He paused with his mug against his lips. “August?”

“Unless you have another brother?”

“He’s fine.”

“What’s he doing these days?”

“Like for work? He works in hedge funds and asset management.” He looked over at me briefly, as if to see what I thought of that and I smiled knowingly.

“Does he like it?”

He shrugged. “He’s good at it.”

“I’m good at making coffee,” I pointed out and he got the hint and sighed deeply.

“Yeah. Yeah, he likes it.”

I nodded. It wasn’t like I didn’t believe him, but I knew there had to be more to what he did than simply liking it. It was destroying me that I hadn’t told him I knew who he was and now that I’d been intimate with him, it was even more gut-twisting. Emotions got in the way last night. I knew if I walked out, he’d never go after me. The same way he never did all those years ago. Why would now be any different?

I knew it was a sad attempt on my part to go along with it, but he was going to tell me soon. He had to.

I just hoped that he wouldn’t do it as part of step one of telling me he couldn’t see me anymore.

Because August Hartman was turning out to be everything I wanted, and it wouldn’t be fair to either of us if we didn’t give this a chance because of stupid circumstances—like Troy.

“Why do you think he likes it?” I pressed, needing to know more about him.

“I suppose because he’s so good at…math, like you said.” He moved to the foyer, stuffing a laptop into his backpack.

My face dropped. I had made a comment about him in that bathroom. Right before he willingly stripped for me.

“I didn’t mean that he wasn’t capable of anything else, because clearly—”

“Clearly what?” he snapped, stepping back into the kitchen.

Clearly there’s so much more to you than I ever imagined.

“Sorry, I’m done.” I knew I needed to stop, but it was hard. I still had so many questions.

He blinked, coming around the counter to me and taking my hands. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t about you.” He brought my hands to his lips, kissing them gently.

I slipped one hand out and ran it over my face. “I don’t need to know about your brother.” I meant every word of that. I could care less about Troy. But when I dropped my hand and saw his face, I knew it wasn’t the wisest choice of words. But there was nothing I could say to make it better.

There was a dry-cleaned suit in a bag waiting by the door. “I suppose you have someplace to be…or something?”