Page 27 of Every Broken Piece
“It’s the damn gala that you refused to attend, so I have to go.”
“Ah.” I vaguely remember telling Jack that no way in hell was I going.
For the most part he’s the face of Strong Sterling and I remain in the background. That worked for years until we both hit a net worth of over a billion dollars and suddenly we became a hot commodity, invited to everything. I went to a few events and hated the attention.
This is where Jack thrives. He has the charisma that I don’t.
He’s scowling at me and I grin. “Come on. You love this. Who’re you taking tonight? The runway model? What’s her name? Lucia? Valeria? Something ending in ‘ia’.”
“Guilia. And no, not her.”
I lean forward and whisper. “Does Jack Sterling not have a date?”
His scowl deepens. “Of course I have a date.”
I lean back. “But not the runway model. The congresswoman? Darlene?”
“Dianna and no, not her. She’s too serious and too worried about her reputation. No fun.”
I laugh because Jack is all about fun unless it has to do with work. That’s about the only time he’s ever serious.
“I could have told you that. I was surprised you went out with her for as long as you did.”
“Three dates isn’t long.”
“For you it is. So, who’s the lucky girl tonight?”
“You know, if you’d pull your weight with these things I wouldn’t have to pick a girl each time.”
“If you settled down, you wouldn’t have a list of girls to pick from. You could take the same one.”
His gaze shoots to the side and I still, because that was a huge tell right there. “You didn’t say who the lucky girl is.”
He surges to his feet and tugs at his suit jacket before pointing at me. “Next time you’re going. I’m tired of these things and you owe me.”
“Owe you? For what?”
“For attending all these boring galas and schmoozing.”
“You like to schmooze.”
“Not anymore, I don’t,” he mumbles.
He flips his wrist to look at his watch then heads to my kitchen where I hear him rummaging around. He comes back with a glass of bourbon and a bag of chips that Pax left last weekend.
I don’t say anything as he settles back on the couch and shoves a handful of chips in his mouth, washing it down with expensive bourbon. Something’s on his mind and I know my brother enough to wait until he’s ready to tell me what it is.
It takes three more handfuls of chips and listening to him crunch before his guilty gaze slides to me. He pauses his chewing.
“What?” His mouth is full, and I bite back my smile at the man in a five-thousand-dollar suit eating a ninety-nine cent back of chips, drinking from a nine-hundred-dollar bottle of bourbon. He shrugs and reaches for another handful of chips. “The food at these things sucks. I need a snack.”
“You don’t have snacks at your place?” His place is one floor below mine and I know for a fact he has a pantry full of unhealthy snacks.
He holds up his almost empty glass. “I don’t have the good stuff.”
“Look, Jack, if you need to get drunk to go to these things then I’ll take over for a while.” I won’t. In truth, neither of us needs to attend these galas anymore. At first it was to get our name out there, but we have more business than we know what to do withand if it’s a fundraiser I’m not opposed to sending a check and being done with it.
He brushes the crumbs from his hands onto my carpet, then grabs his glass, the bag of chips and returns everything to the kitchen.
