My Best Friend's Forbidden Brother (Heartbreakers Book 2)

by Lindsey Hart

  The door creaks open, and Pricilla, wearing a sparkly mini dress and a set of six-inch platform stilettos, walks into the room. She has a set of black gloves in her hands. She gives me what is possibly the world’s most scary and adoring smile. Scary, because plastic surgery isn’t something to be trifled with, and adorable, because I know Pricilla. I’ve known her for two years. She’s tough. She doesn’t take anyone’s shit. She runs her own business, and it’s a tight ship that she’d go down with in a heartbeat. She raised two girls on her own. She makes no secret that she’s still very sexually active at her age. She’s one of those women who can stand up and give both middle fingers to the entire world. I like that about her.

  I only wish I could be that girl.

  Pricilla grins at me as she snaps her gloves on. “So? Are we ready?”

  Cassie catches my eye and winces in sympathy. I wrinkle my nose in admonishment for the sin of putting a razor to your love box. We both nod solemnly at the exact same time for entirely different reasons.

  CHAPTER 2

  Lucas

  “That’s a straight-up no! Did you fall on your way here?”

  “What? No!”

  “Did you hit your head?”

  “No.”

  “Did something fall on your head?”

  Cassie finally sees where I’m going with this. She rolls her eyes at me, very prettily but also nastily in a pissed off manner, and flops down on the top of my desk without saying anything. Right on top of a stack of extremely important contracts. She crosses her arms and looks at me with that look. The look of instant death.

  “I didn’t hit my head. I know you don’t like her, Lucas, but this is a favor to me. It would only be a week.”

  Cassie just walked into my office—which was a few doors down from dad’s office, where he is currently working and can probably hear this—and blurted out that one of the people I like least in the world, who unfortunately also happens to be my sister’s BFF, really needs my help.

  “Not Impossibella Watson.”

  Cassie’s fair complexion goes a bright red. “You’re not supposed to know that we sometimes call her that! When we do it, it’s out of love.”

  “Either way, it’s fitting.”

  “She wasn’t raised like us. Have some pity.”

  “Clearly. She was raised by a pack of wolves.”

  Cassie’s face draws in on itself. Her features do that, like there’s someone in her head pulling strings attached to her features inwards. She only gets that look before the waterworks start.

  “That’s the thing. She was raised by wolves. Her parents are worse! Our parents loved us! They cared about us! They supported us! Aria’s parents didn’t even know she was alive. Her mom and dad ran around trying to screw anything and everything, living to one-up each other before packing her off to boarding school. There’s a reason she used to come home with me for Christmas and vacations. It was because there was no one at her house to go home to.”

  “That’s very sad, but it’s not going to happen.”

  “She puts on a hard exterior,” Cassie pouts. Her lashes are fluttering, and I still haven’t ruled out the likelihood of her bawling on short order. She doesn’t cry often. My stepsister is tough, but look out when she does. Snot. Tears. Blood. Gore. Death…it’s the full experience.

  “A very crusty skin. I’ve seen it.” That’s my nice way of saying she’s a stark raving bitch.

  “That’s what she wants people to think. She needs to be tough, so no one sees the cracked, broken little girl hiding at the center of her. I think she needs to do this. Salvage the companies. For herself. I don’t know what’s going to happen to her if she can’t do it. I think this might finally be the thing that—that breaks her for good.”

  “You’re being over-dramatic.”

  “What if I’m not? I know Aria, and I know she has this insane need to make everyone see everything except the very essence of herself. Underneath all those layers and all that pink, she’s actually very sweet. She’s kind. She’s loving. She’s loyal. She’s always had my back.”

  “She spends more money on bullshit than most people make in a lifetime. She’s excessive. She’s promiscuous. She’s horrible. She’s cold. She’s mean. She’s vengeful. She’s nasty.”

  “Is this the eighteen fucking hundreds here?” Cassie’s lips wobble. Mine fall open a gap. My sister hardly ever swears. Only when she’s extremely pissed or extremely upset. She’s probably pissed at me and upset about Aria. A double combo can be a scary thing.

