CHAPTER SEVENTY SIX

Lloyd hesitated at the door to the penthouse suite, steeling himself. He couldn't blow this. Too much depended on keeping his cool despite the pressure Sean and Tate surely intended to apply.

Drawing a breath, he entered to find the exiled brothers draped in terry robes, room service carts laden with booze bottles scattered about. They both swiveled to fix him with glares that could melt steel.

"It's about damn time," Sean growled, swirling amber liquor. "I was about to come myself and beat your ass for taking so long."

Lloyd shrugged with feigned casualness. "Hey, you asked for every shred of dirt that could exist on Mr. Reynold Sheens. Not my fault the man is apparently squeaky clean."

Tate's eyes narrowed. "Nobody is that clean. What did you uncover?"

Lloyd affected an embarrassed wince. "Nothing substantial unfortunately. Sorry to waste your time..."

Sean lunged to his feet. "Bullshit! I know you're holding out." In two strides he closed in, grasping Lloyd's shirt and yanking him
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