My Bossy Protector: A Best Friend’s Brother Romance

by Charlize Starr

  It’s been almost five years since Michelle died, and I’ve spent a lot more time telling myself it’s been okay than it actually has been. I’ve worked harder, nearly doubling my fortune while expanding the company. I’ve taken out countless beautiful women and told myself I’ve been enjoying every moment of it. Lately, I’ve been thinking it’s not true because I’m not happy. I’ve been using work and sex to fill how fucking lonely and bored I’ve been since Michelle died, and it’s making me miserable.

  I don’t think it’s good for me, or David, to stay here any longer. He needs to see people who aren’t just me and the few nannies he’s had. He needs a father who is thinking clearly. I don’t know if going home will help or if it will actually make me any happier, but I feel like I’ve hit a wall and I need to do something. I feel like if I stay here, I’ll keep doing the same things: bringing women to bars and hotel rooms, throwing myself into work. No amount of money in the bank or nights of incredible sex have helped me at all.

  “They’re far away no matter where you are, though, right? So I guess it wouldn’t make a difference to them,” Todd says, bringing me out of my thoughts. I haven’t told anyone about any of my reasons for moving home – the reasons that have nothing to do with David – and I don’t plan to. David is reason enough.

  “And I have family who can’t wait to spoil him,” I say, smirking, thinking of the pictures my mom has already sent of things she’s bought him.

  “How much more spoiled can the only child of a billionaire be?” Todd asks.

  “You’d be surprised,” I say. In my office, a mover picks up the last box and carries it out. The office is empty now, and I’m glad. I’m ready. It’s time to go home.

  Chapter Three - Brooke

  Lately, I haven’t had enough to do at work to keep me busy – at least busy enough to not spend all day worrying about other things. The scheduling software has become so second nature that I can use it without really thinking. Adding in new client information or staff availability only takes me a few minutes at a time. It’s always been fairly easy work for me, but the longer I’m here, the more it barely feels like I’m putting an effort in at all.

  The only complications really occur when my immediate supervisor, Anne, makes it a point to hover over me, telling me things she’s sure I’m doing wrong or she would do differently, as well as all the things I should do for her. I mostly try to tune her out. Anne is a woman her fifties with a pinched sort of look on her face all the time. She spends half her days taking calls from her kids. If I really wanted to start trouble, I would point out to her (or, better yet, her boss) that if she spent less of her day bothering me and talking to her college-aged son about what he ate for breakfast, productivity would shoot way up. I’ve been tempted, especially at times when she’s made passive-aggressive comments about my outfits or criticized how I spoke to a customer over the phone, but I probably never will. I have enough conflict in my life right now that I don’t need to make waves at work.

  Anne’s on the phone right now with one of her younger kids, and I can hear concerns about summer camp and bug spray drifting into my cubicle no matter how hard I try to not listen. I check my own cell phone, frowning at the two missed calls from Jeff on it. At least he doesn’t call me at my work number. Yet, anyway. But the calls to my cell phone and his appearances at places he knows I’ll be are getting a lot more frequent.

  I had honestly thought, at first, that maybe he’d get over it and give up after a few weeks. Jeff has never had much of an attention span or any real ambition. But for some reason, this seems to be the one thing he’s actually decided to follow through on. He’s certainly more dedicated to it than he ever was to our relationship.

  I’m not sure how to make him stop. The fifty thousand dollars he wants to keep his mouth shut is more money than I could ever possibly get. It’s more money than I make in an entire year, and the idea of having it to just hand over to Jeff feels impossible. I have to do something, though. Keeping Jeff quiet is the only way I can ensure Autumn stays safe. There has to be an option, a way to make Jeff forget about all of this, that I just haven’t seen yet. I know I will. I have to.