  I lean back in the desk chair I still haven’t vacated. People think big mergers and corporate crap and lots of money exchanging hands is glamorous. It isn’t. Let me tell you. It looks like this. Me in a pair of jeans and a black dress shirt that I’ve owned for the past couple of years. Me in a pretty small office in a nondescript old building in the center of absolutely nowhere because that’s where real estate can be leased cheaper. Said office barely has air condition that keeps up, and this is Miami, so said office also smells faintly like body odor—not mine—and yesterday’s bologna and tuna fish sandwiches—also not mine. In short, it’s hard, grinding work. Lots of effort. Extra hours spent pouring over paperwork and details. Meetings. Endless meeting. Endless negotiations.

  Top forty under forty my ass. This is what top forty under forty looked like when you didn’t get a golden freaking spoon shoved up your ass from birth.

  Unlike some princesses I know.

  “I can’t stand her,” I shake my head vehemently. “It won’t work.”

  “What do you have against her? You’ve hardly ever spoken three words to her at a time!”

  “Nothing. Except that she’s now being handed sole control of what would take other people lifetimes to work for. Lifetimes of sweat, blood, shit, and tears.”

  “Shit? Why shit?”

  “Forget the shit. You get the idea.”

  “You’re disgusting. That’s what I’m getting out of this. You’re jealous. And hard-hearted.”

  “Don’t—don’t go there. This is not about you. She’s a princess. She’s a mean, nasty, spoiled, bratty princess. She always knew this would be coming someday. Did she go to school and get some training to help her deal with this? Did she go out and get some real-world experience? No. What she did instead was go out and cavort and carouse.”

  “Cavort and carouse? You’ve gone back to the middle ages now?”

  “You know what I mean. She just spent all her time partying and doing nonsense shit like going to spas and dating guys she thought were good arm candy. She wasted other people’s money on cars and clothes and expensive condos. Not. Cool. She’s never even worked. For one single damn day. And now she expects to take on something like this? It’s not going to happen.”

  “She’s worked…”

  “At what? Going to get her nails or hair done isn’t work.”

  Cassie’s lips press into an even thinner line. Her mouth pretty much vanishes. I already know that this isn’t an argument I’m going to win. And then she brings it up. It. When she does, I know I’m finished.

  “You remember that time? That time when mom and dad went on vacation for a week, and you were supposed to look after me even though I was sixteen? It was during the summer. When I was home from school. You brought your girlfriend home. What was her name? Oh yes. Julia. And you were so busy trying to impress her that I almost drowned in the pool.”

  “You were sixteen! You told me you could look after yourself.”

  “I slipped. Anyone could slip. I wasn’t even conscious when I went in the pool.”

  “You were fine.”

  “I was blue.”

  “You said we’d never talk about that day again.”

  “No. I said you owed me. That’s a big difference.”

  “I fished you out of the pool and revived you. That should have been enough!”

  “I didn’t tell mom and Bill. And that’s not what you owe me for...”

  “I saved
your life. That’s thanks enough.”

  “No. The saving my life part isn’t what you owe me for. You owe me for not telling mom and Bill that you poked Julia on the living room couch and the dining room table!”

  “I didn’t have a room there anymore! I wasn’t going to bring her into their bed. That’s disgusting. And you shouldn’t have been watching!”

  “You told me to go outside for an hour and not come back in. There were windows, you dummy. I looked in and saw you, and that’s what surprised me so bad I turned around and ran, and I slipped on the edge of the pool and hit my head and nearly died. All because you couldn’t keep your dick to yourself for a few days.”

  “Great. Thanks. That’s all I need to hear from my sister.”

  “Thank god I’m not your blood sister. I would have died for real then. I would have died from disgust on the spot.”

  “So dramatic.” I slam my palms up to my face to hide the fact that I’m probably turning as red as a freaking damn tomato.

