The Everest Brothers: An Alpha Billionaires Series

by S. L. Scott

  Her eyes are bright and my favorite shade of mischief green. “Yeaahhh, about that—”

  I burst out laughing. “What now?”

  “What if you gave the tickets to Aaron?” I shoot a glare into his gleeful eyes in the mirror. “We could watch the game at your apartment or even at mine. I make great Buffalo wings, and I’ll get Heineken for you.”

  “And?”

  “You’re driving a hard bargain, aren’t you?”

  “I always drive hard when it comes to things I want.”

  She moves closer, and whispers, “What if I serve you those wings and beer naked? Will that convince you?”

  It’s funny how bargaining works.

  She had me at the wings.

  The beer was the cherry on top.

  But her naked? “Deal.”

  Sitting back, quite pleased with herself, she asks Aaron, “I take it you heard all that?”

  “Thanks, Singer.”

  My mouth falls open, and my arms go wide. “Really, man? What am I? Chopped liver back here?”

  He shrugs. “She’s got my back.”

  “She does in fact have that.” I reach over, cup the back of her neck, and bring her close to kiss. “You have a big heart.”

  Her hands rub covertly over bigger parts of me. After a sweet kiss, she says, “If we have to stay in tonight, I look forward to making the most of it.”

  I slip my tongue past her eager lips and press in deeper, kissing her to show her how much I plan to make the most of tonight. “You’re going to be my undoing in more ways than one, aren’t you?”

  “If I have any say in the matter.”

  With our foreheads pressed together, my voice is low, but my feelings are clear. And strangely enough, I don’t feel an ounce of concern with that revelation.

  This woman.

  19

  Singer

  Aaron helped me find the local butcher, baker, and candlestick maker. Okay, the last one was just a joke we had going while running our errands. Although, I did find a great-smelling candle for Ethan. I don’t know if he likes candles, but I bought it anyway because although it’s clear he has money to burn, and the penthouse, it seems he’s missing some of the basics. He’s missing the things that make a penthouse a home.

  That’s an area where I can help. Not that he’s asked for my help, and it’s not like I’m moving in. I’m just buying a few things to make his apartment more homey for him.

  When the car pulls up to the private elevator in the parking garage, Lars is standing tall, more like a guard than a doorman. He’s still as intimidating as he was before. He opens my door and tells me to proceed to the elevator to go to the penthouse, and he’ll bring everything upstairs after.

  It’s all so secret agent-y and I’m curious to hear more details from Ethan tonight, but for now, I push the button and do as I’m told. When the elevator door opens, Ethan’s standing there—well-worn concert T-shirt, a little too tight around his biceps, but wow on displaying his hard body—worn-in jeans that are starting to shred at the knees and hang off that part of his body where I know that defined, muscular V is hidden. Black Adidas and day-old scruff on his square jaw, evident this morning, grown since then. Good Lord, this man sure knows how to make an impression.

  With a roguish grin, he takes my hand and pulls me inside. “I’ve been waiting for you, Singer.”

  Before I can speak, he twirls me down into a dip and kisses me, stealing my breath and my heart right along with it. When I land firmly on my feet, I tap his band tee. “I love The Resistance.”

  The elevator door slides open to the penthouse. He starts to walk, but stops and smirks. Signaling to the hall, he says, “Come on. I have a surprise for you.”

  I take his hand and walk out. “Lars said he’d bring up the stuff I bought.”

  “Yes, don’t worry. He won’t disturb us. He’ll set it in the hall and leave.”

  “Why do you have him?” I ask, truly curious.

  “Because I’m worth a lot of money. When you come into that kind of money, you find you have more enemies than friends.”

  “With all those enemies, is the money worth it?”

  “There are perks.”

  Looking around the place, I say, “Obviously, but what are the downfalls?”

  He stops and turns to me. Rubbing my arms, Ethan replies so easily, “You don’t trust many people and then discover most have an agenda, so I’ve been somewhat of an isolationist.”

