persona for a single night, stop suspecting that everyone wants something from you and simply work on getting laid. We’d all be grateful.” The last was muttered with more than a little snark.
Jaw set, Isaac stared at his younger brother. “My private life is off the table.”
“In other words, it’s been a while.” Jonathan shook his head. “When are you going to relax?”
“When it’s reasonably justified.”
“Which will be when...never?” Jon ran both hands through his mop of hair, pushing it off his forehead as he closed his eyes. “I know what this is. I’m not stupid. It’s about Mike. Like everything is always about Mike.”
The name hung like a silent condemnation, and Isaac fought to keep his face neutral as his brother continued, blissfully ignorant of the pain just the name could elicit.
“When are you going to let go of his death, Isaac?” The question was delivered softly, but there was an unmistakable need to understand within the words. “He’s been gone more than twenty years now. And what happened wasn’t your fault. No one blamed you for it. Not even Dad. We all knew it was an accident. There was no way you could’ve stopped it.”
An accident. No way to have stopped it.
Isaac refused to let his brother lure him into discussing the past. They were here to discuss the future. More specifically, the risk he’d taken on Jonathan’s new project. This app was an unknown. That made it dangerous in its own right. It was one thing to invest in it, given Jon’s history of success. It was another to be subject to the initial testing of an unproven product. “Take me out of the test pool, Jonathan. That’s an order.”
A finely shaped eyebrow rose in sardonic, wordless response. “An order? You really do sound like dear old Dad. Look, Isaac, you clearly haven’t been listening to me. What do I need to do to make you understand that what you’re ordering me to do can’t be done? Do I need finger puppets? Flash cards? I’m telling you, Isaac, I can’t take you out of tonight’s test run without scrapping the whole event. My team and I collected information on roughly six hundred volunteers and entered all their data into the software. Your profile was accidentally included and, God only knows how or why, you made the cut. Lucky selected the top ninety-eight that were most likely to find a suitable match. If we pull one participant, we have to find an identical replacement. That’s not possible. So we’d have to cancel tonight’s event, collect a new sample group, reenter their data, rerun the program and reschedule the test event. We can’t do that. Not even for you. The app is set to launch in thirty days, Isaac. I don’t have time to start over with a new test pool.”
“You’re sure there’s not someone who could pose as me?” A last-ditch hope, yes, but Isaac didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to sit across from strange women and see what did, or didn’t, spark between them. He opened his mouth to tell Isaac to simply remove the women he was supposed to meet with when his brother played the one card Isaac had never been able to say no to.
“I need your help. Bad. I don’t want this to go south, Isaac. Not for me and definitely not for my team. They’re depending on this to pay out. I don’t have the same financial demands thanks to my trust fund, but...” He sat up and leaned forward, forearms propped on his knees, and looked at Isaac with undeniable, wholly authentic sincerity. “They have families counting on them. Most of them have kids. You’re my only family. Forget the capital-investment side of things. Just—” Jonathan tunneled his fingers through his hair “—use an alias for all I care. These people don’t run in your social circle. The chance that anyone will recognize you is slim. I need you, Isaac. As my brother. Please.”
It was the please that broke him. That and the reminder that, with their father gone and their mother suffering severe dementia, the two of them were truly all that remained of their family. They had each other. Brothers.
“Don’t expect me to ‘hook up’ with one of the test pool or whatever you’re calling them.”
“TPCs. Test-pool candidates.”
“Whatever. I’ll show up tonight, and then I’m out. Nothing more, Jonathan. Promise me you’ll remove me from the unalterable ‘TPC list’ when the night’s over. No finagling me into a second event. Are we clear?”
Jonathan beamed. “Absolutely. I’ll make sure you’re declared unsuitable for the project at the end of the night. That way you won’t be selected for future events. I promise.”
Isaac sat back in his chair and looked out at the New York skyline. He’d do this for his brother before he slipped back into the predictable solitude of life as he’d crafted it. A life he lived alone.
And alone suited him just fine.
RACHEL STEPHENS GLANCED at the clock on her bathroom wall for the fourth time in ten minutes. If she called a cab now, she’d be early. The last thing she wanted was to be the first person there. But she didn’t want to be late, either. If only she hadn’t agreed to participate in this ridiculous dating-app test. Her best friend, Casey, had pushed her to apply a couple of months ago during a stay-in movie night—a night that had involved too much wine followed by too many hormone-igniting Chris Hemsworth flicks. Devastating consequences always occurred when she indulged in too much of a good thing. And the wine had been good. But Chris...oh, Chris. He made her thoughts go in directions that were decidedly unsafe.
Rachel’s phone buzzed on the bathroom counter. Her stomach clenched. Around the office, rumors were flying that a big case was coming in, a case that could make or break a junior attorney’s career. Her boss had intimated that, if the filing came through, he would be selecting her to work with him. If he called now, she wouldn’t have to go to this dating-app trial.
A glance at the display dashed her hopes. She swiped to answer, then tapped the speaker icon. “I still blame you for getting me into this.”
Best friend, coworker and fellow junior attorney Casey Bass snickered. “You know you’re glad you were drunk enough to accept the challenge. I’m just pissed that I didn’t make the final cut. I could’ve used the compensation they were offering to help pay for our trip to the Dominican Republic in March. Who was it that told us becoming attorneys would make us rich?”
“A private student-loan officer who spun wild tales of riches beyond our wildest dreams.”
Casey sighed with enough drama for the both of them. “I’m still waiting for my ship to come in.”
“So that’s why you’re always hanging out by the docks. And here I thought you were just trolling for sailors.”
Her friend’s laughter soothed her nerves some. “Whatever works.”
“Look, I’m just happy I was able to afford real chicken and fresh vegetables on my grocery list this month. And the trip to the Dominican will help ease the pain I experience every time I write out the current month’s student-loan check.”
“True enough.” Casey sighed as she shifted her bedding around, and Rachel could imagine Casey curled up in a nest of blankets and pillows with her laptop, working, as some random Netflix show looped in the background. “So. What are you wearing?” Casey asked.
“If