  Yes, I know. It wasn’t smart. In my defense, I was twenty-two, and the testosterone levels were raging out of control. It was not one of my finer moments. I’ll admit that it taught me a good, hard lesson. I was worried out of my mind about Cassie. My stupidity nearly cost us all something very precious. I can’t imagine what our lives would look like now if she’d drowned in that stupid pool because of me. I’ve never done anything that shitty again. Ever. I think I aged thirty years that day.

  “So, you’re calling this in now,” I groan from behind my hands.

  “Yup. You’re going to help her. She asked for ten days.”

  “You said a week.”

  “However long it takes! Show her a few things. Give her some pointers. Hire the people she needs to keep this from being the disaster of the decade. She wants to do this. She’s set her mind to it, and when Aria sets her mind to it, god help anyone who stands against her. I’m not going to be one of those people. I’m her best friend. I’m here to help her. She hasn’t had it easy, whatever you think. She’s a person underneath that fire breathing exterior. Just—just find her good people. People who can help her get on the right track. People who aren’t going to steal her money and tank her company. She’d never get over it if she was the reason it failed. I thought she wanted to stick it to her family and do exactly that, but I was wrong. She wants to stick it to them, but she’s going to do it by proving to them that she can succeed. She needs to prove this to herself. That she’s worth something. Because despite all the times that Rin and I say it to her, she won’t get it until she can tell it to herself too. She’s never loved herself, Lucas. I have to do this for her. You have to do this for me. So please. It’s only ten days.”

  I let out a frustrated breath that I’m pretty sure sounds like a bear coming out of hibernation. A pissed off, starving, grumpy ass bear, who has not eaten all winter since it went into hibernation and is now beyond ravenous. That kind of bear.

  “I can’t do it this week.”

  “I know.” Cassie gets a funny look on her face. I’ve never seen her look that way before, and it’s terrifying. “I penciled in a meeting with her at her office in mid-June. Eight days from now.”

  “You penciled it in? On what? No!” I grab my mouse and shake it hard so that the dual screens on my desk immediately flicker to life. One tap, and my calendar opens. I flip to June fifteenth, and sure enough, at nine in the morning, her name is there. Arabella Watson. Her full, horrible, scaly name in all its glory.

  “I’m sorry,” Cassie genuinely says as she unfolds herself from my desk.

  Just when I think she truly is sorry and I can’t hold this against her because I did almost accidentally drown her in a roundabout way, she tosses a parting shot over her shoulder.

  “Just for the record, I never saw any of your anatomy that day, thank god. But Julia’s nipples scarred me for life. Remember that when you’re sitting in on that meeting.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Aria

  Top forty under forty. I know Lucas got on that list for his business prowess, but he could have made a few other lists too. Top forty hotties under forty. Top forty of the most delicious looking asses under forty. Top forty assholes under forty (I guess that could have two meanings). Top forty people under forty who hate me …the list could go on and on.

  Lucas slips into the room, shown in by a stunning, young, obviously crushing, blonde secretary who I instantly hate a little even though I know she can’t help herself. Poor girl. Poor all of us. Lucas Dawson has that effect. He’s like a drug. No, scratch that. He’s a walking, talking, delicious advert for some pretty creative shit in the bedroom. He has it all. Rugged good looks, barrel chest, square jaw, tousled mahogany hair, piercing green eyes, sharp as a tack cheekbones, towering height, and an ass made of steel and broken dreams. In jeans that are worn and soft as silk and a black t-shirt that strains to cover all the insane broadness and muscles he has going on, he gives off some seriously big vibes. As in…yeah. That kind of big. No man could be that easily confident if they had a small peen.

  Oh damn. I did just go there. I can’t help myself. It’s all the testosterone and delicious manly pheromones and intoxicating cologne and other stuff—maybe a little bit of fresh sweat since it’s hot out, shampoo, aftershave…that kind of thing. The delicious mix that can only be described as male first thing in the morning. I think I’m in the wrong line of business.

  The poor girl never stood a chance. She lets out an envious sigh and very obviously checks out Lucas’s ass as she shuts the door to the boardroom behind her.

