"How many left?" Colton eyed the grey sky reflected on his computer screen—heard it battering the large glass windows overlooking the city, or what little of the city anyone could see through the haze of rain—with far more interest than the happenings in the executive office.

He craved to feel the droplets smatter on his tired face than sit through another tedious interview he didn't care for. It's not like he was going to be 'Carter' for a long time so any assistant would do. So couldn't they pick it? Why had he agreed to this? Why hadn't he just told Pops 'no' then and there last week and meant it?

I wanna go home and take this ridiculous suit off now.

He pulled at the tie knot as if a noose strangling him. That, and the stiff collared shirt, courtesy of Carter's wardrobe.

'You have to dress like him, eat like him, walk like him, hell, even fuck like him if you have to. Just keep the show going—for the time being. The future of the company is in your hands.'

No pressure.

Even now, Pops' words, spoken in that early morning fog shrouding the village—though the locals didn't let that stop them—slithered in his ear like an earworm. An earworm he couldn't dig out. He'd been surprised to see Pops there, strikingly out of place in his Armani black suit, and ill-advised leather shoes, dropping onto the village chautari in a chopper. The noise had pulled sleepy children from their beds, and they'd gathered to watch the scene.

Colton hadn't realised who had disrupted the peaceful morning until a local kid rushed to fetch him, mid-morning tea. He'd been sitting on the clay porch of the small double-storey clay house, with ceilings so low he had to crouch to move around it. A place he'd called home for the past few months while he helped build a local school. It was a better use of his damn mind and his damn money.

'Anything to keep the vultures at bay. The moment they find out the truth [they, being the Board] hell will break loose.'

Thanks, Pops, for that lousy image.

He loosened the top button, despite Amy Vance, one of his father's personal assistants, loaned out to him for a week or two, glaring daggers at him from across the desk. Perhaps thinking, How dare you! Don't you remember what Mr Thebes, your father, advised?

But Pops wasn't here to witness him 'stepping out of character' so he went as far as to strip it clean off his neck.

"You're gonna tell on me?" He couldn't help it, a smile curved at the corner of his lips. "It's just a tie, Amy. Just a tie."

"Tell that to your father." A twitch touched her face. If she was loathed to being loaned out to help him cover for his brother, Colton couldn't tell. But they both had a job to do today: play a charade of sorts.

Since Carter's old assistant had failed to show up for work as long as Carter's been on 'unexplained leave,' it was up to him now, to interview for a new assistant so the ruse could be maintained. Here he was, the CEO of Thebes & Thebes Luxury Realty, without his minion. It was the only reason why he'd failed to show up at meetings or missed calls and whatnot the past month, all because his assistant had quit without warning. And not because he, Carter Thebes, the oft irresponsible of the two brothers had decided to go somewhere without warning anybody.

All to keep the damn Board happy and keep up appearances... I told Pops he wasn't ready. Neither of us were.

Colton grimaced.

And now I have to sit here, pretending to be him while he galavants somewhere like a fucking Prince.

"Grimace any more and no one will think you're here against your will." Amy rolled her eyes. "You're not in hell."

"This is hell." He massaged his temple before asking her to throw him a bottle of water from the fridge. Amy who he'd slept with one night. Years ago. His only night stand—not that he'd admit to such a thing. It was the only reason she could get away with rolling her eyes at him. That and the fact whenever she got a chance, she often made a move on him.

Even as she strutted across the room in her tight pencil skirt, he felt no desire to go down that road again, despite lush memories blooming to life in his mind.

It was the fuckton of G&T Carter had me drink...

"So, Pops made the move yet?" He tried to lighten the mood while she fished out two small bottles of mineral water from the bar fridge at the small coffee station. "I don't know how you can stand to work for him."

If Carter was known as a 'BadBoy' the media ought to look at the tree he fell from. Especially lately d with the rumour mill churning out, "The Missing Heir" and whatnot.

"I'll happily cancel all the interviews that are left and work for you." She bit her bottom lips comely and tossed him a mini bottle.

He caught it in the air, saying, "By the way, can you get that stupid article pulled? The one about Carter as the most eligible BadBoy of BadBoys? Whatever the hell that even means... It's bad enough they used my goddamn photo from the airport." He felt a horrendous desire to bring up the damn article his butler had shown him this morning, as if Colton needed any more reminders of why Pops had found it necessary to say, "fuck like Carter". How was he going to do that?

Maintaining a lie, that he was Carter, the elder of the twins, at the office or out in the public eye was one thing, but acting like his Casanova brother and peacock around with multiple women to maintain the ruse on purpose was not something he was willing to do.

"Why?" Amy blinked at him, innocently. "I think you look cute."

"Because anyone with half a brain and a keen eye can tell that's not him." He blinked in return. "I'm a lot tanner. I actually go out in the sun and not just to pose for photographers with various women dangling off my arms."

"Point taken." Amy chewed on her cheek. "But I can't. It was your dad's idea—to keep the limelight on you being you so people don't realise the truth. You're not that ball-dropping, disappearing brother of yours..."

