Bulletproof - Xavier Neal Page 0,6
read his.
It’s part of the inexplicable link we share.
The one that nags in the back of my mind now is not a good time to call because he’s probably getting laid in spite of the fact having no idea what his agenda looks like. Nine times out of ten, I learn – when I actually do call him a few hours later – that that’s exactly what he was doing during the window I originally wanted to communicate in. Our shared wordless bond that many believe is forged in the womb is also the only reason I can conclude for my stranger actions such as sending an impromptu text at four a.m. while I’m brushing my teeth to remind him to grab his lucky cufflinks, which were the ones Mom bought him the year she died. He never questions how I know what I know in moments like that. He merely takes the benefit, thanks me, and randomly returns the favor.
Like the day he had a new lab coat delivered to me not knowing the one I was wearing had ripped three hours before.
The secret benefit of being a twin.
“Chatter has been reported,” Brandon slowly begins, grip on the glass tightening. “Involving you.”
“This happens on the occasion,” my polite reminder is attached to a soft smile. “Typically, when there are rumors in the tact world of a new advanced product in development.” Steepling my fingers together, I add, “And considering the things we’re unveiling at this year’s annual conference, I can’t say I’m completely surprised my name is coming out of so many mouths. I have had a tremendous amount of increased success in my experiments over the past ten months.”
While being on the edge of new and improved gear as well as weapons for their operatives is one of the things Haworth Enterprises prides itself in, so is selling the items to the highest bidders. I create. They use. And then they sell to others the outdated version once I’ve created something even better. Sure, having the best of the best is a very wise move, particularly for a security company, but selling all of the lesser versions of yourself what you have once you have something undeniably better makes you billions.
And since Haworth’s bottom line is to be the best, being the best means making the most, and making the most is done by having incomparable control over the avenues in which your corporation is involved.
It’s basically a giant circle jerk of sovereignty that my twin happens to hold a very high-ranking position in while I’m usually just left to my own tactical tinkering devices.
No jealousy here.
I much prefer my shit to his shit.
He has to win over boardrooms.
I have to not boil over chemicals.
He has to be charming over caviar and Opera and polo.
I get to enjoy triangle cut sandwiches and ponder about pop culture choices I don’t understand.
Speaking of, if we were the same gender, we’d never survive The Parent Trap storyline.
We’d both die.
Him from some accidental explosion and me from choking to death on a snail.
It’s not a hard conclusion to come to even if all you have to make it are your basic observations, yet the plotline has crossed my mind more than once when I see them remaking older movies.
Perhaps this is why I don’t do well talking to people.
That rather harmless comparison would inevitably spiral into an in-depth conversation regarding genetic modifications and cloning experiments.
I want to talk science.
Most individuals outside of this building don’t.
“It is very possible that your increased success has sparked the chatter-”
“Significantly increased success.”
“Your significantly increased success may be the reason for the chatter,” Brandon continues in a way that lets me know I’m in for a long-winded follow-up, “but typically when said chatter-”
“Could you call it something else? That just sounds like a shittier word for gossip.”
He narrows his dark brown eyes, which are the opposite of my light ones, down to a glare. “How about intel?”
“Definitely sounds more intense.”
“Good.” His grunt is followed by an annoyed tap to the side of his glass. “Because this situation is not to be taken lightly, Blake.”
“You say that every time something of this caliber happens.”
“Not every time.”
“Every. Single. One.”
“Ugh. Alright. Maybe I do-”
“You absolutely do.”
“However, this time it’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because they’re threatening to kidnap you.”
The word should probably make me wince or at the very least do more than fidget with my Monroe piercing, yet it doesn’t.
Okay, so, no. That’s not something that gets thrown in my direction all the