We're both very, very dangerous right now.
His chest rises and falls, eyes dark, mouth tight and grim. Before he can speak, Vince bursts through the stairwell door. He looks pissed, too.
“Where the hell are you?” He takes us in, then rolls his eyes. “Fighting? You two act like you're eight and arguing over a toy robot.”
“I'm trying to reason with Andrew,” Declan says through gritted teeth.
“Reason? Hah. You're trying to bring me down a peg.”
“No.” The word echoes up like a piece of ash from a funeral pyre. “I'm not.” He sounds just like Dad. “I'm warning you.”
“You're threatening me?”
“I'm warning you. Adding all this to your plate is too much. Your wife is at home on bed rest. The twins could be born prematurely, and you're talking about balancing being a CEO and running your own company, too? You're on track to be like Dad. Don't let those boys go through what we went through, Andrew. You're already Dad's protégé. He groomed you for CEO. Don't treat your kids like he treated his.”
Peering intently at us, Vince reaches for my tight arm, fist still ready, and just rests his fingers on my forearm. He doesn't say a word.
“You're crazy,” I spit out at my brother, hating his words, knowing the reason I hate them is because there's a shred of truth in them, and if there is, what does that make me?
Even more controlled by Dad then I ever realized.
And I refuse to admit that to my brother.
“I'm the father of a toddler, Andrew. I left Anterdec to grow my own company, and there's a lot of pain that goes into being away from my family. I'm not in your role–”
“And it kills you.”
A light huff, the kind of laugh you make through your nose, emerges from Dec, but it's not mocking. No derision. The lightness of it, followed by his wry smile, spears my heart.
Somehow he gets around the armor I think I'm wearing.
“No. It really doesn't. That's the thing, Andrew–it did. At first. When Dad picked you. And then over time, I realized I was relieved.”
“Sure. Right,” I shoot back, mind and heart spinning out of control as Vince's fingers on my coiled arm keep me from floating away.
Or beating my brother to a pulp.
“What the hell are you doing? I didn't come here to break up a fight. I came here to show you how you can be industry leaders with a new idea that is going to change how people eat, drink, and work out, you dumbasses.”
Dec and I slowly turn to look at Vince, who is shaking his head at us.
“But,” he continues, “maybe this is a mistake. I don't want to work for two billionaires who can't get over their daddy issues.”
“I don't have daddy issues!” Dec and I burst out at the same time.
“And what do you mean, industry leaders?” I follow up.
“Get your asses outside and let me show you.” A disgusted glare follows. “Not that you deserve my time, but might as well finish this.”
I follow him, ignoring Declan, moving on pace with Vince. Dec catches up and flanks his other side.
Just then, a wasp floats into my field of vision on my left, where Vince is walking. It's almost black with white markings on the face, a bald-faced hornet.
My Epipen is in my jacket pocket.
Dec moves a step ahead of us, eyes on the damn thing, inserting his body between me and the insect. It moves to the left, away from us, as Vince realizes what's happening.
No one says a word until the flagship Grind It Fresh! store comes into view.
“This is my store,” Dec announces, as if we didn't know that.
“No kidding,” Vince mutters, yanking the front door open and barging in, turning right to head to the Test Kitchen Counter, a special section Shannon developed for this location only. When Grind It Fresh! tests new products, customers get a fifty-percent-off price break, and they conduct focus groups in the evenings and on weekends.
Declan's executive assistant, Dave, is behind the bar, dark brown hair like Declan's, though the guy is shorter, slimmer, and manages to have even less expression than my brother. It's like cardboard with eyes, nose, and mouth.
“Hey,” Vince says to him.
“Hey.”
“What are you doing here?” Declan asks Dave, who gives him a no-blink stare that would impress any psychopath.
“Saving your company.”
“My company doesn't need to be saved!”
“It will if you don't partner with Vince and Andrew.”
“Partner?!” I burst out. “What does a chain of gyms have to do with coffee?”
“See? Told you,” Vince says sadly to Dave, whose eyebrow twitches as he gives me a condescending look worthy of my brother. “Limited imagination, these two.”
“Get to the point,” Declan grinds out.
“Ultraclean eating,” Vince says. “All natural, all organic, carefully sourced.”
“Everyone's doing that,” Dec scoffs.
“No. Everyone claims they're doing that. Most 'organic' food has crap in it. Rosemary extract? That's MSG. Xanthan gum? Converts to glutamate in the body. Natural flavors? Could be MSG, could be beaver anal glands.”
That last part sounds familiar, but I can't quite remember why.
“People feel better when they eat real food. Healthy food. Salad dressings made from high quality olive or MCT oil, a pure vinegar, simple seasonings, and a shake of sweetness like maple syrup or coconut sugar. People feel better when their chicken breast is grilled in unrefined coconut oil or olive oil, Himalayan sea salt, and cracked green peppercorns. Smoothies don't need sweeteners, they need properly ripened organic fruits, vegetables, coconut milk, or A2-sourced dairy. See where I'm going?”
“Yes,” Dec says. “And it's been done.”
“Not like this,” Dave says flatly. “Because it's done in farm-to-table settings on a small scale. Not in large chains.”
“Food loss,” Declan says simply. “Without preservatives, you have too much loss.”
“That's where you have to be willing to think outside the box. Upcharge in a gym where people already spend the monthly membership fee. In coffee shops where four bucks for a coffee is no big deal. And partner with food insecurity charities, composting services, and small environmental non-profits to manage waste.” Dave's eyes light up. The guy has an emotional range wider than a lamppost. Who knew?
“What does this have to do with our separate companies?” I ask Vince. Dec walks behind the counter and begins using the coffee machines with a smooth grace I admire. As much as I hate my brother sometimes, he surprises me with random tidbits of personality like this.
He's an enigma. Emotionally tight, brutally competitive, and completely wrong about anything related to me.
But he can master a ristretto pull like it's nothing, and Amanda swears his breve lattes are as good as the master barista's. I make a mental note to have Gina set me up for training on how to make espresso.
Because I'm sure I can be better.
“Your separate companies are yin and yang,” Vince answers, looking at me funny. “Add a food bar in the gyms. Use Grind It Fresh!'s food distribution and purchasing power to upgrade to even higher quality food. They have a test kitchen, and we have members who want to eat clean. Who are motivated,” he explains before Dave cuts him off.