Page 32 of The Rejected Wife

His expression gentles. “You’re a strong, independent woman who I’m very proud of, you know that.”

My anger fades. “Thanks, big brother.” I take a sip of my coffee. “I’m sorry I missed our dinner. Time just got away from me, that’s all… I promise, I’ll make the next one.”

“Hmm.” He studies me again, eyes sharp with something unspoken.

“There’s that hmm again. I’m getting the feeling this visit isn’t just about checking in on me.” I walk over to the tiny breakfast nook and slide onto a stool. “Want to tell me what’s really going on?”

He walks over to place his coffee on the counter opposite me. “You mean, I can’t drop in on my sister and say hi?”

I roll my eyes. “You’re the hotshot CEO of the Whittington Group of companies. Your time is money.”

“And I was worried about you.” His tone is serious. His expression is grave.

Warmth coils in my chest. I can’t help but feel moved that he’s here and concerned about me.

Only, I’m not five. And he’s not the twenty-year-old who came to my aid when bullies teased me on the playground. Tor would show up in his black suit like an avenging angel and glare down at the boys who made fun of my wiry hair and my being overweight. It took one glower for him to send them scrambling. They left me alone. And my brother became my hero.

He’d already started working at our father’s company by then, so he wasn’t around as much as my middle brothers. But he was the one we all went to for help, especially since my father was too busy running an empire.

When I told my father I wanted to leave home and strike out on my own, he threatened to disown me. I left anyway. My father carried out his threat. Tor tried to dissuade him, but to no avail.

Since then, my brother has made sure to continuously check in on me. He knows I won’t accept money from him, so he’s settled on ensuring that I’m doing fine.

My mother passed when I was five. I don’t need a shrink to tell me it’s one reason I turned out to be such a rebel. Then at nineteen my father passed away, which made Tor more protective about us. My brothers and I are adults, but Tor took it upon himself to become our de facto parent. He makes sure to support us emotionally while expanding the company our father built.

"I really am sorry I missed our dinner." I rub at my forehead, wishing my headache would lessen. "It won’t happen again, okay?"

My brother gives me another grim look, then spins around and begins to open and close my cabinet doors.

"What are you doing?" I ask, bemused.

In reply, he opens a couple of the drawers, then holds up a bottle of Advil. He shakes one out, fills a glass with water, and places them in front of me.

"Thank you." I swallow the pill with some of the water and shoot him a small smile. "You haven’t said why you came here."

"I told you; I was worried about you."

"You could have called." I arch one brow. "What's the real reason?"

He gives me another of his looks, then props a foot on the footrail of the stool opposite me. "I have…a proposition for you."

I level a quizzical expression in his direction. "A proposition?"

He slides a hand into the pocket of his slacks. "It’s something to consider. And I’ll never push you to do it."

I tilt my head. "Sounds ominous."

"It’s not. It’s straightforward." My brother hesitates, which is unusual for him A prickle of unease runs up my spine. The fine hair on my forearms stands on end. I push aside the foreboding that crowds in on my senses.

"It doesn’t seem straightforward, considering you’re trying to figure out the best way to spring it on me." I nod in his direction.

He raises the cup of coffee to his mouth, takes a sip, then makes a face.

"Sorry, it’s not the expensive-as-gold coffee, made from beans that nocturnal mammals shit out, that you've grown accustomed to," I drawl.

"If you’re talking about Kopi luwak that are made from partially digested coffee cherries that have been eaten and defecated by the Asian palm civets, then I’m not apologizing. I like my creature comforts. I’ve earned them," he says with a straight face, though his eyes gleam.

"Creature comforts?" I chortle. That was an intended pun. My brother has a dry sense of humor.

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