Page 1 of My Ex's Billionaire Brothers

1

ANYA

I smoothmy hand over the soft, slate-gray tablecloth as I set down the last champagne flute for dinner. My reflection stares back at me from the polished surface of the silver tray, and I notice how tired my eyes look tonight. It’s past seven, and Calvin still isn’t home. Again.

My phone buzzes. A text from him says,Be there in five. I’m starving.

Typical Calvin. Cybersecurity waits for no one, he likes to say. Neither does roast chicken, but I stopped making that argument last year. It never changed anything.

I sigh and place the phone back in my pocket, then make a final pass around the dining room. The crystal chandelier above me reflects shards of light along the walls. The water glasses have begun to sweat, so I wipe them dry again.

Calvin likes to keep the apartment warm. God forbid I touch the thermostat. “I can afford it, you know,” he always teases. He only says it because of my apartment when I met him. Me and three other roommates, each struggling to make ends meet. Wecould hardly afford air conditioning, much less rent. But that all changed after he had me move in with him. I haven’t struggled for anything since.

I guess everything looks ready enough. My plan was to have dinner on the table a half hour ago, but he said he’d had a “meeting run long,” so here I am, trying to keep everything from going cold. Not that the food will get cold, with the thermostat set to eighty.

“It’s summer,” I told him. He didn’t seem to care.

The front door opens with its usual echo, and Calvin strides in. His eyes skim the neat arrangement of the living room, the flickering glow from the fireplace, and finally land on me. I flash him a weary smile.

He’s dressed in a navy suit with a perfect white shirt and a silver tie, his blond hair immaculately groomed. He always looks like someone preparing for a press conference, which, to be fair, is half-true. He’s been exploring a potential run for local office, and the Carvers are nothing if not ambitious. He’s old-school handsome—Calvin has been mistaken for a Kennedy a few times since we’ve been together.

“There you are,” I say gently, approaching him.

“Yeah. Busy day. Let’s eat.”

“I’ve got it ready,” I say, trying to sound cheerful. “Roasted chicken and vegetables, with a side of wild rice?—”

“Whatever it is, it smells good.” His tone is clipped, curt. He shrugs out of his suit jacket and tosses it over the arm of a chair. Before I can smooth the wrinkles out of it, he’s walking toward the dining room, phone in hand, texting.

I swallow hard. It’s going to be one ofthosenights again.

We settle at the table, and I watch him for a moment, trying to find the right way to break the ice. We build our plates and start eating, but his late nights always leave my stomach in knots, and I don’t have much of an appetite left.

When he finally sets his phone aside, I ask softly, “Everything okay?”

He exhales, reaches for the water glass. “My brothers are in the news again. Or at least, theycouldbe soon if Brenna doesn’t keep their names out of it. That damn nightclub…”

The three eldest Carver brothers—Calvin has seven brothers total—are the ones who own and operate a place called Sins. It’s not just a nightclub. It’s a high-end kink club. And it’s the bane of Calvin’s existence.

I met his older brothers only once, at a big family Christmas dinner two years ago. There was Gage, with his solemn green eyes, tall frame, and protective aura. In mere minutes, I felt safer standing near him than I ever do around Calvin’s fancy colleagues.

Or even Calvin himself, if I’m honest.

I remember Hunter’s playful grin, how he teased me about my accent, making me laugh so hard I nearly snorted eggnog. The man lives to make people smile. And then there was Theo—quiet, polite, with that refined air that only intrigued me more. But then he whispered a dirty joke about some creative uses for the gravy, and I blushed so hard I thought I’d die.

They all struck me as people whoreally seewho you are. It was a nice change from most men I meet. They had me so flustered at that Christmas dinner, I spent most of it blushing into my plate.

I push that memory aside because now’s not the time for reminiscing. They could be stirring up trouble for Calvin. “Did something happen at Sins?”

“It’s only a matter of time before something does. Someone could leak pictures or something about a Carver brother owning that place. I mean, it’s a kink club, Anya! Can you imagine how that looks for me? When I run for office next year, and that gets out…it’s not exactly a wholesome family image.”

“But people go to all kinds of clubs?—”

He levels me with a tired stare. “I’m not running for hall monitor, Anya. If I run for state senator, I’ll get killed with this. It won’t matter that I personally have nothing to do with it. The Carver name will be tarnished just by association.”

My name too, soon enough. “You could always try to talk to them. Or I could.”

He scoffs. “They keep telling me thatI’moverreacting. But I know how these things blow up in the media. One scandal is all it takes to poison a campaign.”