Being Vincent was pretty fucking easy.

Not because he tried particularly hard. Things just worked out the way they were supposed to.

People liked him. Always had.

Teachers liked him. Bartenders liked him. Girls liked him. Guys liked him. Old women thought he was sweet. Old men thought he was ambitious. Neither was true, but Vincent wasn’t about to correct them. If somebody handed you free money, you didn’t stop them halfway through to explain they were mistaken.

His brothers liked to act like he’d somehow cheated at life. As if it was Vincent’s fault their father had given him the face and them… whatever the fuck they had going on.

Seriously.

Alexander looked perpetually disappointed. Arthur looked like he’d been born thirty-five.

Meanwhile Vincent couldn’t leave the house without somebody finding an excuse to talk to him. A burden, really.

He spent most of his days exactly how God intended. Sleeping late. Spending money. Showing up places he wasn’t technically invited to. Getting drunk. Leaving. Repeating.

Every now and then he’d do something stupid enough that people insisted should’ve gotten him into trouble. Nothing ever came of it. His mother still fussed over him. His father still gave him money. The world kept turning.

Imagine that.

The only truly annoying thing about being Vincent was that his father occasionally remembered he existed. And whenever that happened, it usually involved clients.

Tonight was one of those nights.

The manor was full of people Vincent didn’t care about and conversations he cared about even less. Some important business partner was coming over with their family, which apparently meant everyone had to sit around a table pretending they enjoyed each other’s company.

Vincent had already made a respectable dent in the wine by the time dinner started.

Across the table, Alexander shot him a look.

Vincent smiled back.

Alexander looked away first.

Victory.

Their father spent most of dinner discussing numbers large enough to sound fake. Vincent ignored all of it. He wasn’t stupid enough to care about business. That was his brothers’ thing.

His thing was being attractive.

Everybody had their strengths.

Then, halfway through the meal, his father gave him a look.

The look.

The one that meant stop drinking and make yourself useful.

Vincent immediately considered pretending not to see it. Unfortunately, years of practice had made him recognize it from across continents.

A few minutes later he was being steered toward the entrance hall while his father quietly reminded him that the client was important.

Vincent barely listened.

The client was always important. The deal was always important. The evening was always important.

The front doors opened.

The family stepped inside.

Vincent’s attention locked instantly.

Oh.

Because standing there was easily the most attractive person he’d ever seen.

Not nightclub attractive. Not model attractive. The kind that shut his brain off completely.

For a second, flowers bloomed in the room. An orchestra started playing. Something dramatic definitely happened.

His father was speaking. The client was speaking. None of it registered.

His father wanted him to charm them?

Vincent had been doing that his entire life.

Before anyone could finish introductions, Vincent stepped forward and held out a hand.

“Hey. Vincent.”

Smooth. Confident.

“Wanna go see my room? I’ve got some cool shit in there.”

Silence.

Somewhere behind him, one of his brothers choked.

Vincent didn’t look back.

As far as Vincent was concerned, that had gone perfectly.