Three's A Crowd: A Best Friend's Older Brother Rom Com (Love in Apartment #3B Book 2)

by Everly Ashton

  “Good. It was a busy night though.” I give her a small smile, make eye contact, and concentrate back on my work.

  “I know, right?” She talks like a Valley girl. “I was thinking of going out and grabbing a drink. Wanna join me?” She runs her manicured finger from the top of my shoulder down to my elbow before letting her hand drop.

  “I’m pretty beat. I’m just gonna head home.”

  Lie. I almost always unwind after work and that sometimes involves grabbing a beer at a bar, but tonight, the safer bet is to head straight home.

  She leans into me, bringing her lips to the shell of my ear. “If you join me, I might let you bend me over and fuck me from behind like last time.”

  Jesus. This is why I made my rule about not fucking where I cook. It complicates things. A couple months ago, a bunch of us went out after work, I had too much to drink and I broke my rule. It’d been a lifetime since I got laid and I succumbed to the temptation of Annabelle. In my defense, she made it impossible to say no after cupping my balls under the table. Further proof that she doesn’t play hard to get—at all.

  I feel Billy and the other guys’ eyes on me from across the room.

  I clear my throat and face her. “I really am tired, so I’m just going home.” Hopefully, she’ll get the hint the second time.

  Her big lips tip down into a pouty frown. “Fine. But you’re missing out.” She spins on her heel and retreats the way she came.

  Billy comes over. “She’s not good at reading between the lines, is she?” He laughs.

  He doesn’t know that I caved once, but he’s still not wrong.

  “Doesn’t seem that way,” I say, hoping the subject drops.

  Twenty minutes later, we’re cleaning the kitchen when Jacques, the owner, walks in from the dining room. He used to be the head chef, but after he hired me four years ago, he schmoozes with the guests most nights during dinner service. He’s in his early sixties with a tall, lanky frame and longer medium-brown hair that is more salt-and-pepper at his temples.

  “Good service tonight, everyone.”

  We each murmur our thanks.

  Jacques meets my gaze. “Keane, can I have a word with you in my office?”

  I swallow hard. I approached Jacques last week about the idea of me developing new dishes for the menu. Right now, we still prepare all the same dishes he made a decade ago. At the time, he said he’d think about it and I’m guessing he’s done thinking. I just hope he doesn’t think I overstepped. After all, it’s his name on the marquee.

  “Of course.” I turn to Billy. “Make sure the last few things are finished, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Chef,” Billy says and gives me a thumbs-up.

  I follow Jacques down the hall, past the employee break room, and into his office. He shuts the door behind me, and I sit in the worn leather seat in front of his desk.

  He lowers himself into his desk chair and steeples his fingers, staring at me. Jacques is a nice guy, but he’s intimidating. Or maybe just to me. The man has exactly what I want—he owns a successful restaurant. Maybe that’s why I’ve always put him on a pedestal.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation last week.”

  I nod, not sure what direction this conversation is going.

  “I’m impressed you came to me with your ideas and it got me thinking…”

  I lean forward, anxious to hear his thoughts.

  “I’ve been eyeballing a property on the other side of town. It’s in the perfect location to open a new restaurant, though the building itself is over a hundred years old and in a state of disrepair. It needs to be torn down and rebuilt. But the price is right because of those issues.”

  He pauses, as if to contemplate whatever he’s going to say next. My muscles tense, wondering if this is going in the direction I’m hoping it is.

  “I’ve wanted to open another restaurant for a while, but I can’t be in two places at once. I’d need someone to head up the new restaurant, develop the menu, get it off the ground.”

  I lean in a little more. Please tell me he’s about to be my magic genie and grant my wish.

  “I think you might be the one for the job.”

  Bingo. I compose myself, and to keep myself from jumping on the chair like Tom Cruise did with Oprah, I grip the armrests. “Jacques, this is a dream come true for me—”

  He raises his hand. “Hold up before you get too excited.”