  Lucas glances around. He raises one dark eyebrow while simultaneously managing to scowl at me with his delicious lips. Lips that, I might add, are the perfect amount of fullness for a guy. Not overboard or creepy, but not thin and flat either.

  “This isn’t even your office.”

  “That’s because I don’t have an office.”

  “So, you booked someone else’s boardroom? At a lawyer’s office?”

  “Well…” I will not let him make me feel ridiculous. “It’s my lawyer’s office. So, it makes sense to have the meeting here.”

  Lucas Dawson is just about the only person in the world who can instantly do that to me. Instantly ruffle me, fluster me, and make my ovaries and female bits ache. Let’s just say the fourteen-year-old version of me still hasn’t gotten over the first time I ever set eyes on Cassie’s hot stepbrother. Just saying, if I was Cassie, I would have done him by now. I wouldn’t have given two shits that he was my stepbrother. It’s not actual incest, after all.

  Lucas lets out a prolonged sigh that tells me just how happy he is to be here this morning, which is not at all. I already got the memo, given that he’s twenty minutes late and doesn’t look the least bit sorry. He ambles over with that incredibly sexy walk of a man who knows he’s hot as melted fudge but also doesn’t really give a shit, pulls out an expensive leather chair four away from mine, and sits down hard.

  I’m pretty envious of that chair at the moment.

  I’d like to be the one cupping Lucas’s ass. I have checked out his ass approximately seven hundred and sixty-four times over the years. No, it’s probably more than that. Even when I don’t want to, I find my eyes drawn there, like a magnet. I’m surprised they haven’t actually shot out of my head and glued themselves to his posterior yet. That thought is always invariably followed by the image of a tongue stuck to a frozen pole. I imagine my tongue stuck to Lucas’s butt cheek. I think I’d sacrifice some ripped off skin to satisfy my curiosity. Just. Once.

  “First things first. I’m here because I owe Cassie a favor. I will not tell you what that favor is, and neither will she. I’m also here because she tried to cry all over my desk when I told her no. I hate when she cries. Cassie is the nicest person I know, so I’m not sure why she’s friends with you. She tried to convince me you’re really not so bad, but a mutual like of you is not a thing we have in common. I don’t like you. I don’t want to be here. This is
business only. You have ten days. After that, I’m gone. You will never ask for my help again. I won’t give it. I won’t give it if Cassie drowns my desk in tears or tries to call in a thousand other favors. So, don’t waste your days being a princess and farting around. Are we clear?”

  I stare at Lucas’s hands, his large, gorgeous, manly hands, which are laced together on top of the expensive, massive boardroom table, which is cherry-hued wood and probably weighs two tons. Literally. It has no less than sixteen or eighteen chairs around it. It looks like the kind of table that kings would have used in the middle ages. But back to Lucas’s hands. He has these do things to me hands. I’ve imagined those hands in some pretty inappropriate ways over the years. Actually, I’ve imagined all of Lucas’s bits in some pretty inappropriate ways.

  “A thousand other favors? How do you owe her that many favors?”

  “What?” Lucas’s lips thin out, and his eyes narrow.

  “You said call in a thousand other favors. How could you possibly be that indebted to another person? And secondly, princesses don’t fart. I’m not a princess, but I still don’t fart. You don’t have to worry about either of those things.” Unless you want to. If Lucas thought farting was hot, I’d learn to fart on command. I’d start buying beans in bulk quantities.

  “Shhh. I dislike you. That’s the point I’m trying to make. This is business only.”

  “Were you expecting something else? Because I thought it was business only too. Clearly.”

  Lucas grumbles something. He refuses to look at me. He grumbles some more. “Fine. Let’s get down to it then. What do you actually know about the hotels? Where are you in this whole mess? How did your grandfather leave things, and what are your rights? Do you have any training in management of any kind? Have you ever even had one single job?”

  “Do I know how to breathe? Can I walk a straight line and chew gum at the same time? Is it true that blondes really have more fun? Do I have an IQ over ten? Is my grandpa a stud or a truly vile being of the worst variety when it comes down to it?”