  I shake my head and put my phone away. I don’t want to think about Jeff right now. I can’t. I can’t spin myself in those circles. I enter some client data in a spreadsheet and try to push thoughts of Jeff out of my mind. I wonder if Anthony is back in town yet, and if he is, how long it will be before I see him. I wonder what he looks like, what he acts like, what kind of person he is now. I have a hard time believing he’s changed much, but I also have a hard time thinking of the boy I once knew as a billionaire with a kid. Maybe we wouldn’t get along at all now. Maybe he’s become a totally different person. Maybe I’ll run into him and we’ll have nothing to say to each other. Maybe seeing him again will be awkward and make me sad for what once was.

  But maybe it won’t. Maybe Anthony will still be Anthony, and I’ll have the best friend I’ve ever had back in my life. I could really, really use a friend right now. I smile, thinking about all time we spent together. All the nights it felt like we were on the brink of being something more, of kissing, of saying what we felt out loud. I thought so many times that it wasn’t just me that both of us felt it, but I didn’t want to be the one to say it – to cross that line. Keeping our friendship intact had felt like the most important thing in the world at the time.

  I wonder if he remembers as much as I do . . . If he’s thought of me from time to time during his busy life in New York. I wonder if he remembers our marriage pledge . . . If he ever thinks of it and laughs at how naive and hopeful it had been . . . If he thinks of it and smiles at how important we’d once been to each other.

  ***

  I can see that day in my head like a photograph, crystal clear and sharp. We’d gone to prom together – as friends – and had a fantastic time. We’d danced and laughed and talked all night, sipping on the warm wine we’d snuck in until we were buzzed, our heads swimming with the alcohol and the adrenaline of the evening. At a friend’s after-party bonfire, we’d stolen away, just the two of us, wine in tow.

  “This was really fun,” I had said. My hair was in tight pins and curls piled on my head and my face was still heavy with makeup. My feet ached from dancing in heels all day, and I was happy. Really and honestly happy.

  “I always have fun with you,” he’d said with a grin. He was still wearing his tuxedo pants, and even if his jacket and tie were long discarded, I’d thought he looked incredibly handsome.

  “We’re a good team,” I’d said, drinking more wine and grinning.

  “I think this is a lesson,” Anthony had said, smiling back.

  “How so?” I’d asked.

  “Well, we didn’t have dates for prom, so we took each other and it was a great night,” he’d said, looking thoughtful and reaching for his backpack.

  “We probably had a better time than if we’d gone with dates,” I’d said truthfully. I couldn’t imagine having more fun with anyone else than I’d had with Anthony.

  “So, what if . . . ” he’d said, stopping and laughing, drinking more wine. “What if we agree to – if we don’t find other people to marry – what if we agreed to marry each other?”

  “Marriage is more serious than prom,” I’d said, even though my heart was racing. Secretly, even then, part of me thought I could never have more fun with anyone but Anthony because he was the one for me.

  “It is, so we’d need to make it official,” he’d said, pulling a notebook and a pen out of his bag. “We need a contract.”

  “Seriously?” I’d said, laughing. I was nodding, though, thinking it made sense. That it was a good thing to promise.

  “Seriously, if we’re not married by the time we’re, say . . . thirty? Then we’ll marry each other,” he’d said, catching my eyes and grinning broadly. I’d taken another long drink of wine, laughing.

  “You’re going to go to college and meet, like, fifty hot girls a week. They
’ll be lined up to marry you,” I’d said.

  “And some super charming, rich, and devastatingly handsome guy, is going to sweep you off your feet, but,” he’d said, putting a hand on my arm, “just in case.”

  “Just in case,” I’d echoed, turning the idea over in my mind. Maybe that was part of what having a best friend was, I’d thought. Someone to keep you from being lonely. Thirty had sounded awfully far away, and I couldn’t imagine what my life would look like then, but I liked the idea of Anthony still being in it.

  “Are you in? Will you marry me? . . . If neither of us is married by the time we’re thirty?” Anthony had asked.

  “Let’s do it,” I’d said, laughing again and leaning in to kiss his cheek.

  “Perfect. Okay, so we need to make it official,” he’d said. He opened his notebook and started to write out a contract, detailing the arrangement we’d just made. He signed it and then passed it to me. I’d signed it, warm wine still making me dizzy and the far-off sounds of our classmates’ conversations drifting over the night air.

