Money Doesn’t Buy Manners

"There he is. The prodigal son of Huntwell Corp."

Nathaniel Hunt sat down across from his brother in one of the leather barrel chairs at the Union Club on East Fourteenth Street, New York City.

He hadn't been to the pretentious men's club in a while. Maybe six months, maybe a year. The last time they were in town, his parents had told him to go, along with the list of other directives toward one clear goal: start acting like the eldest son and heir to the Huntwell Corporation or see other things he cared about disappear from his life.

Things from his past.

Things like Lindsay. Things like Isla.

"I hear you got yourself a new roommate," Carrick remarked as he swirled brown liquid around in a glass. "That's, what, lucky number forty?"

"Thirty-one," Nathan replied as he draped his wool coat over the arm of the chair. "And I'm just doing what they asked. Prodigal, however, implies I'm returning to Virginia. Which, I assure you, I am not."

Carrick didn't smile. Carrick never smiled. Instead, he bared the first six of his front teeth like a wolf and took a sip of his drink.

In some ways, it was like looking into a mirror. While their younger brother Spencer took after their mother's classical Aryan looks, Carrick and Nathan had both inherited Radford Hunt's more Gallic appearance, with deep brown eyes, unruly dark hair, and statures that had earned both of them unnecessary athletic scholarships at top universities.

That was where the similarities ended. While Nathan couldn't be bothered to cut his hair more than once every four or five months, Carrick kept his curls shorn close. He also spent, in Nathan's opinion, too much time grooming his ever-changing facial hair. This month it was a goatee circling his mouth and chin that, in Nathan's opinion, made him look like a cartoon pirate.

Carrick was also brash and outspoken, while Nathan tended to keep to himself. Carrick's charmingly manipulative personality was perfect for a life spent in politics, whereas Nathan's quiet directness was better suited for his pursuit of medicine. Carrick was a born leader; when he spoke, people listened. Nathan didn't typically speak at all unless he really had something to say.

Unfortunately, Carrick also had a temper that discouraged his audiences almost as quickly as he charmed them. Were it not for his tendency toward brash impulsivity, he might have had all the qualities needed in an eldest son.

That, however, was Nathan's job. At which he'd been a total failure for the last thirty-four years.

"Welcome back, Mr. Hunt. It's been quite a while. Can I get you a refreshment?"

The server, a middle-aged man named Bobby, whom Nathan had seen before, greeted him with a smile. Nathan didn't know why it was considered polite to smile so much. It didn't seem necessary when he knew the man wasn't excited to see him. He just wanted a good tip.

"It's Doctor," Carrick corrected Bobby. "Get it right."

Bobby's smile grew even broader. "Of course, sir. Please accept my apologies, Dr. Hunt."

"None necessary," Nathan told him. "And I apologize for my brother's manners."

The waiter had the good sense not to reply. Carrick smirked.

"I'll have a Perrier," Nathan said, if only to give the man something to do other than hover.

"Come on, Nate. One drink won't kill you. Live a little," Carrick cajoled, just like he had when they were in high school. And college. And at literally every family gathering or social event.

Nathan masked a frown. He also hated being called "Nate." Carrick knew that. Everyone in his family knew that. But they persisted because it was what his father had always called him, which meant his colleagues did too, as did everyone else within the greater Potomac region.

Or in Carrick's case, because he knew it would bother Nathan from the start of their conversation. At some point during their childhood, Carrick had appointed himself the emcee of Nathan's social development, constantly dragging him into uncomfortable situations where he generally came out looking like a fool or at least regretting things the next morning. It was because of him that Nathan had gone to his first party. Had his first drink. Kissed a girl the first time. And so forth.

Nathan had never been certain whether the guidance was actually to help him or just for Carrick's amusement. But it was now a nuisance that irritated him either way. At thirty-four, he didn't need his brother to teach him how to live.

He'd apparently hired a stunning twenty-four-year-old dancer to do that instead.

With a grimace, Nathan shook his head. "I have to go back to the clinic after lunch and then the gym. Perrier with lime, and the salmon with steamed broccoli and brown rice, please."

Carrick sighed, clearly disappointed. "The steak for me. Medium rare. Not that you were even asking, Bobby."

Nathan tried not to recoil. "Eating like that every day is going to give you heart disease. Possibly colon cancer. Diabetes."

"Maybe. But I like to enjoy myself." Carrick waved Bobby away. "Why are you still standing theer?"

"Yes, of course, sir." Bobby, now red-faced, wove his way back to the bar to submit their orders.

Nathan turned to Carrick. "Why do you always have to torment the staff?"

