Page 7 of Mexico Can Choke On It
SqueeEEEP!
I shift, and my leather chair rips a fart.Awesome.
What I really don’t need is to become the center of attention in this meeting.
I made it here with twelve seconds to spare, which meant no bathroom stop, no lipstick fix, and zero lunch. I had to park on the street again(garage was full),and while the meter actually worked this time(small miracles), it only gave me an hour. I’ve got a timer set on my phone to run down and feed it in exactly—thirty-seven minutes.
I can’t have Officer Cockburn popping out of a shrub like an angry leprechaun with a citation instead of gold.
“We are on the edge of a pivotal moment,” Gavin says, commanding the room as if he was born to do it. “In two weeks, we go public. This is not about ringing the bell; it’s about opening a new chapter for our company. We need to hit the ground running on day one.”
My big brother, Gavin Brinkman. Six feet of sharp suits and sharper ambition. His dark-brown hair is cut and styled with precision, and his hazel-green eyes—the only feature we share besides our smart mouths—scan the room like lasers. The women here are openly salivating. One exec is tongue-bathing her Montblanc pen like it’s foreplay. Gavin doesn’t care. Sex comes third for my brother—first is business, second is more business.
The Rolex on his wrist catches the light, and my heart does that stupid squeeze. Mom and I busted our asses for that watch—she scrubbed extra toilets while I served burnt pancakes and bottomless coffee at Denny’s. Seeing him open that box on his graduation day was the last time I saw him truly smile.
And the fact that he still wears it? Every damn day? Instead of upgrading to some flashy billionaire flex? Yeah. That’s an emotional Rubik’s cube I’ll never solve.
The Brinkman siblings. Two sides of the same fucked-up coin. Gavin took the “work harder than God” route out of poverty—found himself a billionaire best friend, learned to speak fluent Country Club, and never looked back.
Me? I took the scenic route. The “set it on fire and see what happens” path. While Gavin was shaking hands with the elite, I was collecting detention slips like trophies and perfecting the art of making rich girls cry with nothing but words.
He built an empire. I built a rap sheet of minor offenses and major disappointments.
And yet… seeing him now, owning a room full of people who would’ve ignored him as a kid? It makes me puff up with pride. My brother did this. The same kid who used to share his school lunch with me when Mom couldn’t afford to pack two is now a fucking financial god.
I just wish success hadn’t made him so…them.
“Going public will give us the resources to expand our services and reach more people who deserve a chance to grow their wealth.” Gavin pauses. “Petra… next slide.”
Oh, shit.
My fingers attack the laptop. Slides go flying on the screen. Growth charts, retention stats, stock photos of unnaturally happy couples.
“The personalized investment tools slide,” Gavin says, jaw tightening.
“Yep. Working on it. Uh—one sec.”
I overshoot again. Finally, I land on the correct slide.
And then… it happens.
GRRRRROOOWWWLLL.
My empty, CPK-deprived stomach howls like it’s about to club something and eat it raw.
He clears his throat. “As I was saying, our proprietary algorithm has shown remarkable—”
GRRRRRRROOOOOOOOWWWWLLLLL.
My stomach is possessed by a hungry demon. Gavin’s forehead vein pulses, and the suits around the table shift uncomfortably.
GRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWLLLLLLL!
“Petra! Please grab a damn muffin. If your stomach gets any louder, we’ll need to give it a seat at the table and offer it voting rights.”
Laughter erupts—tight, amused, and at my expense. Even the woman eye-fucking my brother lets out a dainty snort.
I stand up and reach past the crystal pitchers of water for the pile of pastries when—
