Page 63 of Push

Liam lounged against the veranda railing, the only casual thing about the imposing way he crowded the space. It was eight in the morning, and he was immaculately dressed in a navy suit, clean-shaven, his hair slicked back, and cologne wafting up my nostrils. He clutched a large white envelope in his hand.

“Good…morning…?” I said.

Liam’s chin dipped. That was the closest I was getting to a greeting.

“You know, I have a doorbell.” I pointed at the brass button that was impossible to miss. “See? It’s right there.”

“I prefer not to announce my presence with the dulcet tones of Greensleeves.”

“You think I’m the type of person who has a cheesy doorbell ring?”

“No.” The corner of his lip twitched. “But I’m not prepared to risk it.”

Fighting back a smile, I stepped aside. “Do you want to—”

The invitation to come in died on my lips. My gaze was searching over Liam’s shoulder. Another man leaned against the white pickets of my front gate. He looked as out of place as my brother in a similar dark suit, his tangle of black curls falling over his eyes as he tapped on his phone. My grin was instant. How was it possible that the scrawny kid who used to stumble close on Liam’s heels looked almost exactly the same?

I was already waving. “Hey!” I called out. The dumb grin spread even wider on my face. This was too surreal. “Elias!”

The man’s head jerked up, his coal-dark eyes widening, slightly startled. His palm rose, and a shaky smile followed but quickly disappeared. His attention dropped back to his phone.

Ouch.Hewassocially awkward. Nothing had changed. “Elias is welcome to come inside.”

“He’s busy.”

“I have coffee.”

“He’d be reluctant to accept your invitation.”

“It’snicecoffee,” I responded a little too defensively.

“I’m afraid he’d still decline. Elias hasn’t forgotten my warning from when we were younger.”

“Which was…?”

“That if he even dares to look at you, I’ll ensure he never procreates with one neat slice.” Liam’s lips pressed into a grim line. “Will we waste all morning sharing pleasantries about thegood old days on your front veranda?” He ran his fingertip along the railing, checking for dust. He wouldn’t find any. Toby was meticulous with the house. “As delightful as it is out here, I have a contract I need you to look over.”

My smile was sweet but forced. “Will you be popping over regularly on Saturday mornings with contracts for me to look over?”

“That depends.”

“On what? The time on one of your many clocks? Are the markets still open somewhere in the world?”

“New York just closed. Eli’s busy with after-market transactions. He plays too much on the NASDAQ. It’s a problem.” Liam held up the envelope. “But not all of our business is done on the markets.”

“I see.” I lifted my chin, my eyes narrowed on his envelope. “Where isthattype of business done?”

Liam’s shoulder lifted. “The investor dictates the location more often than not. Restaurants. Bars. Casinos.” His eyes rolled with apparent boredom. “Strip clubs.”

“So, you’re still getting yourself into trouble?”

“Hardly. Those men are fools. No one’s ever made a sensible business decision with a woman’s finer features shoved in their face. But…” His blue eyes sparked with interest. “I suppose it’s to my advantage. I can bleed them dry on more than one front.”

“How so?”

“I own them.”

“The, uh…locations?” I arched my eyebrow. “Or the men who choose them?”

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