My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

by Max Monroe

  “You sure about that?”

  What in the hell is he getting at here?

  Uncertain, I half nod. “Pretty sure.”

  “I know you probably don’t know this about me, but I’m a damn good listener,” he says quietly, and I don’t miss the way he flits his gaze across the dance floor and pauses for a few seconds too long on Milo. “So, if you need to unload some shit that’s on your mind, consider Ol’ Cap more than willing to lend an ear.”

  It’s pretty apparent he knows something, and I’m just about to open my mouth and tell him to drop the bullshit, but an all-too-familiar voice fills my ears.

  “Mind if I cut in?”

  I glance over my shoulder to find the devil himself.

  Milo. Standing there. Wanting to dance with me.

  You have got to be kidding.

  But Cap, the rat bastard, doesn’t hesitate to agree, and I mentally curse him as he walks away, leaving me committed to a dance I didn’t agree to.

  Milo doesn’t hesitate to pull me gently into his arms, and I hate how easily I let him lead me.

  He sways us to the music, and I notice that he doesn’t keep things as PG as Cap. Our chests touch, and his strong hands brush against my skin as he keeps me inside the safety of his embrace.

  Goose bumps pebble my bare arms, and tears threaten to flood my eyes.

  And when Ray LaMontagne’s voice filters in from the speakers and he starts singing the lyrics of “Hold You in My Arms,” one lone tear makes its escape and slips down my cheek.

  Discreetly, I avert my eyes and wipe it away with my fingers.

  God, I hate how good this feels. How good he feels.

  I both hate it and love it, and I hate that I love it.

  And I miss him…so bad. I miss being able to smell the soft hints of his cologne. I miss hearing his laugh and his voice and seeing his smile.

  I miss it all, and I loathe the fact that I miss it all.

  He is the one who said I can’t.

  He is the one who brought a damn date to this wedding.

  But why can’t I drop my torch for him and move on?

  Because love is a motherfucker.

  Milo pulls me tighter into his embrace, and I tremble.

  “I’ve missed you,” he whispers into my ear. “I’ve missed you like crazy, kid.”

  More tears threaten to fill my eyes, and I don’t even know what to say.

  Scratch that, whatever I want to say, I know I shouldn’t say it.

  But he doesn’t hesitate to speak for the both of us. More crazy-romantic things that make my head swim and my heart clench.

  “I know I said all the wrong things to you that night,” he says softly, and his warm breath brushes my ear. “But just know, I didn’t stop because I didn’t want to be with you. I stopped because I wanted to be with you too much.”

  What is that supposed to mean?

  I lift my eyes and search his gaze.

  But I don’t find any red flags. Or hints of dishonesty. Or anything but a genuineness inside the depths of gorgeous blue.

  “I d-don’t know what to say to that,” I whisper back.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” he says, and for the briefest of moments, I let myself rest my head on his shoulder.

  And I let myself enjoy the way I feel inside his arms.

  And I let myself shut my eyes and just savor the way he makes me feel.

  But it doesn’t take long before the bubble is popped.

  “Milo.” My father’s voice is behind me. “I think it’s high time I get a dance with my favorite daughter.”

  “Of course.” He clears his throat, steps back, and lets my dad take his place.

  Bruce doesn’t hesitate to step in, taking my hands into his, and I watch as Milo offers one last look in my direction before he leaves the dance floor.

  To go where, I don’t know, but I can only assume it’s wherever his beautiful date is located.

  That’s right, you idiot. You nearly forgot about that. He is here with another woman. A woman who is not you.

  As Bruce sways us around the dance floor, stupid emotions tighten my throat, and I act like I’m just giving him a gentle hug, but in reality, I’m burying my face into his chest and trying like hell to hide my tears.

  “Love you, Maybe,” he says, and the smile in his voice only makes it worse.

  “Love you too,” I croak out.

  He keeps guiding us around the room, and I focus all of my energy on getting my shit together.

