“Would you please stop grinning like that? You look like an idiot,” I say as we stroll down the main street of Ashbourne, which is lined with small retail shops on both sides.

“That’s what you think. The ladies seem to disagree. They love me,” Mason says, ever the flashy womanizer.

I hate to admit it, but Mason’s right. The handful of women, teetering on their high heels along the main street in Ashbourne, practically creamed their panties at the sight of his Porsche.

“They probably just want a ride in your car.” I stop and let myself fall behind as Ollie and Mason continue walking toward the door of the liquor store.

Admiring the architecture of the old building façade, I hold my Leica M9 with both hands, frame the picture just so, adjust the focus, and take a snap.

Unlike other DSLRs, this camera requires a lot of manual adjusting to produce non-blurry pictures. But when everything comes together just right, every once in a while, I get a beautiful picture that I blow up to hang on the wall of my apartment in San Francisco.

“Check out that hot piece of ass at two o’clock,” Mason says to Ollie in a low voice when I catch up with them.

Nothing important was missed, apparently.

“Yeah, she’s okay,” Ollie says.

“Something wrong? You don’t usually sound so disinterested,” I say with a grin. “If you’re not careful, you’re going to end up like me. You guys are always teasing me about my so-called ‘dry streak.’”

Ollie shrugs without providing any explanation.

“That’s cool. More for me.” Mason’s still staring at the girl.

I take a quick look at her. Shiny blonde hair with long legs—usually, both Mason and Ollie would be all over her.

Luckily, even though they have a similar type, they’ve never fought over a woman. Like true Hunter men, they’ve come up with an out-of-the-box solution: just share the woman.

Okay, it’s not just them. I’ve joined them, too, a few times.

It’s a nice arrangement for the five of us because we’re always working, and we don’t have time for relationships. Red-blooded men like us have needs, and sometimes even I get sick of my own right hand.

I see Mason wandering further and further away from us and I know he’s about to bolt, so I grab his arm and drag him into the liquor store.

“We’re supposed to be back for dinner soon, remember?” I ask.

“It would’ve taken me no time to get her number.” Despite his protest, Mason ambles into the store with me.

“We’re here for two months. It’s only our first day. Pace yourself, for god’s sake.”

Ollie’s already ahead of us, checking out the Australian wines on one of the shelves.

“Fine.” Mason sighs.

“Should I be worried about Ollie?”

“Because he didn’t look at that chick?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s been off his game lately. He tells me it’s getting too easy,” Mason says, dropping his voice to a whisper.

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

We shut up as we enter Ollie’s aisle where he’s holding up two bottles and inspecting the labels. “I know you were talking about me,” he says.

“Whaaat . . . ?” Mason acts surprised, but it’s unconvincing. I’m glad he’s practically a different person when he’s doing a presentation or negotiating with our partners and suppliers. Otherwise, we’d never get anything done.

“We were just worried about you,” I say, ignoring Mason’s nudge in my rib cage.

“Just because I didn’t ogle some girl?” Ollie puts one bottle back on the shelf and holds up the other one. “I think this is the one Mom likes, right?”

Mason stares at the label blankly. “I have no idea.”

“Yes, it is,” I say impatiently. “And yes, we were worried because you didn’t ogle some girl.”

“I just don’t feel like banging some random girl right now. If I feel like it, it won’t take long for me to find someone anyway, so why look now?” Ollie asks, taking the bottle and walking toward the cashier.

Mason and I share a look. This is unusual.

“Besides,” Ollie continues, “shouldn’t you—Mason—worry more about the business expansion? And shouldn’t you—Liam—worry more about preparing the contracts for the expansion?”

“I’ve got that under control,” Mason and I say, almost at the same time.

“Is Sally still coming here?” Ollie asks.

“Yeah.” I check my phone. “She’ll be here tomorrow with Noah and Nathan.”

Even though we’re in Ashbourne, that doesn’t mean business stops.

It’s almost the holiday season. We have clients clamoring to get their medical treatments done before their big family gatherings. They want their teeth straightened and whitened; they want to get their surgeries over and done with; they want their waistlines reduced—and they want it all done now.

That’s why we’re still working and why our assistant is coming into town to help coordinate things with our main office in San Francisco.

“Cool.” Ollie places the bottle on the check-out counter and pulls out his black Tom Ford wallet.

The girl behind the counter had a bad case of the resting bitch face the whole time she was serving the previous customer. Now, she practically beams at Ollie, giving him a flirty smile as she greets him.

But Ollie doesn’t seem to notice. He just pulls out his platinum credit card and makes the payment, flashing her his ID when requested.

“Thanks,” Ollie says nonchalantly to the girl—who, by the way, is pretty attractive.

I catch a glimpse of her face falling as we step out of the liquor store.

“Seriously, guys, it’s nothing. Stop being weird,” Ollie says.

I actually don’t think it’s a huge deal. I mean, Ollie’s not exactly acting like normal, but maybe he’s just growing up. At twenty-six, he’s the baby of the family, after all.

But before I can say anything, Ollie stops in his tracks.

“Who’s that?” Ollie asks as Mason and I almost walk right into him.