Carrick waved his hand as if he were batting away a fly. It made the overhead lights catch on the gold band of his watch. "It gives me something to do."

"Lobbying for Huntwell isn't enough?"

After graduating from Harvard Law at just twenty-three, Carrick had clerked for the Supreme Court before going to work for the firm that represented the family company's interests in Washington. He quickly realized he could do a far better job than any of the "hacks we hire out," and so returned to Huntwell to head up the government relations department that he invented for himself. Now, along with his position at Huntwell, Carrick sat at the head of the most powerful industry groups on the East Coast, and as the tax breaks benefiting Huntwell Corp rose, so did stock values.

Their parents were ecstatic. And since they had already talked Spencer back home by promising him control of the family's horse breeding operation, Carrick's return allowed them to focus their attention solely on Nathan. And after last week's brunch at Bergdorf's, they had made it very clear that he was expected to make some changes.

He had brooded on that the entire way home, which explained why he had literally run into Joni in the entrance of his building.

Carrick snorted. "It's playtime while I'm waiting for the bigger fish to fry. Speaking of which, I've been sent to reel you in."

Nathan frowned. The analogy was confusing. Did that make him a fish? Frying implied a sort of demise, didn't it? It was a poor analogy, considering Carrick spent the majority of his time cornering politicians to ensure the current legislation matched Huntwell's interests. Sometimes, that was accomplished with contracts. Sometimes with blackmail.

Perhaps his brother was just mixing metaphors. Most people didn't realize when they did that.

"I don't know why they sent you," Nathan replied. "I have a practice here. My work is in New York."

"Not if Mom has anything to do with it," Carrick replied. "I have to hear at least once a week about how many openings there are for plastic surgeons in the greater Potomac region. As of Monday, it's three, in case you were wondering."

Nathan nodded. "She's been sending me job listings for years. It's nothing."

"Yes, we're all aware where you inherited your stubbornness. Which is why you and I both know she's just going to keep sending me up here until you move back to Virginia."

Nathan shook his head. "You're mistaken. I just saw them a few weeks ago, and she didn't say anything about that."

Lillian Hunt had made her yearly Fashion Week trek to New York to put in her couture commissions. She was a lifelong Ralph Lauren customer, but generally had a few smaller houses she treated like pet projects.

"Dad read the paper while she informed me that they want me to resume therapy," Nathan continued. "Make more appearances at places like this. Keep working on my social skills. Nothing different."

The awkward brunch had mostly consisted of his parents' veiled threats about his life if he didn't do as they asked. That included resuming occupational therapy for his social skills, finding yet another unnecessary roommate, and making more appearances at corporate events in New York where, on top of his actual job, he was supposed to serve as a proxy vote on the Huntwell board in addition to his own seat and network on behalf of his father's interests.

None of that was a surprise. They went through this particular dance approximately once a year. Much like Carricks's attempts to draw Nathan away from his self-imposed rules, Lillian's efforts at converting her son into a "normal" person were intrusive but mostly just annoying. Unlike Carrick, however, she wasn't above using leverage to force Nathan to submit. Never too far, lest he try to leave again. But she was always trying to stretch the boundaries he'd carefully drawn between him and his parents.

It was a tug-of-war they'd been playing for years.

"That's not what they said," Carrick replied. "Why do you think they sent me to New York right after them? Half of success is in the follow-up, brother." He lazily drummed his fingers on the table. "Mom took one look at you and rushed right home to tell me all about it. Did you bang that waitress, by the way?"

"What waitress?"

"The one that slipped you her number on the check. Dad was impressed. And since they want you to find yourself some pussy, you might as well get there."

"Christ, Carrick." Nathan removed his glasses to polish the lenses that suddenly looked very smudged. Somehow, he never expected his parents to discuss his personal life with others, and yet, somehow, they always did.

It wasn't anything remarkable. As he and his parents had left Bergdorf's, the waitress had slipped Nathan her number.

That in and of itself was nothing new. Women did that frequently. Nathan didn't know why. He rarely paid any of them attention, but they did it all the time. Waitresses at restaurants, the barista at the Mt. Sinai coffee stand, even patients right after he had literally cut into their bodies to make them look younger or slimmer.

Unfortunately, this time, his parents had seen it. And had apparently approved, if only for him to "sow his oats."

Another metaphor Nathan didn't particularly like.

Because, as Carrick had pointed out, there had been one new request from his mother: that Nathan find himself a girlfriend. Otherwise, Isla would no longer be taken care of.