  I love the feel of his steady and strong heartbeat as I rest my hands on his chest, but his words make me sad. He was the life of that party, the guy everyone wanted to talk to, including me. Just one short year later and people have tried to extinguish that life that lit up his eyes. “That’s a big price to pay.”

  “I’m willing to pay if it means I have genuine people in my life. Quality over quantity.”

  I rest my head on his chest and whisper, “It’s sad you have to choose one or the other.”

  Rubbing my back, he kisses the top of my head. “It is sad, but I’m not sad when I’m with you.”

  Whispering, I say, “I’ve chosen the same. I’d rather have one or two quality people in my life than a dozen fake friends.”

  “You have Melanie. She’s a good friend to have in your corner.”

  “She’s like my sister, so I’m in hers and she’s in my corner. I’m also in your corner, Ethan.”

  “I won’t take that for granted, Singer.”

  Glimmers of that once vivacious life reside in his eyes when he looks at me. I want to see him happy again. All the time, not just in our stolen moments together. Twirling out, I hold on to his hand and say, “Tell me about this surprise you have for me.”

  “How about I show you?”

  “Even better.”

  We hurry to the bedroom, but he stops in the doorway. He says, “It’s in the closet.”

  “Oh now you’re letting me look in your closet?” I sass as I shimmy past him.

  “Ignore the skeletons.”

  “Eh, we all have them.” I open the door and my mouth falls open. It takes me a moment to compose myself. I point and start talking and then stop and catch my breath. “That’s the dress, the one we saw in the window.”

  “It’s yours.” I turn back to find him leaning against the doorframe. Arms crossed. Eyes trained on me.

  “You bought the dress for me? How did you know I liked it?”

  “I saw the way you admired it.”

  I don’t go to the dress. It will still be there. I go to the man instead, because his thoughtfulness is so overwhelming. He draws me into his arms, and I realize that his arms are a sanctuary, a safe haven when wrapped around me. “Thank you.”

  “My pleasure, but it comes with a condition.”

  Leaning back, I smirk, thinking I’ve just been set up for something sexual in return. Little does he know I’ll happily oblige when it comes to being naked with him. I poke his ribs. “Lay it on me.”

  “I will, but that will be later.” He winks and I giggle, but then his bashful side comes out, and my heart melts, watching him. “I have an event. I want you to attend with me.”

  “I thought I was a liability?”

  “You’re not to me, but I am to you.”

  Reaching up, I drag the tips of my fingers through the hair above his ears and ask, “Are you going to ruin me, Ethan Everest?”

  His forehead finds mine before he slips to the side and whispers into my ear, “God, I hope not.”

  “What am I supposed to say to the offer of that pretty dress?”

  “The dress is yours.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’m yours,” he replies, not as softly.

  Mine? I need to see his eyes, so I lean back, finding the truth centered in the middle. “Privately or publicly?”

  “Whatever you want, I’ll be.”

  “As much as my first reaction is publicly, I don’t want you to be anything other than happy. I don’t want to
cause more complications, and I don’t want my life turned upside down. So tell me the pros and cons of us going to an event, a very public event from what it sounds like.”

  The apartment alarm sounds and he starts to leave. “That’s Lars. I’ll be right back.”

  I return to the closet, take the hanger from the hook, and carry the dress to the bathroom. I slip off my skirt and top and let the beautiful gown slide down over my body. Admiring myself in the mirror, the fit is keenly flattering. Then I hear, “Everything you wear looks incredible on you.”

  I don’t have to check the mirror to know my cheeks are flaming a deep ruby. The flush is spreading because the way he looks at me is as if I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to all the compliments you give me.”

  From behind, his hands slide around my waist. “This shade of purple brings out your eyes. They’re vibrant.”

  “It’s not because of the dress.”

  A response isn’t needed. He knows how I feel about him. He asks, “Will you go to the event?”