  But Bruce, being the Chatty Cathy he is, doesn’t give his mouth one moment’s rest.

  “Beautiful wedding, huh, Maybe?”

  “Definitely.”

  “You having a nice time?”

  No. “Yep.”

  “Me too,” he agrees. “Did you get a chance to say hello to your aunt Ethel?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You need to.”

  I sigh and smile at the same time. Leave it to Bruce to ask enough questions to completely distract me. “I know, Dad.”

  “What about your uncle Joe?”

  “He’s on my list.”

  “Good, good,” he responds. “Just make sure you make the rounds. Everyone is excited to see you.”

  “I will, Dad. Promise.”

  “I had a real nice chat with Milo’s cousin,” he adds, and it’s that comment that has me lifting my head off his shoulder and looking him straight in the eyes. “She showed me pictures of her little daughter. My God, Maybe, that little baby is actually cute. Doesn’t look at all like Wallace Shawn, like most other babies. I hope your brother doesn’t wait too long to give your mom and me some grandkids.”

  “Wait…who are you talking about?”

  “Milo’s cousin Emory.”

  I scrunch up my nose. “Should I know who that is?”

  He nods toward the other end of the room, where Milo stands by his stupidly beautiful date.

  “She’s right there.”

  What in the hell?

  “She’s his cousin?”

  “Yep.” Bruce nods, completely oblivious as to why my jaw has all of a sudden become unhinged. “She’s a real ballbuster. Sweet and sassy. And apparently, quite good at finagling a way to get herself a night out without the old ball and chain. Reminds me a lot of your mom right after we had Evan.”

  That pain in my abdomen makes itself known again, but I breathe through it and force myself to finish this dance with my dad.

  But I can’t force my mind to slow down. It’s already off at a sprint, racing with an overwhelming number of questions.

  That woman, Milo’s date, is his cousin?

  Not some love interest or fuck buddy?

  But an actual family member?

  I’m officially confused.

  Milo

  The clock is nearing one in the morning, and the bride and groom are still whooping it up on the dance floor. Evan twirls his wife around, and the biggest grin I’ve ever seen has become a permanent fixture on his face.

  My best friend is the happiest he’s ever been.

  Married to the woman of his dreams. The apple of his fucking eye.

  And I’m a miserable bastard who can’t stop sneaking glances at his little sister.

  Right now, she stands beside her dad while he talks animatedly to Sadie’s father, John.

  Beers clutched in their hands and with rosy, alcohol-tinted cheeks, the two men are laughing like hyenas, but Maybe is just…kind of standing there, her lips locked in a firm line.

  I get the sense that something is wrong, but fuck, it’s not my place to go ask her.

  She’s made it pretty damn clear she wants space from me.

  And more than that, this is Evan’s big day. This is the last place I should make some kind of scene and let him in on the secret that I’m in love with Maybe.

  Pretty sure the happiest day of his life would take a drastic turn from bliss to red-hot anger.

  That’s the last thing I want to do.
>
  Emory sits down beside me and sets two fresh slices of cake in front of us.

  “I have to say,” she says with a soft smile. “I was thankful for a night out without my little baby Hudson. It’s been fun, honestly, but I’m getting the vibe that all is not well in your world, cuz.”

  “I’m fine.” I shrug and lift a fork to take a bite of vanilla and chocolate.

  “Seriously,” she continues and locks her eyes with mine. “What’s going on?” she asks and quickly glances across the room at the one woman I’ve managed to keep track of the entire evening. “I know something is up, and call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure it has everything to do with that beautiful brunette over there.”

  What can I say to that?

  And fuck, am I that damn obvious?

  For a man who’s built a goddamn tech empire and prided himself on his poker face during important business meetings, I apparently can’t hide the way I look at her.

  She is the exception in all things for me.

  “Well…” I pause on a sigh. “It’s safe to say I got myself into the kind of situation I have no solution to.”

  “That’s bullshit, Milo. There’s always a solution.”

  I shake my head. “Not in this case.”

