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I head to the airport, mentally rehearsing all the calm, rational things I’m going to say when I’m back on home turf.

Until Japanese immigration wants my paperwork, and I can’t find my passport.

Chapter Nineteen

Rhys

Despite the immaculately blue SoCal sky, thunderclouds seem to gather over me. Not only did I not have my passport, but the Beissen deal got fucked again, so I had to jet back to London for two weeks as soon as I got the replacement passport from the embassy.

I haven’t contacted Max even once, and she hasn’t texted me either. It’s as though we’re engaged in some kind of battle of wills to see who folds first.

She’d better initiate communication, because I’ve made enough overtures already. Annoyance and outrage simmer in my gut at the way she ran off and ghosted me. Didn’t we mutually enjoy the night? I didn’timagineher pussy rippling around me every time she climaxed. Not only that, she kissed me first, damn it! The more I think about it, the more irritated I become. Our chemistry was off the charts, and I did a great job of showing her she’s better off without that idiot Jeffrey. I was planning to continue to demonstrate how amazing she is—and she ruined it all.

If she doesn’t reach out,what are you going to do?a rational voice asks.

As irritated as I am, it’s still a good question. She’s returning to work tomorrow. She has to lay out the day for me, and manage my schedule, draft all the memos and create minutes based onaudio recordings of the meetings in London. If she acts like absolutely nothing happened—

“Welcome home!” My driver-slash-bodyguard Angelo waves from the tarmac, standing in front of my shiny black Cullinan. His suit emphasizes the strength in his bulging frame perfectly. Nothing off the rack fits him, so I had my tailor make him a few suits. Since then, he’s gotten even more serious in his duties, always wearing dark sunglasses to hide his puppy-dog eyes and make him appear menacing.

I wasn’t sure about hiring him at first because he seemed a bit too soft—in both heart and head. But when I saw him move and shoot, all my objections vanished.

“Beautiful day, huh?” he says cheerily. His personality is always sunny and eager, like a golden retriever. His blond hair is slicked back, but without any wax, it hangs limply.

“Hey.” I step down and hand him my bag.

“Where to?”

“Silas’s place.”

As tired as I am, missing the monthly lunch at my brother’s home is simply not an option. He’s an excellent cook who loves to experiment and host our group of brothers—and it’s a chance for all of us to take a moment from our busy lives and relax together.

Silas lives in a sprawling eight-bedroom mansion with a ballroom for entertainment. Not sure why he bought the place, since he’s never hosted a large party. His garden is ruthlessly groomed; nothing is allowed to leave its designated space—except for the herbs. He grows his own and lets them go wild. Even finicky culinary plants like French tarragon and wasabi thrive under his care.

The irritation that’s been lingering since Max ran off eases as I step inside Silas’s home. A contemporary spiral chandelier hangs from the twenty-foot-high domed ceiling in the foyer. Theearly afternoon sunlight pours in through the skylight, and the place smells of amazing food—like a warm, welcoming home. I feel human again, not just a moneymaking machine people look up to.

As I make my way to the dining room, the comforting buzz of my brothers’ voices grows. Everyone’s already seated at the big, round table. A pale pink bowl of fancy orchids sits in the center—probably another thing Silas grew. There’s nothing he can’t nurture into gorgeous blooming. If he ever gets tired of working at Platcher, he could become a world-class horticulturist.

“Hey, you missed the grilled artichoke hearts,” Roarke says.

“Saved you some,” Silas says.

“Hey! You said there weren’t any more,” Liam complains.

“They had Rhys’s name on ’em.”

I laugh a little, the weeks-long tension easing, and take the only empty seat at the table.

All of us got our father’s coloring—the black hair and blue eyes—except Silas, who was born out of Mom’s affair with some Italian she met during a trip in Sicily. Silas has the dark hair, but also dark eyes and a slightly olive skin tone.

Luckily, our facial features took after our birth mothers. Silas, Gideon, Liam and I have the same bone structure—inherited from our mother—while Roarke, Finn and Xavier each have their own looks from their mothers. Dad was very prolific in fathering babies with his partners. He’s always on the lookout for the next beauty to delight him and make him feel young and carefree. If he makes babies along the way, no big deal. I don’t find it a big problem either, since otherwise I wouldn’t have Roarke, Finn and Xavier, which would’ve been a great loss.

“I’m starving,” I say as I cut into the artichoke heart.

Silas serves the entrée—beef bourguignon. Bottles of red Rhône and Pinot Noir breathe on the table. My mouth waters atthe scent. He makes better food than most top hotel restaurant chefs, and his wine pairing is superb.

“Great choice,” Roarke comments, admiring the wines. He’s in the liquor business and loves good alcohol.

Finn pours me a taste of the Rhône, since I’m very partial to it. “Sorry about making you take all the burden with Beissen and Ohimesama.”