Claimed (Diamond Tycoons 1)

“That’s pretty much impossible considering there’s no mirror in here.”

“Why, oh why, did I get stuck with a brother with absolutely no imagination?” Nic demanded, looking upward as he did—as if he expected the universe to answer his question. Frankly, Marc thought Nic had a better chance of finding the answer written on the ceiling than waiting for divine intervention, but he didn’t mention that. It would only give Nic more ammunition.

Instead, Marc answered the question. “So that you’d look like the fun brother.”

“It was a rhetorical question. Besides, I don’t have to look like the fun brother. I am the fun brother,” Nic told him with a roll of his eyes. “But, fine. You can’t see your face. I can. And let me tell you, you look like someone...” He paused as if searching for the perfect descriptor.

“Pissed in my cornflakes?”

“Exactly. So what’s up? More trouble with De Beers?”

“No more than usual.”

“The new mine?”

“Nope. I just heard back from Heath and thing

s are going well. Despite it being brand-new, we should be turning a very tidy profit by the fall.”

“See? Who says you can’t make money and responsibly source diamonds?”

“Greedy bastards with no heart or social conscience?”

Nic snorted. “Again, it was a rhetorical question. But good answer, anyway.”

“That’s why I get paid the big bucks.”

Marc turned back to his computer, tried to concentrate on the spreadsheet that was open on the screen. Normally, this stuff was like catnip to him, but today looking at the production values of the various mines was nothing but an annoyance. Especially when he couldn’t stop thinking about Isa—and the mystery man who was escorting her to the cocktail party. Was he a friend? A boyfriend? A lover? The last thought had his hands curling into fists and his teeth clenching so tightly that he could almost feel the enamel being ground away.

“See, there!” Nic said. “That’s the look I’m talking about.”

“Again, can’t see it.”

“Again, I can, so tell me what’s causing it. If we’re not losing money and we’re not yet in our annual power struggle with De Beers, then what the hell has you so freaked out?”

Marc glared at him, offended. “I don’t get freaked out.”

“Well, you sure aren’t freaked in.” Nic crossed to the bar in the corner, pulled a couple of sodas out of the fridge and tossed one Marc’s way.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“It means I’m going to keep bugging you until you tell me what’s wrong, so you might as well spit it out. Otherwise, you’ll never get back to that spreadsheet of yours.”

“What makes you think I’m looking at a spreadsheet?”

“Face it. You’re always looking at a spreadsheet.” Nic settled back into one of the visitors’ chairs and kicked his feet up onto Marc’s desk. “Spill.”

Marc pretended to focus on his computer screen, but Nic didn’t get the hint. Or if he did, he totally ignored it. Silence stretched between them, broken only by Nic’s occasional swallow and the low, clicking sounds that came from Marc’s gritted teeth. Finally, in the hopes of saving himself a hefty dental bill, Marc did what his brother asked and spilled.

“I ran into Isa today.”

Nic’s feet hit the ground with a thud as he sat straight up. “Isa Varin?”

“Isabella Moreno now.”

“She’s married?” He whistled low and long. “No wonder you’re in a foul mood.”

“She’s not married!” Marc snapped out. “But even if she was, it’s no business of mine.”