  “God, you really are a pathetic sack of sadness, huh?” she teases. “Do I need to get some tissues while you cry on my shoulder?”

  “You’ve always had a knack for being a sarcastic little brat, you know that?” I toss back. “Even when we were kids, you were nothing but trouble.”

  Emory smiles. “My husband wouldn’t hesitate to agree with you.”

  “No doubt, Quince deserves a medal of honor if you give him even half the shit you gave me when we were teenagers.”

  “It’s more, actually.”

  I laugh for the first time this night. “A Purple Heart, then.”

  “You’re such a dick.” Emory’s lips curl up as she finishes the last bite of her cake.

  “What do you say we head out of here?” I ask, and she quirks a brow. “I’m sure you’re ready to get back home to your family. No use spending the rest of the night with, what did you call me, a pathetic sack of sadness?”

  “Yep. Pretty sure that hits the nail on the head.” A soft laugh escapes her throat. “But are you sure you’re ready to leave? I have no problem hanging around for another hour or two. I mean, it’s been, like, a year since I’ve been able to drink alcohol. Surely, I can busy myself with another glass of wine and go make fun of Cap’s twerking skills for a bit.”

  I glance toward the dance floor to find Caplin Hawkins doing exactly that, and I shake my head on a laugh. “Yeah, let’s head out before he starts scaring Ev’s Grandma Lucille with hip thrusts.”

  Twerking always leads to hip thrusts where Cap’s concerned.

  I help Emory out of her chair, and once we say our goodbyes to Sadie the dancing queen and her swoony-eyed groom, we head out of the main reception room and into the lobby area. Emory takes our tickets to the coat check to grab her purse and my suit jacket, and I take a quick glance at my phone to find a missed text message from my mom.

  Mom: God, I hate that your father and I missed Evan’s wedding today, but please give him our congratulations and tell him we’ll make it up to him with a visit to Austin soon.

  With the last-minute date finalization, my parents weren’t able to cancel the Alaskan cruise they booked over a year ago. If Evan has reassured my mom once, he’s done it a hundred times since he and Sadie set the date. Thankfully, he eased her guilt enough that she didn’t do something drastic like cancel the non-refundable, “it’s been on our bucket list forever” trip.

  Just as I lift my fingers to send a quick message back, something catches my eye, and I look up to see Maybe moving quickly out of the main reception room doors, and her hand is over her mouth.

  “Maybe? What’s wrong?” I call toward her, but she doesn’t stop.

  Instead, she damn near sprints toward the bathroom.

  Emory meets my eyes and doesn’t hesitate to toss her purse and my suit jacket my way and follow Maybe’s path at a jog. “I’ll go see if she’s okay.”

  I follow their lead and wait outside the bathroom doors.

  Not even two minutes later, Emory shoves open the door with wide, panicked eyes, and my stomach falls.

  “Is she okay?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

  “I don’t fucking know, Milo!” My cousin gestures me toward her, and I don’t think twice about walking inside the women’s restroom.

  I find Maybe in the fetal position by one of the stalls, and my heart falls to my feet.

  Sweat-drenched and clammy-skinned, she looks terrible. Her eyes are closed tight in discomfort, and she groans as she keeps her arm firmly across to her stomach.

  “God, Maybe.” I kneel down beside her and brush the wet locks of hair out of her eyes. “Are you sick? What’s going on?”

  “It hurts so bad,” she barely mutters above a whisper. “S-something doesn’t feel right.”

  She tries to move from her current position, but the instant she slides her arm away from her belly and lifts her head, she squeaks out in pain and proceeds to curl back up into a ball.

  “I’m really worried, Milo,” Emory whispers and leans down toward Maybe to brush a reassuring hand over her damp hair. “She doesn’t look good at all.”

  Panic and adrenaline race through my veins.

  “We need to get her to the emergency room.”

  It takes me all of two seconds to reach down and pull her into my arms. She groans with the movement but curls herself tighter into my body. And I swallow down my fear and focus on the one woman who is and always will be my priority.