Amy wrinkled her nose like she was trying to bewitch him if she could. "You want me to set you up on dates with candidates from today? Half of them seemed ready to jump into bed with you—"

"To get the job." He rubbed tiredness out of his face.

"If that's what you think—"

"For fuck's sake, Amy. I'm not going to sleep around so people don't learn he's missing." Colton snapped, though he didn't mean to.

"We—we—could hire them—to play your—"

"Go on, I dare you to finish that sentence as a woman." When she recoiled from his words, he sighed. "I'm sorry. You know I don't do that. Sleep around."

"You slept with me once." A delicious blush crept up her cheeks and Colton busied himself with his bottle. Distraction was the last thing he needed right now.

Colton gulped the water down in one go, tamping down the temptation to say, 'Amy Vance, it's been eight years. Let it go. I'm not interested in dating. You or anyone. Besides, I'm not your type. I'll only hurt you and I promised Mama I'd never be that guy... like Pops, or Carter.'

Instead, when the water finished and he had nothing to focus on, he mumbled, "We were young and stupid."

Amy dropped back in her seat with a sour look and drank her water as if the bottle was the one who slighted her.

Some water splashed on her champagne satin shirt, and he wasn't sure if it was entirely an accident.

"Get the next one in. I want to get out of here already." Colton trashed the empty bottle and stared at the closed office doors.

"Then don't slouch. Your brother doesn't slouch." There was a snap to her voice. If she wanted to make another snide comment, she didn't say, but the look of disdain was plain as day in the gleam of her eyes. He'd hurt her.

"Amy." Colton rubbed his forehead and brushed his hair back off his face, but he did sit straighter on his chair, trying not to growl like a feral mutt who'd been muzzled. He was tired. He was hungry, he was stuffed in clothes he'd rather burn. He wanted to go home and grab a bottle of beer out of the fridge himself instead of being served it on a fucking silver platter, and head into the backyard, to listen to crickets in the dark. Pretend he was still back in the mountains, breathing in fresh air, relishing the tiredness that set in from actually using his hands for a chance. instead, here he was, cursing his luck.

He just wanted out of that suffocating office, the passive-aggressive 'ex' if he could even call Amy that; and the damn hair kept falling over his face. How the hell was this Carter's go-to hairstyle? It was impractical. He couldn't even tie it back like he used to just last week, for this very reason, to keep of out of his eyes. That, and buzz cuts never suited him, not if he wanted to hide the long sickle-shaped scar, courtesy of Carter pushing him off his bike when they were ten and squabbling over a shared crush. A scar usually covered by his hair length with ease. Now, every morning he was left sitting in his robe while Jenkins covered his scar with hair powder, the type that covered bold spots.

Was it only last week he'd been standing shin-deep in a waterlogged rice paddy or helping Ram and his wife, the couple who'd taken him in the past few months, build a local school?

He ran his hand through the short hair again, briefly pausing his fingers over the scar, aware that he may be brushing off Jenkins' handy work.

"You can't see it unless someone sits behind you and stares." Amy finally headed for the door, to fetch the next candidate. "And I doubt many people even know about it, so relax."

An hour later, night had enveloped the city, rain still pitted against the glass, and Colton was done. He glanced at his watch as soon as Amy escorted the second last candidate out of the office.

5:00 PM.

Time to flee this new cage of his. Breathe some fresh air. Go home, shed Carter from his mind and body, and slip on his own no-name t-shirt and colourful cotton house pants he'd gotten so used to wearing in Nepal. How he missed it, that place that was further from all this corporate mumbo-jumbo, the very thing he'd run away from.

If he knew where Carter was holed up, he'd demand the asshole head back back home this instance. Tell him this office shit was his choice, to succeed father in the family business. Yet, here he was, a month shy of his one-year-anniversary—being one of the youngest CEOs of a large corporation, expected to make a speech at the celebratory dinner—missing.

I am not making that speech.

"Colton?" Amy suddenly loomed in front of him, wipers for arms.

"What?" He shook his head. Was it just him or the room was getting stuff? Had the AC broken in the last half hour?

"We done for the day?" He got to his feet and grabbed shrugged into his jacket. "I need some fresh air."

"There's one candidate—"

Colton snapped his head up. "I thought you said she was a no-show."

"Until five minutes ago."

Colton groaned. But the strange smile tugging on Amy's cherry red lips, propelled him to ask, "What?"

"After the day you've had, you might enjoy this one." Amy shrugged, close to laughing, and slid a new resume in front of him. "She's not shortlist material, surely, but she's interesting..."

"Interesting?" Colton opened the folder and skimmed the resume, noticing a distinct lack of administrative experience let alone assistance roles in a corporate setting. And Masters in Meteorology? What use would he have for a Weathergirl?

"Fine. Take the lead on this one, but make it quick." He fell back into his chair, annoyed that it was a waste of all their time, theirs, and the candidate who didn't stand a chance, not with that resume. "Ask this"—he glanced at the name—"Avery Honey, one or two work-related questions, find out why she applied, because I'm curious, and send her on her way. I'll just listen."

A/N: Now that you've met the other half of this story, what do you make of Colton?

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