The Five Sons of Brent Star

Chapter Two

It had been weeks since the reading of Brent Star's will reading, and part of me had been tempted to start researching charities and which ones were making a difference.

There was in no way I was going to let his fortune go to waste to a charity where all the top donors were paid ten times more than an average working person.

Part of me wished I would hear from the brothers or any of them. Not knowing was worse than anything else. I wanted to get Brent's book finished; there were no other books out about him where he had contributed to it. No other author had personal notes written in Brent Star's handwriting. But the only way I could publish his life story was if the brothers agreed to help me.

Brent Star was an infuriating man, even from the grave.

Two loud bangs and someone knocking on our apartment door happened at ten after midnight. I rolled over, groaning, needing sleep for my job the next day. It was my first day starting at a law firm as a paralegal assistant.

Essentially, I would be a secretary, mostly making coffee or doing coffee runs while their full-time gal was on maternity leave. The job was going to be paying my bills until she came back.

I was not an author. Yet.

Brent had enough faith in me, and I had been wondering why. Especially of late.

Whoever had knocked on our door at this horrendous hour, Patrica, my roommate and best friend, must have known the person as the bangs quiet, and talking occurred in the living room.

Two knocks came on my door. "Cate," Patrica's voice said from the other side of the room; she usually would have barged in.

Most of her boyfriends had seen me half-dress because she threw my door open whenever she felt like it.

I rushed out of my bed as fast as half asleep me would allow.

My silk robe was just over my shoulders when Patricia threw the door open; it hit my wall, leaving another mark I'm sure I would be charged for when we moved out of this apartment into another one.

In the middle of our living room was the eldest Star brother: Ian Star.

Holy shit.

His eyes landed on my half-naked body and my pink floral underwear; then, his eyes dropped to the floor as quickly as he had looked at me.

I tied the black silk robe around me and threw my hair into a messy bun. Roscoe, my worthless but adorable guard dog, had not moved from the corner of the bed.

Roscoe was a rescued mutt. He was somewhere between cute and loyal for the breed. Also known as I didn't care what he was. The fact that he loved me unconditionally was enough for me.

"You must be the redhead barbie," Ian said when I had finally stepped out of my room and into the living room.

Thank goodness we had cleaned up before bed.

"And you must be the oldest Star brother."

Patricia gasped behind me. "Holy shit. You are Ian Star?"

I glanced over my shoulder at her narrowing my eyes. Her hand was hovering above her mouth.

I hated when people acted as if famous people walked on water.

Ian Star was famous, all right. His disappearance from the limelight had also been a topic of conversation.

Where had Ian Star disappeared too?

Of course, I did not care. But America sure did. Ian was the closest replica anyone would ever get to Brent Star. It was as if you were staring at Brent from thirty years ago.