  With a soft kiss to her forehead, I carry her out of the bathroom while Emory holds the door for us.

  “I got you, kid.”

  When I carry her into St. Luke’s emergency room, the nurse behind the reception desk takes one look at a groaning Maybe in my arms and dives straight into action, leading us back to a room and calling for the doctor.

  I lay Maybe down on the gurney, and three nurses turn into a blur of checking her vitals, removing her dress, putting her into a hospital gown, starting an IV, and drawing blood.

  And my girl just lies there, curled up in a sweaty little ball, completely oblivious to what is happening around her.

  She barely has the strength to answer their questions.

  “Where were you tonight?”

  “My brother’s wedding reception.”

  “Did you consume alcohol?”

  “One glass of wine.”

  “Are you pregnant? Or is there a chance you could be pregnant?”

  “I’m a virgin.”

  “How long have you had this pain?”

  “A week or so.”

  She’s had this pain for a week and didn’t tell anyone about it?

  If I weren’t so damn worried about her, I might be tempted to spank her stubborn ass.

  “Milo,” she whispers, and I step toward her and grasp her petite hand in mine.

  “I’m right here, kid.”

  “I’m scared,” she says softly, and I reach out to gently brush my fingers through her hair.

  “I promise it’s going to be okay. You’re in good hands.”

  Fuck, it better be okay. I couldn’t survive if something happened to you.

  “S-stay with me?” she asks, and those big brown eyes of hers latch on to mine.

  My heart clenches and I have the sudden urge to lean down and kiss her lips, but I swallow it back and find my comforting voice. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

  A man steps into the room and introduces himself as Dr. Scott Shepard.

  “I’m just going to take a look, okay?” he softly instructs, and Maybe nods. “But I need you to lie flat on your back. I know it’s not going to be comfortable, but it’s important.”

  Maybe groans but
does as she’s told, turning onto her back.

  More pain contorts her face, but she forces herself to breathe through it.

  And Dr. Shepard gently feels around on her abdomen until he apparently finds what he needs.

  “Carrie.” He grabs the attention of the nurse standing at the foot of Maybe’s bed. “Go ahead and let the OR team know we’re probably going to need a room and get an ultrasound machine in here.”

  The OR team?

  “What’s going on?” I ask the doctor as Carrie moves out of the room.

  “I can’t be sure without an ultrasound, but I’m hoping we’re just dealing with a bad case of appendicitis.”

  “You’re hoping it’s that?” I question. “And what exactly are you not hoping for?”

  “A ruptured appendix.”

  The ultrasound machine is pushed into the room, and Dr. Shepard makes quick work of pulling up the bedsheets to cover Maybe’s waist while sliding her hospital gown up to reveal her abdomen.

  A nurse squirts gel on her belly and hands the doc a small device that he places on her skin.

  Two minutes later, whatever he sees has him moving into action.

  “Tell the OR team we’re heading their way,” he says and slides off his white lab coat. “Are you her husband?”

  “Uh…” I wish. For some strange reason, I respond with, “I’m her boyfriend.”

  “Well, I am going to take her back for emergency surgery. It’s definitely appendicitis, but there is so much swelling in her abdomen, I can’t be sure if it’s ruptured or just very damn close to rupturing. I won’t know until I get inside.”

  “Go ahead and start the protocol, Sandy,” he instructs the nurse holding Maybe’s chart. “I want a dose of antibiotics in before we start.”

  My heart drops into my damn shoes.

  “And if it has ruptured?”

  “Let’s just wait and see what we find, okay?” he responds. “I’m going to have Carrie take you back to the waiting room, and as soon we know what’s going on, I’ll have someone come out and update you.”

  I barely have the chance to kiss her forehead before they wheel her out of the room and down the hall.

  Fuck.

  By the time I step back into the waiting room, I’m a mess. Pacing the floor and running my hands through my hair, I’ve never felt so helpless in my entire goddamn life.