  His words pop the helium balloon lifting me and I crash back down. “Oh.”

  “I do want you involved. You’re a good worker. You have amazing instincts when it comes to creating new dishes. That said, I’m not getting any younger, but I like a challenge and I like to make money even more so. While I want you involved, I’d prefer to have someone running the new place who has skin in the game.”

  My forehead wrinkles.

  “I want you to invest, even if it’s a small amount. It’ll show me that you’re serious. Rather than being my employee, you’d be a part owner.”

  I fall back into my chair. The excitement still lingers, but I’m not sure what to say. I have some money saved, but not at all enough to buy into a new restaurant.

  “You’re too quiet,” Jacques says.

  I give my head a shake. “Sorry, I was thinking. I want… I want everything you just described, but I don’t have the money to invest.” A sour taste coats my mouth with my words. My dream is within reach, but it feels as if someone has it on a string and is slowly pulling it away from my grasp.

  He waves off my concern. “I should have been more specific. I don’t need you to buy-in as a fifty-percent owner. Ten will suffice to start. From there, we can work out you buying more shares in the business from your share of the profits.”

  “How much do you think ten percent will be?” My mouth is as dry as a ninety-year-old’s pussy.

  Ew, did I really just compare my mouth to an old lady’s vagina?

  He purses his mouth and moves it side to side for a second. “Likely about two hundred grand.”

  My mouth drops open and I stare at him with wide eyes. “I don’t have two hundred grand.”

  “Maybe you can get a business loan, or have someone co-sign for you? I’m not sure.” When I don’t say anything, he continues. “Truth is, I see a lot of myself in you, and I want to give you this opportunity. When I started out, I hustled to get a loan and work my way up to what I have today.” He gestures with his hands around the room. “You can do the same by buying into the restaurant. Besides, I’m getting older and I’m going to want to slow down soon. I don’t want to be the majority owner in the new place for the next twenty years and be primarily responsible. So what do you think?”

  I think it sounds impossible. I think I’m up against a brick wall.

  But that doesn’t matter. Jacques is basically handing me my dream on a silver platter and I’m smart enough to say yes and deal with figuring out logistics later.

  “I think I need to figure out a way to come up with two hundred grand.”

  He smiles and leans back in his seat. “That’s the spirit.”

  “When are you thinking of starting?” I ask.

  “Well, why don’t we take a look at the building in the next few weeks and see what you think of it? That can be our first step while you secure the financing.”

  I stand and hold my hand out over the desk. “Thank you, Jacques. I promise I won’t make you regret this.”

  He stands and shakes my hand. “Remember that when your sous-chef calls in sick, your hostess shows up hungover, and the produce guy skipped your delivery.” Walking to the side of the desk, he gives my shoulder a good-natured squeeze.

  I smile, trying my best to contain my excitement. “You still won’t see me complain.”

  “All right. You get out of here. It’s midnight. I’m beat.”

  “Okay, and thanks again, Jacques.”

  “Don’t mention it. See you tomorrow afternoon.”

  With
one last smile at the man making my dream come true, I leave the office and head to the employee break room. I grab my coat from my locker and change my shoes. Once I’m in my car, driving away from the restaurant, I let my excitement loose.

  “Fuck yeah!” I raise my fist in the air.

  When “Save the World” by Swedish House Mafia comes on, I turn up the radio, singing along and feeling like I’m on top of the world. All the long nights, grueling dinner services, and making other people’s dishes is paying off. I just have to find two hundred grand. That part is a little tricky, but I’m not worried—I’ll do what it takes to get my hands on that money.

  The streets are quiet as I make my way to the triplex I rent an apartment in.

  “Best. Day. Ever.”

  The words die on my lips as I pull onto my street to find firetrucks and emergency vehicles crowding the road, trying to put out the fire that’s engulfed my apartment building.