  “I’ll go, but I don’t understand exactly what I’m dealing with. I think we should go as friends, since you wouldn’t be expected to attend alone. We’ll just save the PDA for after the party.”

  “I’ll take you however I can have you.” He kisses my neck. “But I need to warn you. I might get jealous from all the attention you’re going to get.”

  “Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll be too busy worrying about all the attention the ladies will be giving you to notice the attention paid to me.”

  He kisses my neck again and then licks the shell of my ear. Spinning in his arms, I ask, “Can I see your closet again?”

  Surprise overtakes him. “I’m kissing you in what I thought was foreplay, and you want to spend time in my closet?”

  “Yes,” I reply, nodding eagerly.

  “Fine, go ahead.” He laughs. His laughter is hearty and rewarding. It makes me wonder if he has as many opportunities to laugh freely. “I thought you might like that. I was impressed when I bought the place.”

  I run from his arms and back into the closet. Spinning around, I say, “There’s so much space. It’s bigger than my living room and kitchen combined.”

  Following me, he stops in the doorway and watches, a soft, amused smile on his face. “Well, maybe you can move in.” The words seem to slip out before he can stop them. Even in jest. We both look at each other. A few feet apart suddenly seem like a mile. He’s too far away, and I’m not sure what to say. I can tell by how he shifts and looks away he’s just as unsure as me. “You brought beer?”

  “Yes. And wine, but the beer is for the game tomorrow.”

  “What else did you bring?” He shoves his hands in his pockets and shifts, something I’ve discovered he does when he’s unsure of himself or how I might react. Not exactly nervous, but not completely confident. Makes me wonder if he was always this way, or whether it’s something to do with his lack of trust in people. Who hurt you?

  I want to loop back to the previous topic. I decide to not let it slide by without addressing. Not because I want him to feel uncomfortable, but because I want him to know he can say things about a future between us without ruining what we’re slowly building together—a relationship.

  With my hand on my hip, I address the elephant in the closet. “I know you don’t approve of the location of my place, but I like the apartment itself. So even though I love your closet, it’s safe for now.” I walk past him. “Are you hungry? I’m starved.”

  “Starving.”

  A hard slap on the ass causes me to squeal and whip my head around. Rubbing my ass, my eyes are wide. “Wow. That kind of stung.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hur—”

  “Next time, do it during foreplay.” I click my tongue and wink at him.

  He mumbles, “Fuck, that’s hot,” as I head for the bathroom.

  Letting the straps slide down over my shoulders, I look back just before I disappear into the en-suite. “I’d love a glass of wine.”

  “Your wish is my command.”

  From inside the bathroom, I call, “Keep that up and I might actually consider the closet offer.”

  Light. Sexy. Carefree laughter trails behind as he leaves the room. It’s a wonderful sound. I hang the dress on the hanger and admire it once more before grabbing one of his neatly folded T-shirts and a pair of his boxer shorts and joining Ethan in the kitchen.

  20

  Singer

  Two glasses of pinot noir are waiting on the white marble island when I enter.

  “The Crow Brothers?” he asks, eyeing my shirt.

  “I liked the design.”

  “My brother sent me that shirt from one of their gigs in Austin. If you like The Resistance, I’ll play some music by The Crow Brothers. I think you’ll like them.” Ethan takes his phone, and within seconds music filters through the apartment though I don’t see any speakers.

  This place is so uber-fancy. I love it.

  He’s unloaded the bags. The contents cover the rest of the large island, and he seems to be taking inventory. “What are you making?”

  “Spaghetti and meatballs.” I look his way to catch his reaction.

  When he smiles I do, too. “I love spaghetti and meatballs. It’s been a long time since I’ve had it.”

  “I figured living in this castle in the sky all by yourself you might eat takeout a lot.”

  He pulls a pasta pot out from under the cabinet and sets it on a burner. “I actually eat out most nights. I have a lot of dinner meetings.”

  “Is that set in stone or would you like to eventually be home for meals?”

