Dean, my baby brother and expert bullshitter, lounged in the doorway. I honestly didn’t know how the fuck we were related. First off, instead of wearing jeans and a shirt like any other guy here, he was dressed in a three-piece suit that I knew cost more than his rent—rent that I paid. The little pissant.

Secondly, he was too fucking pretty. From grade school on, girls cooed over his blue eyes and sandy hair. Prince fucking Charming. I pushed away the thought that he looked like my ma. I missed her daily.

That was the hell of it. I missed too many people.

“What’s wrong with you?” Dean asked, ambling into my office. He stopped short and gave me a wide, fake-ass smile. “Today, I mean.”

I shot Carlos a quick, do not say a damn word glare. He blinked, and I knew he understood. I kept Dean away from the business troubles. He had potential to be something great—if he ever got his head out of his own ass and got a job.

Carlos stood up and rolled a kink out of his neck. “Rhys has a case of limp dick.”

I elbowed Carlos hard enough to knock him sideways. “Get the fuck outta here with that shit. You want to jinx me or something?”

Carlos snorted and looked to Dean. “Got any advice for that, college boy?”

“Thoughts and prayers?”

“You’re both hilarious.” But our ploy had worked. Dean was distracted.

As soon as Carlos left, I leaned against the edge of my desk and looked Dean over. “What’s with the suit? You going on an interview?”

Please let it be that. The boy had a degree in computer science from BU, had aced his MCATS, and had multiple offers from grad schools across the country, but he was floundering, working as a waiter and spending his free time dicking around with women.

He grinned liked it was Christmas morning. “Something like that.”

This kid. “It either is an interview or it isn’t.”

“Oh, I got the job.” His grin wouldn’t die. “Tonight’s more like a trial run.”

Fighters rely on instinct, and mine kicked into high gear. “Trial run? What the fuck are you talking about, Deanie?”

His smile fell flat. He hated when I called him Deanie.

“What kind of shifty-ass, suit-wearing job has trial runs?” I pressed when he turned mulish. “Or starts at… six in the evening?”

“Look, I was really excited to tell you about this because it’s fucking brilliant. But if you’re going to give me shit…”

“Talk. Now.”

“Fine.” Dean pulled out his phone and headed my way. “I found this wicked cool app where you put in your photo and skill set and it finds you people who are looking to hire.”

“That’s… good.” And yet my hackles stayed up. There was something fishy about his manner.

“So I figure, what the hell, no one is hiring for what I have a degree in now. But I’m good at other things.”

“What other things?” This fucking kid. Only nine years younger than me and I swore he’d aged me a decade every frickin’ year I had to deal with him.

He shrugged. “Like charming women, making them feel good.”

Slowly, I stood at full height. “Making women feel good.”

“Yeah,” he said like I was dense. “I’m brilliant with women.”

“What’s the job, Dean?”

Oblivious, he tapped on his phone. “So, this app put me in touch with this cute honey, Parker, who… get this… will pay me to be her escort.” His eyes lit up. “Isn’t that a pissah? I can’t believe it. The amount she’s willing to pay me is crazy. Easy money and all for doing what comes natural to me. Best part? It’s an open-ended deal.”

All the blood in my head rushed to my toes before flooding back up in a surge of black heat. “You’re prostituting yourself? Is that what I’m hearing?”

Where did I go wrong?

“What?” His blond brows snapped together. “No! I’m an escort. I take Parker out on dates, go with her to functions and parties. Shit like that. I mean, I’m not going to say no if she asks—”

“No. No fucking way.” A snarl tore out of me and I clenched my fists. “I did not drop eighty thousand dollars on your education so you could become a rent boy for some snobby rich chick…”

“Oh, right, bring up the fact that you paid my way. Again.” He glared at me with hurt in his eyes.

“Because I did!” I ran a hand through my hair and grabbed the short ends. I was liable to tear it out at this point. “I put every cent I had left into this gym and you. I was happy to do it. Thrilled.” It had been the least I could do; Dean needed direction, an education, a way out. “I’ll be damned if my efforts are flushed down the toilet because of the whims of some vapid, brainless…”

“Hey, Parker is wicked smart. Look at this.” He shoved his phone in my face. “She went to MIT…”

I snorted. “Figures.”

“And her family is on dozens of different charity boards.”

“Which means dick all to me.” I took the phone—it was that or have it pushed up my nose—and studied the article he had open. A sweetly pretty girl, about the size of my thumb, with big brown eyes under severely straight brows smiled back at me. It was a strained smile, nothing like the beaming, happy grins the older couple next to her wore. The couple were obviously her parents, and they were all standing on a rolling lawn overlooking the ocean, a massive Cape Cod-style mansion in the background.

“Jesus,” I muttered. “They’re New Yorkers, Dean.”

“So?” He laughed. “What do you have against New Yorkers?”

“The rich ones are assholes.”

The article said something about how Mr. and Mrs. Charles Brown were “summering” on the Cape and fundraising for a children’s literacy campaign. Which was nice, but it didn’t mean they were nice people.

“Didn’t peg you for a snob, brother.”

I curled my hand around the phone. “Do you know how many of these types I met when I was on the circuit? They’re all about wanting to give back to the little people, wanting to be your friend. In reality, they view people like us as fresh meat. We’re amusing at best. And when we fail to entertain them any longer, we’re gone.”

Just ask all the so-called friends who disappeared when Jake died and I’d quit the business.

“Parker isn’t like that. She’s sweet. Shy, really.” Dean’s chin kicked up. “And if she wants to use me as her personal pretty-boy puppet in exchange for a boatload of money, I’m going to let her.”

“Dean…”

“I told you because I thought… never mind what I thought. Point is, this is my life and my business. I’m going to pay you back my way.”

Finally, my baby brother was growing some claws. I’d been more of a father to him than our own for years. With that responsibility came a certain amount of telling him what to do. But I wanted him to fight back, take charge of his life. Just not this way. He was too smart for this. I was the one who rolled around in the muck. Dean needed to stay clean.

I knew that look he wore. He was serious. Nothing would persuade him otherwise. Out of all our differences, in that way we were alike—both of us stubborn to the core.