  Four

  Fiona

  Jemma and Ollie arrive at the apartment on Saturday to pick up the last of her things. Even though I’ll still see Jemma all the time, there’s a finality to her leaving. She’s in her room while Marlowe and I chat with Ollie in the living room.

  When she comes back down the hall, it’s clear from Jemma’s slumped shoulders and slight frown that she’s cleaned out her room. “Well, this is it.”

  “We’re going to miss you so much.” I wrap her in a hug and squeeze, feeling the sting of tears in my eyes that want to fall.

  “It’s just not going to be the same,” Marlowe says.

  I step back so she can hug Jemma too.

  “I know, but it’s not like I’ll never see you guys.” It sounds as though Jemma’s trying to put on a brave face herself.

  “You better. We know where you’re at and we’ll hunt you down if we need to,” Marlowe jokes.

  Jemma and Ollie laugh.

  “You’re welcome any time,” he says.

  “Are you sure you won’t let me continue to pay the rent until you find someone to take my place?” Jemma asks.

  This isn’t the first time she’s suggested it. Marlowe and I have searched for a new roommate but haven’t found anyone we can agree on. The roommate scene might actually be harder than the dating scene.

  “For the hundredth time, no. We’ll figure it out,” I say.

  “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that,” Marlowe says, sounding very hesitant. “I think I may have solved our problem.”

  A noise in the hallway piques my attention, and I turn to find Keane standing in the doorway with an old duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

  I scowl. “What are you doing here?”

  The instant his shit-eating grin hits his face, I know I’m not going to like what comes out of his mouth. “Hey, roomie. Did Marlowe tell you the good news, Squirt? I’m your new roommate.”

  He pushes past us, heading down the hall to Jemma’s old room.

  I whirl around and face Marlowe. “What the hell?”

  “Okay, well, I think we’re going to head out,” Ollie says, clearly a smart man.

  Jemma’s eyes look as if they’re ready to jump out of the sockets. “Um… bye, guys.”

  The two of them pick up the last few boxes and rush out the door. I slam the door behind them, then spin on Marlowe again.

  “You better start talking.” I cross my arms, afraid I might lash out and hit her depending on her response.

  She raises her hands in front of her. “It’s only temporary. And I didn’t tell him he could move in here. I told him I’d talk to you and see how you felt, but you know how he is.”

  “Yeah, I do. Which is exactly why I don’t want to live with him.”

  “He has nowhere else to go.” Concern flashes in her eyes, giving me pause.

  I step back from my combative stance. “What does that mean?”

  “There was a fire at his place last night. The apartment under his caught on fire, and thankfully, it didn’t move into his unit, but there’s smoke and water damage. The fire department would only let him in to grab a few things. He literally has nothing, Fi.” Her lips tip down.

  Despite how I feel about the man, my usual instinct when someone is in need kicks in—I want to help. But I remind myself that this is Keane we’re talking about. He’s going to make my life a living hell daily if he moves in.

  “That’s terrible, but you can’t expect us to live with one another. We hate each other. I’m surprised he would agree.”

  She throws her hands up in front of her. “Well, that shows you how desperate he is!”

  I massage the bridge of my nose and inhale a deep breath to find my Zen. “How long do you think he’ll be here for?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe a month.”

  I dislike the guy, but he’s my best friend’s brother. I don’t want him to be homeless. “Fine, but you have to tell him he can’t pull any of his usual shit. There’re no girls staying the night, no parties with his buddies, and no taking jabs at me at every turn. Got it?”

  She nods like a bobblehead. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

  I point at her like a parent would a child. “I’m serious. He needs to be on his best behavior.”

  “He will.” Her hands go in prayer pose. “Does this mean he can stay?”

  I huff. “Yes, fine. But you owe me. Big.”

  “Ah, thank you!” She bowls me over with a hug. It’s clear how relieved she is, and that’s a balm to my irritation that I have to endure him every day for at least a month. On the upside, I can add another good deed to my list.