It was their only card to play, which Lillian did again and again without a shred of shame. The injustice of it felt like a hole burning in Nathan's chest. Unfortunately, his mother knew exactly what it meant to him and used it to her full advantage.

It was the only time he ever wished he could be more like Carrick.

But he wasn't.

Carrick leaned back as the server brought Nathan's Perrier, as well as a tumbler filled with scotch.

"I didn't ask for this," Carrick said, pointing at the brown liquid.

"I t-took the liberty of refilling your drink, sir." Bobby stuttered slightly under Carrick's harsh glare.

"Yeah, but if I wanted another glass of sewer water, I'd have asked for it. Send it back and bring me something better than the well crap you're passing off as Macallan. And if you want a tip next time, try not to be so obvious about defrauding your guests."

"I wouldn't—I wouldn't—sir, it was a mistake—" Bobby glanced between both brothers, obviously terrified.

"It's fine," Nathan told him. "Just bring a new one, please."

"Go," Carrick ordered. "And tell the kitchen to hurry up with our food. I don't have all damn year."

The server stumbled away while Nathan turned back to his brother. "Macallan Eighteen is your favorite drink. I'm assuming that's what you got, considering you drank it all. More games?"

Carrick shrugged, confirming his suspicion.

Nathan sighed. He'd be sure to leave an extra-large tip. The members of the Union Club paid well to do things like toy with the staff, but it was honestly one of the reasons he avoided the place. Men just like his brother. Men didn't actually say what they meant, spoke in veiled terms, and enjoyed the misery of others.

"Anyway, that's my point," Carrick continued once his drink had been replaced, and their food appeared shortly after. "When Mom is salivating over some random chick handing you her digits, you know she's getting desperate. They want you home for good. And you know the old man wants a grandchild before he finally croaks."

As always, the idea of returning to Virginia tensed Nathan like a pulled string on a bow. He sat up straight, then rolled out his large shoulders, trying to release the stress. It was very uncomfortable.

Virginia had never felt like a home, even when it technically was for the first fourteen years of his life. To many people, growing up on a horse farm might have seemed idyllic. Snowy winters and sun-blanketed summers spent roaming the fifteen hundred acres would have been a dream for most children.

But they didn't have Radford and Lillian Hunt as parents. For every hour spent on horseback, he had to spend two with tutors, occupational therapists, and etiquette consultants. When they came of age, all three brothers were sent to a boarding school during the week in Alexandria, an environment that was as overstimulating as it got. And yet the weekends under his mother's forceful thumb offered no reprieve.

"It would be easier if you just did what they want, you know," Carrick continued as he cut a piece of his steak and loaded it onto his fork, along with some potato and carrot. He was always putting too much food into his mouth at once. "Think of it as an investment. Once you're CEO of Huntwell, you'll make more money than you ever could at this little hobby of yours."

"Surgery isn't a hobby." Nathan paused as his fork pierced a piece of broccoli. "People don't do three years of medical school, six years of residency, and a two-year fellowship as a hobby. It's my profession. My life."

My brother shrugged. "A life that you should have never had in the first place. I never understood why you wasted your time with all that."

Nathan ground his teeth. He wasn't going to justify that choice to his family for what had to be the thousandth time since he'd announced as a college junior that he intended to go to medical school instead of Wharton. "I attend the monthly board meetings."

"And I smile in pictures. It doesn't make me a nice guy."

Carrick took another bite and continued speaking with his mouth full. Nathan knew it wasn't because he didn't know his manners. It was to bother his older brother even more.

"Face it, Nate. We're from a long line of hacks who give money to the people doing righteous things. We're not the ones who actually do them."

Nathan scowled. He couldn't really argue with him, but that didn't mean he liked it. Or was planning to change.

"Anyway, Mom told me to tell you that Isla's tuition won't be paid if you don't come home this spring. Or find yourself a real relationship. She said it's time."

"Why don't you or Spencer start procreating?" Nathan asked. "You're already there. If Dad needs an heir so much, why does it matter which one of us produces it?"

"Because I am not the firstborn," Carrick said, his acid tone undercut with a layer of danger. "I am not the one whose name they want at the head of the company when Dad finally retires."

The brothers stared at each other. Nathan's grip on his fork tightened to the point where his knuckles turned white. The metal bent. Carrick glanced at the now-deformed utensil, then raised his hand. Bobby came jogging over.

"We're gonna need another one of those," Carrick said, nodding at the bent fork. "Preferably one that my brother won't Hulk out on."

Bobby had the good sense not to react. Nathan set the fork on the table, where it was promptly scooped up, then replaced it with a spare set of silverware from the server's apron pocket.

