6. Silas
Silas
I watch her walk away from my desk, and I don’t know what the hell it is about her ass that makes me stare at it all damn day. It’s not the best ass in the world, but there’s something about it that turns me on, makes me want to caress it, lick it, and bite it all at once.
Focus, damn it.
I’ve got this family meeting today with my brothers, and nothing can go wrong. Not because I’m paranoid, but because, ever since the old man made me CEO, my life’s turned into a pressure cooker.
My dad’s been playing this little game with us since we were kids. He’d throw us into different sports, and then sit back and tally up who brought home the most trophies. Our childhood was basically a twenty-four-seven Olympics. And when we hit high school? He switched it up and made a game out of who could bag the most offers from top universities. Real casual stuff, right? Well, now that we’re adults, he’s taken the competition underground. It’s like a shadow war—who can run the most profitable office?
Spoiler alert: I’m losing, and I’m losing hard.
My brothers? They’re crushing it.
Luca’s got a twenty percent higher profit margin. Oliver somehow reeled in the Dallas construction market … and Killian? He’s rubbing elbows with all the new Silicon Valley millionaires who write him blank checks. Meanwhile, me? I’m down in the profit dungeon, wondering if my office is allergic to money. And yeah, it’s starting to get to me. My sleep? Wrecked. My brain? Constantly thinking about how to turn this around. My sex life? Well, let’s just say that’s on pause too.
But there’s hope—enter the Compass project. This thing has to work. If it doesn’t, I’m screwed. My brothers will be swimming in success while I’m drowning in spreadsheets. Failure? Not an option …
This morning, I did my usual thing—rolled out of bed at eight, brewed some coffee, and hit the gym by ten. I try to keep my life somewhat together. Normally, I blast U2 during my workouts because, let’s be honest, they’re the GOAT. But today? Every song felt off. Like, “Angel of Harlem”, and bam—suddenly, I’m thinking about Lauren. I had to yank out my earbuds like I was being haunted. U2 is my band, alright? It’s not fair that she gets to ruin that, too. Is there anything more pathetic than hearing a song and instantly thinking of someone? Probably not. Well, maybe shitting your pants at a wake might top it, but still—it’s a close second.
I spent the rest of the workout skipping through tracks like a damn teenager trying to avoid a breakup playlist. Seems like Bono might’ve had a Lauren too. Figures .
The door swings open, yanking me out of my head, and there she is—Lauren, holding a cup as if she's about to deliver some life-changing potion.
“What’s this?” I ask as she plops it down on my desk.
“Linden tea. It helps you relax,” she says, all smug, like she’s got me completely figured out. She crosses her arms under her chest, eyebrow raised, waiting for me to give in like I’m a toddler who won’t eat his vegetables. Lauren is one of those women who has no idea how attractive she is. When she stands there, all tilted hip and power stance like she owns the room, it drives me up the wall.
I look at the tea and then back at her. “What makes you think I need this shit?” I sneer, pointing at the cup. Honestly, if it wasn’t hot, I might’ve thrown it at her. Instead, I lean back in my chair, playing with my lower lip like I always do when I’m about to piss her off.
“If I can tell you’re nervous, your brothers will spot it a mile away, Silas,” she says, leaning over my desk. Her hands press down on it, and yeah, my eyes wander to her chest for a split second, but then she starts talking again, and I snap out of it. “Drink the tea. It’ll help. Your brothers are on their way.”
“What makes you think I’m nervous?” I ask, cocky as ever.
She shoots me a look like I’m an idiot. “It’s your energy. I can see you’re uncomfortable in your clothes. Your leg’s been bouncing under the desk, and in case you didn’t notice, your eyebrow’s twitching.”
Damn.
I let out a deep sigh and take a reluctant sip. It’s warm, but it feels like swallowing my pride. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” I mutter, half to myself. “And my brothers don’t know me as well as you think.”
She knows me better than anyone, even if I’d never admit it. How else would she know I needed this ridiculous tea? Lauren sits down across from me, legs crossed, arms folded, her eyes glued to me like she's making sure I finish every drop.
“No one knows me better than my sister,” she says casually.
Wrong. I know you better, Bunny .
“Don’t be so sure,” I reply, taking another painful sip of the tea that’s probably some cruel inside joke she’s playing on me.
“Why are you nervous?” she asks, adjusting her glasses on the bridge of her nose. God, that move has somehow become my favorite lately, even more than watching the sway of her hips when she walks.