  At least we work opposite shifts. I go in early to the shelter and he works at night, so our interaction will be minimal at best.

  Thank God for small favors.

  Five

  Keane

  I wake groggy and roll over onto my side. It takes me a minute to figure out where I am. After I arrived here yesterday afternoon, I crashed until this morning since I didn’t get any sleep the night before.

  Well, I crashed after I eavesdropped on my sister and Fiona’s conversation. I was never worried Fiona would say no. She’s nothing if not a pushover for someone in need. But once Marlowe came in to tell me it was all good and to be on my best behavior where Fiona is concerned, I shut the door and collapsed on the bed.

  I’d called Jacques early Saturday morning, before I got to my sister’s place, to tell him what had happened, and he insisted I take the night off and get myself sorted. Since Sunday and Monday are my days off, I have the rest of today and all day tomorrow to accomplish what feels like an overwhelming task.

  I pick my phone up off the nightstand to check the time, but it’s dead.

  Damn it. I don’t even have a charger.

  This entire fire thing is a pain in my ass. The only belongings I have to my name are my car, my phone, and a couple pairs of pants and a T-shirt I salvaged out of the wreckage at my place. And even those stink of smoke.

  I roll over and push up off the mattress, heading to the bathroom. My stomach growls as I wash my hands and leave the bathroom in the hopes that there’s some food here I can eat before I go to the grocery store later today.

  “You cannot walk around like that.” Fiona’s on the couch in the living room with a laptop on her lap, glaring at me.

  I scratch my chest and look down at myself. I’m only wearing my boxers, and the imprint of my dick is visible through the thin fabric.

  “How come? Too distracting?” I grin.

  A flame comes alive in her eyes, anger permeates the air around her. I wait for smoke to pour out of her ears.

  Fuck, why is that such a turn-on? If she’s not careful, she’s going to get an even better look at my junk when it points straight out in her direction.

  “You wish.” Her expression remains pinched, but I don’t miss the way her gaze keeps dropping to my abs. As it should. I work damn hard on them to garner that attention.

  I walk across the living room to t
he kitchen. “Well, Squirt, what can I say? I don’t own much at the moment, so it is what it is.”

  My whole day brightens from the sight of coffee that’s already made. Hallelujah.

  “Don’t call me Squirt,” Fiona calls out.

  I find the cupboard with the mugs, pull one down, and pour in the coffee. “Where’s my sister?” I take a sip. It’s not bad. Not the worst coffee I’ve ever had, but not the best either.

  “At the gym.”

  Instead of responding, I search through the cupboards and the fridge to see if there’s something I can make. “Whose eggs are these?”

  When she doesn’t answer, I walk back into the living room. Her headphones are on now, so I walk over, lift one away from her ear, and bend over. “Whose eggs are in the fridge?”

  Before I pull back, the scent of vanilla and coconut hits my nostrils. It smells divine. The image of Fiona on my lap, riding me while I shove my face into her hair and inhale flashes through my mind, leaving me to have to adjust myself.

  Fiona whips around to look at me over her shoulder and catches me with my hand on my cock. “Gross.”

  “Whose eggs are in the fridge?”

  “I’m vegan.” She looks at me as if I’m an idiot, and my hackles rise.

  “Right, I forgot you eat like a fucking rabbit. I’m gonna use them since they’re Lowe’s.”

  She slips her headphones back on without another word, so I go back to the kitchen to make an omelette. It doesn’t take me long, and within fifteen minutes, I’m eating at the table in the dining room that adjoins the living room. Fiona’s still working away at her computer.

  “What are you working on?” I ask.

  She sees my mouth moving and huffs before sliding off her headphones.

  “What are you working on?”

  She presses her lips together and looks as if she might not answer me. “I’m writing letters.”

  “Letters? What kind of letters?”

  She sets her laptop on the cushion beside her as though she’s annoyed she has to explain this to me. I spear a piece of my omelette with my fork and shove it in my mouth.