Seventeen
Aquick rap-rap-rap echoed off Royce’s office door but his visitor didn’t wait to be invited before opening it.
“I’m not not speaking to you.” Brannon walked in and shut the door behind him.
Royce pulled his glasses off his nose. “Good. Now get out. I’m busy.” He figured Brannon had been keeping busy, too. Their stint of not talking, of not hanging out would end eventually. Even if it had been nearly a month since the meeting where Gia asked about their “snit.”
She’d come into Royce’s office last week telling him if he hurt Taylor, she’d castrate him. He told her it wasn’t serious, which was a bold-faced lie. Not only had Taylor and Royce been sleeping together for six weeks, he’d seen her several times last week and twice this week alone. And they had plans tonight.
As for Bran, he knew that Royce and Taylor were “dating,” but that was also a tame way to describe their relationship. Royce had yet to clue his brother in on any details. Not that he’d asked.
“If you’re going to insist on staying, at least sit down,” Royce told him.
“Why don’t you stand?”
“Because I’m working. Didn’t we just cover this?”
“We have an appointment at noon.” Bran folded his arms over his chest, defiant.
“I have no such appointment on my calendar.”
“Write one in and get off your ass. Let’s go.”
“If you have something to say, why don’t you say it and then go back to what you were doing before you came in here to interrupt me with this nonsense?”
“This ‘nonsense’ is exactly why we’re not speaking. And this appointment is one you need to show up for. It’s what’s going to put us back where we belong.”
Royce would do anything for his brother, including going to a mystery appointment so that they could make amends. They needed to make amends. They had a company to run—ThomKnox wouldn’t function with two out of three Knox siblings. Success required all of them.
He shut his laptop and stood from his chair. “What do I need to bring?”
Bran’s smile was smug. “You don’t need to bring anything. I have it covered.”
Bran’s house was a sleek, modern, square utopia. Glass and steel and clean lines made up the design; none of the homier accents like bowls of fruit or vases of flowers here. Odd the way the architecture of Royce’s and Bran’s homes contrasted the men themselves—Royce’s love of spreadsheets and black-and-white areas should have made him better suited to sparse decor. Outside, a huge patio area outfitted with a bar and seating flanked an in-ground pool and a new feature to the yard—one that fit Bran to a T.
“Is that...?” Royce started.
“A boxing ring.”
“So you took Dad seriously.”
“I figured it’d be good exercise. I’ve been practicing with the trainer. Know what I noticed?”
“You’re no Mike Tyson?” Royce answered drily.
“I noticed that it helps release emotion.” Bran pulled on one boxing glove and then threw Royce a pair. “It resolves issues that were formerly unresolved.”
“I’m not going to fight you, Bran.”
“It’s not fighting. It’s boxing. It’s a sport.”
This was ridiculous. What did he hope to solve with the two of them throwing punches?
“What’s wrong? Afraid I’ll kick your ass?” Bran offered a crooked smile.
Even as Royce assured himself he had nothing to prove to his younger brother, he was baited by that challenge. Giving in to his baser instincts, he tossed his suit jacket aside and pulled his boxing gloves on as well.
After the quickest tutorial ever, Royce and Bran began circling each other in the ring.