Saint (The Buck Boys Heroes 3)

Stunned, I follow him onto the elevator when the doors open. “What? I take the subway to work.”

“Not anymore.” He presses the button for the floor below us. “I’ve seen how disorganized you are in the mornings, Champ. Be on the sidewalk in front of our building by eight forty, and I’ll get you here on time. You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t say thank you,” I mutter.

As the doors start to slide shut, he chuckles. “You will.”

I don’t ask what the hell that means because I feel as though I’m caught between a dream and a nightmare.

This job is everything I could have wanted, but the man standing next to me is at the very least partially responsible for my future with this company.

I have to get along with him if I want to hold onto this job.

Right now, that feels like an impossible task.

Chapter Ten

Sean

“I’m impressed, Sean.”

I don’t hear those words every day.

I turn to see my brother enter his office. As expected, he shuts the door behind him.

I’ve already helped myself to one of the two meatball sandwiches tempting me from a paper bag on his desk.

He knows what I like.

These sandwiches, complete with the sodas on the side, capture one of the best memories from when we were kids.

We grew up surrounded by wealth. Our grandfather on our mother’s side was one of the wealthiest men in the country.

Our father was just as fortunate. Even though he had a trust fund, he worked his way through college so he could land a job at one of the city’s museums as a curator. His parents scoffed at the choice, but my dad loves art, and that job was his dream.

He’d take Declan and me to a diner for lunch every Saturday. Meatball sandwiches and sodas were always on the menu. All we had to do was finish our portion and agree not to tell our mom what we had for lunch.

She didn’t approve of the menu choice or the diner.

To her, a casual lunch has always been a minimum of three courses.

Watching my brother unwrap his sandwich, I swallow before chasing the food down with a sip of cola. “Impressed? How so?”

He casts me a look. “Seriously? You don’t know?”

I can’t read his goddamn mind, and he knows that, so I widen my eyes. “Toss me a clue, Decky. Are you impressed with the projections for next quarter? You know that the billboard in Times Square has a lot to do with our uptick in revenue.”

He rolls his eyes. “It has nothing to do with it.”

I huff out a laugh. “Sore loser.”

“Bastard,” he says before taking a sizable bite of the sandwich.

Scratching my chin, I sip from my can of soda. “I know. You’re impressed that I convinced the police to let me go last night. That was masterful, if I do say so myself.”

He swallows hard. “They let you go ten minutes after I left because I told them they had no grounds to hold you.”

Declan likes to flaunt his law degree whenever the opportunity strikes, but he bailed on me while I was still cuffed.

“Most lawyers would wait around until their clients are cleared before they leave with a random woman.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You’re not a client. You’re my brother, and for the record, I left alone, Sean. I knew they were going to release you. It’s no big deal.”

He’s right about that. It wasn’t a big deal and certainly not the first time I’ve been handcuffed.

“I’m impressed that you didn’t rescind the job offer to Callie Morrow once you realized who she was.” He sets his sandwich down. “That’s a mature move.”

“My personal issues with her aren’t relevant to her job.”

That piques my brother’s interest enough that he leans forward in his chair. “You have personal issues with her that reach beyond her having you arrested?”

“No.” I shake my head. “She’s my neighbor. She called in a noise complaint. Pulling the job offer because of that is petty.”

“Listen to you.” He points a finger at me. “You sound like a reasonable, responsible business owner.”

I take another bite of my sandwich to refrain from calling him a dick.

“It only took thirty years for you to get to this point.” He chuckles.

“My thirtieth birthday isn’t for another six months, old man.” I smirk.

“Old man?” he snaps. “I’ve only got three years on you, Saint.”

Shaking my head, I pick up the soda can. “I’ll ignore that for now. Let’s talk sales numbers. I have a meeting in midtown in an hour.”

“Fine.” He wipes his hands on a paper napkin before turning his attention to his laptop. “Your projections are solid, Sean, but I know we can do better. I want us to come up with something fresh for the winter campaign. Maybe Miss Morrow will have something new to add to the marketing team’s vision.”