Page 93 of The Sculptor

Keys laughs. “Will do. See ya later, Rem.”

“See ya.”

He hangs up, and it takes him a moment to gather his cool composure again when I arch a brow. “So, you play video games? For a while there, I thought you were an adult.”

He rolls his eyes. “She’s a game writer, dipshit. She asked me to test out a new game she helped create.”

Now it’s my turn to make things awkward. “That’s cute, you being all sweet. Who knew you had compassion?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you,” I return with a chuckle. Calling him sweet is clearly his kryptonite.

“Fuck both of y’all.”

Vance’s voice booms through the room, stopping mine and Remington’s stupid back-and-forth.

“Get up,” he snaps at Remington, who makes sure to take his time rising from the chair, cutting him a shitty look as he slowly walks over and takes the chair next to me.

“Remington,” Vance growls impatiently, “can you give us a moment?”

“I could,” he agrees, “but you have a therapy appointment in fifteen minutes.” He doesn’t move from the chair. That’s one thing Remington is great at—keeping my brother compliant with his therapy sessions.

“Reschedule it,” Vance says, slightly softer. “I have some time tomorrow afternoon.”

“You also have time now,” Remington notes, a hard edge to his tone. “How ‘bout you and baby bro pick this up when you get back?”

I bet Halle is so proud of this kid. Not only does he drive Vance batshit crazy, but he’s also a great assistant.

Vance looks at me and sighs.

“I can come back,” I say. “I need to go through the pile of mail that I’m sure Remington has thrown on my desk.”

Remington flashes me a wink before he stands, dusting off his hands like his work here is done. “Up and at ‘em, Vance-hole. Time to ruin Dr. Johnson’s day. I’ll tell Hal to order an apology gift.”

Vance stands, ignoring the teenager with far too much energy, and rounds the desk. “Don’t leave. I still want to talk about last night.”

I tip my chin just as Remington’s nosy ass asks, “What happened last night?” He looks at Vance like he’s one to gossip.

“Nothing,” I say, rising and taking a step towards the door, when Halle appears… with a guest.

Langston.

My entire body pulls tight as the bastard fills the space like a black cloud of toxicity.

“Aw, hell, Hal. I thought we told you we don’t bleach assholes anymore.” Remington shivers dramatically. “It makes Dr. Duke’s tummy feel weird.”

Halle covers her laugh with a cough. “He said he needed to see Dr. Duke,” she says, referring to Langston.

“Actually, I came to see all the Potter brothers,” the sniveling bastard says with a grin. “But it looks like I’m missing one.” He shrugs. “No worries, I’ll leave his with you, and you can pass it along to the patriarch of this shitshow.” He pulls out several envelopes and hands one to Halle before giving the rest to Remington. “Hand these to your bosses, dear boy.”

Remington tenses and takes a sinister step forward, but Vance is there, pulling him back by the collar, plucking two envelopes from his hand, and offering me one while Langston just chuckles.

“You know, kid,” he says, addressing Remington, “a worthy adversary always knows when to concede.” He turns and looks at me, then at the envelopes in each of our hands. “A peace offering, Dr. Potter. Consider our business here finished.”

The envelope in my hand suddenly feels heavy. “Is this what I think it is?”

Langston chuckles. “It’s what you and Ramsey deserve.”

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