  “Wait, I have an idea,” I’d said. I reached into the pockets of my jeans and pulled out a safety pin, one of the ones that had been tucked into the fabric of my prom dress – the only kind of custom alteration I could afford. I’d opened the pin and smiled at him.

  “What’s that for?” he’d asked.

  “To make it more official, a blood contract,” I’d said, taking the tip of the needle and poking my finger, letting the blood form a drop and then sliding it over the contract where I had signed it like a double signature: a reassurance of how much this contract meant.

  “I love that,” he’d said, taking the pin I offered him and smiling broadly as he pricked his own finger, following my motions and tracing his signature in blood.

  “Now we have to do it,” I’d said.

  “We absolutely do,” he’d said. “This is binding.”

  I’d leaned into him, sitting close, so sure in that moment that we’d still be in each other’s lives twelve years later that nothing would stop us from making the contract real if we needed to.

  ***

  Now I shake my head, a few months from turning thirty, at how wrong I’d been. This is not where I thought I’d be at thirty. Not what I wanted for myself. Maybe, with Anthony coming back, I’d be able to get some of that magic back. I could feel a little bit more like the person I used to be. Like myself.

  After work, I go looking through my closet for a box. It’s one I haven’t looked at in years, but one I’d always kept with me, filled with memories and things from my friendship with Anthony. I find it and pull out the contract. I’d taken it home that night. Anthony had insisted it would be safer to me. Aside from some places where the paper has worn away a little, thinned from our blood and wrinkled from the night air, it is in perfect condition. It looks so much like it had the day we’d signed it.

  I know it is probably ridiculous, but I leave it out. Just in case Anthony and I do become friends again. I think it might be funny – something we could laugh about. A sight to see after all this time.

  Chapter Four - Anthony

  I’ve always wanted to live in this house. Growing up, it was the biggest house I’d ever seen, and I used to think about what it would be like to live here. I wondered what the rooms looked like, what it would be like to be someone who could afford that much for themselves. When I’d heard it was up for sale, it had felt like a sign: now really was the right time to move back home. It’s mine now, the largest house inside the town limits, sprawling and grand and even better than I’d once imagined.

  Of course, as a little boy in rural Alabama, I hadn’t really known anything about luxury. Nothing about what made some furniture better than other furniture, about lighting or room composition or marble tiling. I understood all of these things now. I’d been in so many beautiful homes in New York – the apartment David and I had just left was one of them – but none of them matched the class and elegance of this house. I was thrilled to be living here, to put all my sleek modern furniture against its walls and fill its rooms with things for David and myself.

  There are several rooms I want to be dedicated to him. I want him to have space to grow and learn and explore. I’m already planning on redoing the backyard next summer and putting in an elaborate playscape for him. I want every detail to be perfect when I do. I want every detail to be perfect in every inch of the house. I’m really hoping this can be a permanent change. I’ve made more money than I ever imagined by telling other people how to run their businesses. I grew my firm from the ground up. I made numerous hot-under-thirty mover-and-shaker lists. I’ve been on the cover of magazines. I’ve given talks at colleges about making one’s own success. Now, taking a step back feels like the right thing.

  I’ll still be at the helm, and I can take video calls and work from the elaborate home office I’m planning, but I’m really looking forward to not being in the office – and the limelight – every day. I’ve been using work as an escape, and I’m hoping that by being home, I won’t feel like I need to escape anything anymore.

  I take David to stay at my parent’s house for a bit, and I take a long walk through town. I want to reacquaint myself with these streets, these sights that were once so familiar. I walk past the little store I used to shop in, the playgrounds and the benches, the fountain in the center of town that only operates on weekends, the handful of restaurants and bars that dot the streets forming the main business district. I remember being a kid and biking past these places. Most of them look exactly the same. Catching my own reflection in the windows, for a moment, I can almost see myself as that skinny kid with no idea of what life would bring.