"Thank you," Nathan said, feeling his cheeks heat. Unlike Carrick, he didn't like losing his temper in public. "Please put it on my bill."

Carrick swallowed another noisy bite of steak as Bobby walked away. "You know, it wouldn't be an issue if you left her in the gutter where she belonged."

Nathan glared. "Don't talk about Isla that way."

"I'm just saying. I've never understood why you care so much about a seventeen-year-old girl you hardly know. Whatever went down between you and her mom happened a thousand years ago, and she's been in and out of boarding schools ever since. It's ancient history. You could just leave it in the past."

"Isla is my responsibility." Nathan shook his head. "I may not be fit to be in her life, but that doesn't mean I'm going to abandon her. If meeting our parents' ridiculous demands on my personal life means she is cared for the right way, I can deal with them. I have up until now."

Unbidden, Joni's face flashed through Nathan's mind. The porcelain skin with a hint of olive surrounded by the dark hair she usually wore in waves. The high cheekbones that made her tilted green eyes look almost feline. The knife-straight nose and rose-colored mouth that always seemed to be in a perpetual pout when she wasn't smiling.

He had, as promised, found another roommate, though he hadn't informed them who it was. Until now, all of the other short-lived denizens of the guestroom had been three primary things. They'd been financially solvent. They'd been quiet. And they'd been male.

Giovanna Zola was…none of those things. When he was thinking logically, Nathan couldn't understand why, exactly, he had offered her the room. He only remembered the look on her face when she'd told him her story. The intense feeling—the sudden need in his chest to do absolutely anything he could to make her feel better.

The kiss she'd given him hadn't clarified much either.

It was fine. He had a plan. The beautiful bartender from Opal needed a place to stay, and he needed to tell his parents he was making headway on their parameters.

But he hadn't anticipated the way Joni would look when she wished him good night after her family had left the apartment. She'd just come out of the bathroom, clean-faced, black hair tied up, and dressed in a short black nightgown that bared an expansive length of pale, creamy leg. Her green eyes had twinkled as she smiled, not because it was the thing to do, but because she seemed genuinely happy to see him and grateful for his presence. Her scent of gardenias had remained in the hall for a few more moments after she shut her bedroom door.

It had taken all of his self control not to start masturbating to her door, right there in the hall. Instead, he'd taken his third shower of the day while imagining her next to him, water running over her naked body. And had done it every day since, with no reprieve from this…feeling…in sight. It happened all the time now, thinking of everything he wanted to do to her. Sometimes, it was innocent, like staring—he found himself doing that a lot. But others were so degraded he couldn't even really call them daydreams. Dirty dreams. Despicable dreams. Dreams that made him wonder if he was genuinely crazy.

Carrick sighed. "I'm just doing you a courtesy. Mom's like a dog with a bone. She's not going to let up until you show a legitimate indication that her darling boy is coming back to the fold," Carrick continued after a long drink of scotch. "Seeing a shrink or having a yearly lunch at the Union isn't going to cut it. Maybe it's taking actual leadership on the board of directors. Maybe it's getting married or actually spawning another four-eyed baby for her to harass—I mean, dote over."

Nathan choked, nearly spraying sparkling water and salmon across the whole table. "I would not spawn anything. I'm not a fish."

Carrick waved away his shock. "Whatever. You know what I mean. It's why Mom is lining up every fucking debutante in the state of New York for the hospital gala now that you're actually going. She's planning to auction you off like a mail-order bride. After that, you can probably live in the OR, if that's what you want. Just as long as you get married first and give them a grandchild to train up. A real one, this time."

"So, what, I'm supposed to get engaged next weekend?" Nathan demanded. "That's absurd. All of these demands are absurd, but even if they weren't, a person can't change his life completely in a matter of weeks."

"No," Carrick agreed. "But you could start by bringing a date to the gala for once. Someone you actually like. And don't even think about faking it, Nate. Any other man in your position would just bite the bullet and hire an escort, but we all know you can't lie for shit." He took another bite of steak. "So, how about that waitress? It's a place to start."

They both chewed meditatively, watching the other as he ate.

Again, Nathan couldn't help thinking of Joni. Not just about how impossibly long her legs looked when she stretched in the living room last night, which had forced him into the shower yet again. Or the way she tended to chew on her bottom lip when she was thinking, which constantly made it look like a gumdrop waiting to be swallowed.

It was dangerous, this feeling. This tendency to catalog things about her, big and small. He already had multiple lists in the notebook he kept in his pocket most of the time. Hadn't stopped to think about why until they were already there.