I shake my head, debating whether I want to let Lauren see beyond the whole New York magnate facade, but before I know it, my tongue betrays me, and the words spill out. “There’s this quarterly competition between me and my brothers to see who has the best earnings. I don’t need to spell it out—you’ve probably seen the numbers.” My leg starts bouncing again, and I keep sipping this horrible tea, wondering if it’s calming me down or if Lauren’s low-key poisoning me. Either option feels like an escape at this point.
“Why is there a competition when the markets are so different?” she asks, her tone laced with genuine confusion, almost offended.
That makes me smile into the cup. Finally, someone who uses their brain around here. I set the tea down. “My father thinks it’s ‘healthy’ to make us compete,” I say, throwing up air quotes.
“Well, that’s the most archaic thing I’ve ever heard. Besides, last time I checked, you’re the CEO,” she shoots back, her eyebrows raised.
I can’t help but smile again. “We all knew my father would never be able to let go of this empire, Lauren.”
She doesn’t respond right away, just gives me that look—half understanding, half pity. And damn, that gets under my skin.
“But you’re perfectly capable of running it,” she says, and suddenly her cheeks flush pink. She can’t seem to compliment me without turning awkward. It’s honestly kind of cute.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I reply, lifting the cup again. She watches me like a hawk, and when I take a sip, she gives this little satisfied smile. Damn. She’s only been here a few weeks, and already she’s got me wrapped around her finger. There’s something so effortlessly adorable about her.
“Do you think your brothers will remember me?” she asks out of the blue .
“Probably,” I say, eyebrow raised. “Why? You got your eye on one of the Walker brothers?”
“No.” She chuckles, shaking her head. “I just think it’ll be strange for them to see me here after so many years. The last time I saw them was when?—”
“Yes,” I cut her off, not wanting to dig up that night. “They’ll remember you.”
“How’s life treating them?” she asks, leaning back in her chair, looking curious.
I set the cup down, shifting in my seat. “They’re doing just fine. Successful, young, and filthy rich. They’re always making headlines as ‘America’s Most Eligible Bachelors,’ so yeah, you can imagine.”
She nods, and we both know it’s true. We’re not the most communicative bunch, and my father is to blame for this weird dynamic. He’s practically engineered our sibling rivalry—who’s got more money, the flashier house, the newest car. It’s all a competition, every damn thing.
Luca’s the one always trying to play peacemaker, but at the end of the day, it’s in our DNA to go after each other. There’s no escaping it.
“Strange,” Lauren says. “I’ve never seen them in the media.”
“That’s because you don’t read that garbage, Bunny,” I tease, grinning.
“Oh?” She leans forward, resting her elbows on her desk, fingers laced together. “How do you know?”
I smile, leaning in just a little, meeting her gaze. “Let’s stop pretending we don’t know each other, Lauren. I know everything about you.”
She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out, caught completely off guard. “Like what?” she finally manages to ask, and I can see that spark of curiosity in her eyes—the same curiosity I love drawing out of her.
“Like the fact that you only read Marie Kondo or obsess over the latest global headlines. You always want to know how many trees were cut down in the Amazon or how many koalas died in the last wildfire. I know you love taking photos in the park, and you never stray from your routine. You act like your life’s perfectly organized because it’s the only thing you can control, when deep down, everything else is just crumbling around you. And I know that I?—”
Before I can finish, the door swings open, and the three of them stroll in like they own the place. Well, technically, they do—each with a twenty percent share. I snap my mouth shut, biting down words I’m not sure I am ready to say.
“Brother,” Luca greets, stepping in first. He is dressed in a black Armani suit, his hair a shade lighter, probably from too much Miami sun. Luca’s not big on words, but when he lays eyes on Lauren, he goes completely mute. Lauren, always composed, shoots up from her seat, clutching her tablet tight against her chest like a shield. Meanwhile, I can’t hold back my grin. I knew this moment would leave them speechless.
“Bunny?” Luca finally asks, his brows furrowed in disbelief.
“Lauren,” I correct, tapping my temple like I am giving him a clue he should’ve figured out ages ago.
All three of them stare at me, thoroughly confused, while Lauren extends her hand toward Luca, her voice sweet and collected—completely different from my sharp and authoritative tone. “Nice to see you, Luca,” she says softly.
My two younger brothers exchange glances, recognizing her instantly. They know exactly who she is and probably remember how I used to act when she was around—always a little off my game. But they both handle it smoothly, each raised by my mother to be proper gentlemen.
Oliver stepped forward with a polite smile. “Hi, I’m Oliver,” he says, extending his hand.
“And I'm Killian,” my youngest brother chimes in, offering a charming smile. I call them younger, but at twenty-nine and twenty-seven, Oliver and Killian are far from kids—they had grown into full-fledged men, each with their own thriving empire.
