She shook it, then took a step back.

“Well . . .” I cleared my throat. “I’m the eldest son.”

Dad nodded and sat down on one of the white leather couches in the corner.

“And Max inherited the company. He’s doing such a great job, by the way.” I winked at Max. He gave me the finger behind our dad’s back while Jordan choked on what I assumed was my drink considering she’d tilted back both hers and Max’s.

Max’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Reid, what are you doing?”

“And I know how important image is for this company. I mean, Dad, you built this ship from the ground up. The good Emory name is known around the world. Because of you. I don’t think”—I wiped a fake tear—“I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you.”

“Shit,” Max muttered under his breath, then spread his arms wide. “Papa, we’re so proud.”

It was on.

“But”—I forced two real tears down my cheeks. Beat that, Max!—“I just feel like we’re lacking. I mean, your name, our name, it’s everything. And as the eldest I just, I don’t know, I thought, doesn’t it look bad that the youngest is running the company? The youngest is getting married first.” I slammed my fist against my chest. “It kills me that I’m considered the disappointment.”

“Son!” My dad stood and walked over to me, arms open. “You could never be a disappointment.”

I put my fist into my mouth and let out a hoarse cry, the type that appears to be so painful you don’t want to make an audible sound. “Oh, but I am. And I just . . . I just wish I could make you proud.”

“Son, you make me proud.”

I nodded wordlessly. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course!” Honest-to-God tears started to fill his eyes. Did I feel guilty? Maybe a little, but would it be worth it in order to destroy my brother? Hell, yes.

“It hurts my feelings that Max is getting married first. He’s gotten everything in this family and . . . I just, I just wish I could be first.”

“Uh.” Max charged toward us, a small bead of sweat pooled around his left temple. “But Reid, you don’t have any prospects, and come on, that’s kind of silly. It’s marriage. Since when have you cared about marriage?”

My dad’s chest puffed up. “Marriage is the most sacred of all bonds!”

I nodded and wrapped my arm around my father. “It is, oh, but it is.”

I could have sworn in that moment Max had a silent panic attack, where the insides scream but nobody can hear you but you.

His eyes frantically darted left to right and then zeroed in on me, his face impassive other than a small tic that started at his jaw.

“Dad, let me get married first. Let me bring the first Emory girl into the family. Nay, into the fold.” I grabbed his shoulder and squeezed tightly.

“But,” Max sputtered, “we just picked a date!”

“Well, I don’t see the trouble with pushing the date back at least a few months. We were having issues with getting the whole family to Bora Bora on such short notice.” My dad nodded, then patted me on the cheek. “Let me do this for your brother, Max. We can push your wedding back—after all, it’s a destination wedding. Give your brother some time to settle down, at least a few months. That way, both of you are happy.”

Jordan had no idea why this was a big deal.

I imagined she wished she had popcorn. As it was, she was watching the exchange with rapt fascination, and she wasn’t even commenting, which I could tell, even in my short time knowing her, was totally out of character.

Though she was tilting the whiskey back like it was water—then again, that was a common occurrence where Max was concerned. You either drink or wish you had a drink.

“Will that be all?” Dad asked.

“Yes.” I nodded, wiping my cheeks again. “Thank you, Father.”

“Anything for my sons.” He embraced me, then held open his arms to Max. My brother stepped into his arms and hugged him tightly before Dad excused himself and walked out of the office.

“You lie!” Max roared the minute the door closed. “How could you?”

Jordan cleared her throat. “What just happened?”

I smirked. “Max’s fiancée asked him to make a promise. To make the wedding night more . . . special. Once they have their engagement party, no sex until the wedding.”

“And?” Jordan stumbled toward me. “When is the party?”

“It was supposed to be this weekend.” Max started tugging at the collar of his shirt. “Leaving three months without sex . . . but now—”

“Now,” I said cheerfully, “she’ll make you keep your promise, because what happened the last time you didn’t keep your promise? Oh, that’s right, she said, and I quote, ‘Max, prove to me you love me. Keep this promise, just this once.’”

Jordan was full-on leaning against me. Too much whiskey—hell, too much Max—did that to a person. Laughing, she shrugged. “So what, Max can’t have sex for a few months. Who cares?”

“Me!” Max roared. “I care!”

Jordan kept laughing.

“I’ll get you for this, jezebel!” He thrust his finger at her.

“Whoa!” She held up her hands. “You started this, not me!”

Max nodded his head. “Too many uncontrollable factors . . . I should have taken Reid’s shrewdness into consideration.”