  I’m not as sneaky as I thought. He uses the fancy pot filler to fill the shiny copper pot I suspect has never been used for something as basic as pasta. His eyes catch mine on him and he does a terrible job of hiding that wry grin that’s forcing its way out. “I’d be home more if there were reasons to be.”

  I’m not one to generally hold back my thoughts, and I feel so comfortable around him, that I lean against the counter, and come right out and ask, “Do you want to get married and have kids one day?”

  There’s no flinching or cringing, and I love the smile that remains—genuine and sweet. “One day, I would. It’s always how I saw my life.”

  “Is that why this place is so big?”

  That makes him laugh, reminding me of the first time I saw him. Laid-back and magnetic. I hope I’ve contributed to this glorious side of him. “This was purchased out of ego and stubbornness.” I start on the meatballs and let him continue telling his story. “My mom wanted me to buy a smaller place in SoHo. I wanted a bigger place with better resale. My more practical side. I saw this penthouse and my ego loved the exclusivity of the building and the entrance. But sure, I hope I find someone to live here with me.”

  “How long do you plan to stay if you’re worried about resale?”

  “You should always worry about resale, Singer.”

  “Not if it’s your forever home.”

  “Do you want to live in an apartment for your forever home?”

  “No,” I reply, rolling a ball and coating it in breadcrumbs before setting it on a tray with the others. “I want to live in a home with shutters and a front porch, so I can sit out and wave to the neighbors or watch my kids play with the other kids on the street.”

  The water isn’t boiling, but I swear I see a bead of sweat on Ethan’s forehead. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to live like that.” He comes to join me and sits on a barstool next to the tray.

  “That’s not appealing to you?”

  “It is. So much about that image sounds serene. But like I said earlier, money of this magnitude excludes you from living in suburbia America on a quiet cul-de-sac of colonials. My kids will have security around them, at least at times. My wife will need protection. I can’t take risks with the people close to me. The world is full of bad people, Singer. You need to kn
ow what’s involved when you get involved with me.”

  Money didn’t buy him happiness. It bought him a pretty cell to bide his time. He deserves more than a prison others have built for him. We all do. “Is that a warning?”

  I want to make another meatball, but concern is etched in the lines of his brow and my stomach twists. He says, “I shouldn’t have kissed you this morning on the street.”

  The twisting tightens. “Why?”

  “There are photos. A blog picked them up. Fortunately, they were pulled before they spread to other sites.”

  Wait a minute. What? “Hold on.” I set the meatball on the tray and wash my hands. When I dry them, I say, “Back up. Someone took a picture of us kissing?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? Why would they do that? Why would they want it?” He takes a drink of his wine and then offers me mine. I put the tray in the oven and take the glass, the hint not subtle. “It’s probably best if I drink, right?”

  “Probably.”

  I take a sip then say, “This goes back to not searching your name online. Am I correct?”

  “You are.”

  “So the paparazzi follow you around and take photos, then sell them to online outlets?”

  “Yes.”

  Anxiety ravages my stomach while my imagination goes wild. “Not to say you’re not interesting, because I’m completely fascinated by you, but why are photographers following you around?”

  “Eight months ago, maybe more, I was set up by my best friend and my girlfriend at the time. She took me to a party. Said it was a photographer friend visiting from Milan. The hotel room was a mess. Drugs everywhere. White lines across glass tables, bowls of weed, booze, the whole bit. I found a spot on the couch and started going through emails while my girlfriend proceeded to get high on everything they had to offer.”

  I watch as sadness comes over him and his gaze drops along with his head. “I trusted her. This was her life, her element, her friends. She always partied hard. I think she liked to show me off, to one-up her other friends—who was dating who, who snagged who, who fucked who. It was a game to them. That’s fine. She could have her good time, and I could have a drink and not be bothered. This party in particular I didn’t want to go to. She insisted. We even had a fight over it. I gave in to get her to calm down.” The somber look in his eyes breaks my heart.