Lauren, always quick to clarify, says, “I'm Silas's assistant.” I can’t help but notice the slight tension in her voice, like she is afraid they might assume she is something else. Why does that thought bug me so much ?
The three of them nod but turn their gazes toward me, waiting for an explanation. Of course, Luca, being Luca, tries to break the silence by picking up the cup from my desk.
“Are you a tea drinker now?” he asks, his tone curious but slightly mocking.
Luca’s attention to detail is both impressive and unnerving—sometimes, it feels like nothing escapes his notice. I open my mouth to respond, but Lauren swoops in, gracefully taking the cup from his hand.
“Oops! It’s mine, sorry,” she says, flashing a polite smile before heading toward the door. Just as she reaches it, she turns back. “Whenever you’re ready, the room is set up.”
The door clicks shut behind her, and instantly, the room is swallowed by an ear-piercing silence. My brothers stare at me, barely blinking, their mouths slightly open like I’d just performed a magic trick. I lean back in my chair, my grin slowly spreading across my face as I let the moment hang in the air.
“What?” I ask, acting oblivious to their reactions. But I know exactly what they are thinking.
“What the hell is going on?” Oliver finally asks, cutting through the tension.
“Stella’s about to give birth. Lauren’s covering for her,” I say, feigning disinterest as I pretend to scroll through something on my phone.
“No kidding ...” Luca leans back in the chair Lauren had just vacated, settling in like he has all the time in the world.
“And why the hell would you hire the woman you hated throughout high school?”
Straight to the point, as always.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you, brother,” I growl, my voice low. “Besides, it’s temporary. Just until Stella comes back.” Total lie. I know Stella isn’t coming back. She’d already made it clear she was done with the stress of this place.
Killian, ever the cheerful one, perches himself on my desk, giving me a few too-heavy pats on the shoulder. On the third pat, I raise my eyes from my phone and glare at him. He is the youngest, the carefree one, always grinning like life is a never-ending party. He has a million followers on Instagram because he spends half his time shirtless in the California valleys, soaking up the attention.
“I didn’t remember she was that hot,” Killian says with a mischievous wink, clearly enjoying the stir he is causing.
“Careful, Kill,” I warn, my voice laced with irritation.
He raises his hands in mock surrender, whistling softly. Always pushing buttons but knowing when to back off.
“This again?” Oliver groans, rubbing his eyes in exasperation. “I thought you were over it already.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I reply, feigning innocence.
Oliver lives in Texas now and has a ranch with actual animals. The kind that roam around freely, which, for a New Yorker like me, was unthinkable. He says he likes the lifestyle—the silence, the space, the Texan way of life. But to me, it feels like another world entirely.
Oliver rolls his eyes at me. “Where’d you find her?”
“I never lost her.”
“She just happened to be one of the candidates to replace Stella?” Luca chimes in, clearly skeptical.
“Pure coincidence,” I say, shrugging like it is no big deal. “Ask Stella if you don’t believe me?—”
Oliver cuts in. “Luca, wasn't she Emma’s …”
Luca shoots him a death glare. “Unfortunately,” Luca growled. Luca never talks about what happened with Emma. Never.
“And now she lives in Miami,” I add as casually as I could, but I know the effect it would have. Luca freezes for a second, clearly caught off guard.
“Emma’s living in Miami?” he repeats, trying to process the news.
“That’s what I said. Want me to ask Lauren for her number?”
Luca shakes his head quickly. “No, let’s just … focus on this meeting.”
“Gladly,” I reply, getting up and heading for the door, thankful we can move on from the Lauren topic before it spirals into something worse. My brothers know better than to dig too deeply into my personal life. I like to keep things sealed tight.
As I walk past Bunny’s office, I peek in. “Ready?” I ask.
She immediately stands up, gathers her tablet and a few papers, then falls into step beside me like the flawless assistant she is. For some reason, I feel calmer now. Maybe it is the tea. Or maybe it is her presence. I’m not ready to admit that out loud just yet.
My brothers stroll through the office and most of the employees greet them like Hollywood stars had just walked in. It is always the same when we have these meetings. A day of checking in, running through numbers, and making sure none of us are screwing up the empire. This time it is in New York, but we rotate between all the offices, each Walker getting their turn to host. It is an unspoken rule: visit each headquarters, ensure things are running smoothly and, more importantly, make sure the Walker in charge isn’t slacking off—or doing something idiotic, like hiring the one woman who can stir up all kinds of strange, old feelings.
