s only a half-brother, you’re elevating yourself over him. And you’re closing yourself off to acceptance.”
Holy shit, she really was psycho-analyzing him—and fuck, she was good, too.
“Why do I have to accept him?” he groused. Then he cringed inwardly. He sounded like a five year-old, not a gown-ass, thirty-year-old man.
Roxanna held her glass in front of her as she twisted slightly toward him. “Like it or not, Loyal, Grayson isn’t going away. And since you can’t change that he’s a part of your family, you have to figure out a way to move past it. Because if everyone else accepts him and you don’t, you’ll be the outsider, not him.”
That bald truth hit him harder than if she’d full-out swung a two-by-four upside his head.
He shoved away from the Range Rover and paced a few feet away, the empty glass in his hand hard against his thigh. How did she know that he feared being pushed aside and replaced when he hadn’t even wanted to fully acknowledge it himself? It was downright stupid and childish and fucking insecure, which is why he keep shoving it aside. Which only made him angrier whenever he had to face the guy and acknowledge he existed.
But could she be right? Was he doing it to himself?
“Can I ask you another question?”
He snorted and swung around. “You haven’t asked for permission so far, why start now?”
She smiled briefly. “How rich are you?”
He lifted his shoulders uncomfortably, not wanting to brag when he knew she wasn’t so well off.
“You’re worth millions, right?” she pried. “Is it all your money, or is it tied up in a trust fund?”
“We each assume full control of our trust funds at thirty.” He tapped the glass against the side of his leg as he stared at her boots peeking out from beneath the hem of her blue dress. “And I’ve done well enough on my own, through hard work and investments.”