JONI'S EXPRESSIONS

JONI'S FAVORITE JOKES

JONI'S FAMILY MEMBERS

JONI'S FAVORITE FOODS

The last was ongoing, but he'd already hunted down the amaretto cookies she said her grandmother used to make. And he started making her cappuccinos on the mornings when she got up with him just to see the third on his list of Joni's Smiles. It was the one when she was surprised but grateful.

The whole thing bordered on obsession, which was something that Nathan couldn't afford to have happen again. And yet, he couldn't seem to stop. Nor did he really want to, if he was being perfectly honest.

"Just tell Mom that I did what she wanted," he said after another bite of salmon.

Carrick leaned forward, eyes glittering. "So, you did nail the waitress, after all? Good for you, man."

Nathan rolled his eyes. "Jesus Christ, Carrick. I didn't ‘nail' anyone."

"But you are finally getting some tail? Good. It's been too long since that model stomped all over your dick."

"Am I getting some…No. I only meant I found a new roommate."

Carrick sat back, as if examining Nathan. "Have you been listening to me at all? Mom won't care about that, considering the rate you go through them. I give him a month. Two tops if he's neat."

Nathan scowled. "I'm not that bad."

"Spence won the last bet, you know. He said your last one wouldn't last six weeks. I said ten. Little shit took ten grand off me."

"This one isn't going anywhere because she's my girlfriend," Nathan blurted out before he could stop himself.

Joni seemed to have that effect on him, he realized as he stared at his plate of half-eaten food. She made him do things, like shout about her perfection in the middle of his office, deliver apology notes like a lovesick schoolboy, and offer a place to live to someone he barely knew.

And, apparently, ask her to pretend to be his girlfriend.

Carrick, notably, was silent, though Nathan could hear the sounds of at least three more bites of steak before he finally managed to look at him.

It didn't make sense. His family was irritating, but Nathan didn't lie to them or anyone. As frustrating as they were, they were also the only people who knew exactly who he was. He didn't have to pretend around them, didn't have to come up with inane conversation just to put them at ease, smile when he didn't feel like it, or interpret their idioms and emotions. He could just be himself.

Maybe it wouldn't always just be them.

Yet again, Joni's face flashed through Nathan's mind, along with their strange agreement. He doubted that claiming her as a fake girlfriend was what she had in mind when she said she would help him with social interactions. But right now, that appeared to be what he needed.

Especially when Carrick was staring at him that way.

"Bullshit," he said when he had finally recovered from what Nathan guessed was shock. "You didn't find a girlfriend in the last week. It took you a year to even take your last one out to dinner."

When his brother had set him up with an angel (a term he gathered had something to do with modeling underwear), he had found her attractive enough that he wanted to sleep with her every so often, and since she seemed to expect the occasional dinner together, he provided that as well. But when she started talking about moving in together, he had broken things off immediately.

And yet Carrick seemed to think he was heartbroken.

That was almost a year ago now.

"Julietta wasn't ever my girlfriend. We just had an arrangement. But this one is." Nathan found himself insisting stubbornly enough that he could almost believe it.

"Oh, really? What's her name?"

"Joni."

"Joni what?"

But Nathan shook his head. "So you can ask your FBI friends to check up on her? I don't think so."

Carrick bared his teeth again. "It's the smart thing to do, Nate. It wouldn't be the first time this family was taken for a ride because you trusted someone you shouldn't. Isla is proof of that."

Nathan almost ruined another spoon.

"I told you not to bring her into this." His jaw was clenched so hard he was speaking through his teeth. "And Joni is not like Lindsay. Not even a little."

"So you say."

Nathan glared. "So I know."

This time, Carrick looked away first, as if he'd forgotten what it was like when his oldest brother was legitimately angry. "Fine, you want to be stubborn? Be stubborn. But I'll find out sooner or later. So, are you going to bring her to the gala?"

He should have said no. He'd already gone far enough with this ruse, and it was nothing compared to what would happen if his brother actually discovered the farce.

But for the fourth time that afternoon, another image of Joni appeared in the back of Nathan's mind. This time in an elegant dress, diamonds around her neck, her arm tucked into his elbow as he guided her into a room that looked a lot like the drawing room of Huntwell Farm.

She gazed around the black and white marbled floors, then turned and smiled in a way that was all for him. Her teeth were very white, but it was her eyes, so bright and daring while fringed with black, he couldn't look away from. Even in his imagination.

"Yes, I'll bring her," Nathan decided. He could make his apologies to her later. "So you can tell them to back off. We'll both be there. I'll see you in a few weeks."