The day is packed—six straight hours of meetings, numbers, and high-stakes discussions, broken up only by the occasional bite from the best catering Manhattan has to offer. By the time the office is empty, my brothers and I are still locked in the conference room, sleeves rolled up, ties loosened, everyone looking just as worn out as the spreadsheets we’d been tearing apart all day. Well, almost everyone. Lauren, still seated at the far end of the table, is typing notes with the same sharp focus she’d had when we started. Not an ounce of her energy has faded. She keeps adjusting her glasses, and for some reason, I find myself captivated by the small, subtle movements of her hands. The way she pushed those glasses up the bridge of her nose—it is ridiculous that at thirty-one, I find something like that attractive.
Luca clears his throat, trying to drag my attention back to the meeting. I catch his exasperated look and quickly shift my focus. Killian is talking about new ideas, ways we can streamline processes across the offices. I chime in, talking about Compass and the little progress we’ve made so far—definitely not as much as I’d hoped. But before I can finish, I feel a hand on my arm .
It is Lauren.
The room goes silent for a second, my heart skipping a beat as her touch sends an unexpected wave of calm through me. I glance down at her hand, then back up at her face. It is like she is grounding me, pulling me back from wherever my mind had wandered.
Then whispers, “Your father is calling,” as she hands me the phone, her eyes full of unease. I should’ve taken the call right away, but something about being near her in that moment feels warmer, more real, than anything my father’s voice can offer. I glance at my brothers. All three are watching, their expressions expectant. They want me to answer. Of course, they do.
“The great Thomas Walker calls,” I say, straightening up as I take the phone from Lauren, our fingers brushing ever so slightly. It is the first time in years I’ve felt her touch—soft, warm, and weirdly familiar. I swipe to answer. “Let me put you on the big screen, Dad,” I say, tapping a few buttons. A moment later, my father’s face appears on the massive ninety-inch screen. If this is a movie, he’d be the villain—and in real life, it isn’t that different. As his face comes into focus, I notice Lauren shrinking back in her chair, her discomfort almost palpable.
We’re in this together, darling , I think.
“The Walker legacy,” he begins, his voice carrying that same weight it always has. He is a mirror of me, just twenty years older. Blue eyes, white hair that once matched my own dark brown—there is no denying the resemblance, even if I hate to admit it. My mother always said we were alike.
I hate being compared to someone I do not admire.
My younger brothers are more like our mother—dark hair, pale green eyes that capture everything without saying a word. Luca, of course, is the perfect blend of both parents. But the one thing we all share from our father is height and build—broad-shouldered, muscular, towering over most people. Well, except Luca. He stands a ridiculous six foot ten. Even in height, we compete.
My brothers greet him with half-hearted mumbles, just like always. We all know why he is calling. Our father’s eternal concern is making sure none of us screw up the company he’d bled to build. Understandable? Sure. Annoying? Definitely.
His eyes linger on Lauren, just a bit too long. I can see that look, the wheels turning in his mind as he tries to place her. I have to cut this short. “Dad, this is Lauren, my E.A,” I say, keeping my tone low, hoping he’ll move on without making things awkward.
“Lauren! Welcome to Property Group NYC!” he says with a burst of enthusiasm that catches all of us off guard. My brothers raise their eyebrows in sync, visibly offended. He never greets us with that kind of warmth.
“Thank you, Mr. Walker. It’s a pleasure to be here,” Lauren replies, ever the professional. Her smile is bright, and she tucks a lock of her blonde hair behind her ear, adjusting those damn glasses again.
Those glasses are killing me.
Three seconds of silence hangs in the air. I know that look—my father is trying to figure out where he knows her from. I step in quickly, shifting the conversation back to business, anything to pull his attention away.
An hour later, the meeting wraps up, and we finally have a moment to breathe.
“What’s next?” Oliver asks, clapping his hands like he is ready for round two.
“I made reservations at Le Bernardin for eight,” I say, gathering my things and preparing to head out. But as I start to leave, I find myself waiting, watching Lauren pack up her tablet and notes.
Why the hell am I waiting? I never did this for Stella.
We all stand near the elevator, and as Lauren walks by, she flashes us a bright smile. “Good night!” she says, her voice cheerful.
We stand in silence, hands shoved in our pockets, unsure how to respond. Luca breaks the tension. “Aren’t you coming?”
I want to shoot him a glare, but instead, I feel the anxiety bubbling up, waiting for her response. I wasn’t ready to end the day without seeing her again.
Lauren stops and turns to face us. “Oh, no thank you! I have things to finish up here,” she says before heading back to her desk. My brothers nod and file out of the office.
“I’ll meet you at the restaurant,” I say, already moving toward her. “I want to make sure she gets a taxi.”
Ignoring the incredulous looks from my brothers, I walk with purpose toward Lauren, the alchemist who somehow has me under her spell.