  I head toward the high school, not able to think of myself as that kid without thinking about my best friend back then, Brooke, and wondering how she is. I think she still lives in town, but I don’t know much other than that. I’ve known a lot of people in my life and I’ve had a lot of friends in New York, but I still think about Brooke often. I never felt anything quite like the friendship we’d had with each other again. In high school, I’d been pretty sure I was in love with her, but I’d never said anything. I sometimes wondered what would have happened if I had, or even what would have happened if we’d stayed in touch.

  The high school looks exactly the same, just like everything does. I find myself wondering if Brooke still looks the same – if she’s still as pretty as last time I had seen her, hugging her tight and promising we’d always be best friends. I wonder when I’ll see her. If she is still in town, it’s inevitable that I’ll run into her soon. It’s small and quiet here. You run into everyone all the time.

  I head to the grocery store, wanting to grab a few things before I pick up David. It’s smaller than I remember, and the food choices seem sparse compared to all of New York’s options, but it makes me smile anyway. I walk the aisles and see a few people give me a once-over before their eyes light up with recognition. None of them come over, but I’m sure they’ll all be talking about how I really am home and standing in the grocery store in a shirt that costs more than my first car had. Gossip has always traveled fast here.

  Rounding the corner to the frozen food, my eyes hang on the figure of a woman bending down, reaching for ice cream. It’s hard to look away, given her perfect curves and amazing ass. She’s exceptional, even considering all the beautiful women I’ve been surrounded by for years. The woman straightens and turns her head toward me. I freeze for a second. Because it’s Brooke. My Brooke. My best friend. The person I was closest with in the world as a teenager. She looks incredible. She’s more than pretty now. She’s grown up to be stunning, and I catch myself staring.

  She stares back like she can’t quite believe it’s me either. I swallow, taking in all of her. Her features are sharper, more defined. Her eyes are wide, and though tired, they’re gorgeous. For what feels like too long, we just look at each other in the frozen foods aisle, neither of us talking.

  “Hi,”
I finally manage.

  “Hi,” she says back. Her voice sounds the same, and it brings back a rush of memories all at once, overwhelming me. I still don’t know what to say.

  “You’re . . . ”I stop and shake my head, feeling stupid. “I have to get this food home,” I stammer, turning and almost running out of the store.

  It’s not the smoothest move – in fact, it’s absurd and unlike me – but it’s all I can manage at the moment. Suddenly, all I can think about is Brooke. I hadn’t known seeing her would affect me like that, but it’s like she’s the only channel in my brain. And all we said to each other was hello.

  Chapter Five - Brooke

  There are twenty – fucking twenty – missed calls on my phone. I’m ready to throw it against the wall. They’re all from Jeff, and several of them come with threatening messages.

  “If I’m not fifty grand richer real soon, you’ll be in jail. Think carefully about what you do next. I won’t hesitate to tell the cops what you did,” one of them says. Like I don’t know that. Like he hasn’t told me that over and over again. I still can’t believe he’s still threatening and stalking me like this. He had been a terrible boyfriend, but I had no idea he was this much of a lowlife.

  I wish I had never met him or agreed to go out with him. Why I’d ever thought it could work, I have no idea. Jeff had seemed like fun at first. Like maybe he could bring some excitement into my previously dull life. He’d approached me at a bar, bought me several drinks, and he’d made me laugh. I’d thought he was charming and funny, that his recklessness was a good thing. A sexy sort of boldness. I’d been wrong.

  What started as a whirlwind of spur-of-the-moment dates where we drove across the state line to find little tourist spots he’d read about, or late night drives on his motorcycle, or showing up at my job with ridiculous cheap gifts that had made me smile, had quickly turned sour. He’d go days without texting back or answering the phone. I’d had no idea where he was. He’d show up in foul tempers, yelling at store clerks and waitresses when we were out. He’d be drunk in the middle of the day, visiting me at work reeking of cigarettes and beer. He’d been demanding of my time and energy, getting angry when he’d show up out of nowhere and I had plans with other people. We’d gone to a party at Autumn’s apartment and he’d broken her kitchen table attempting some stupid stunt. He’d even tried to get me to go on the run with him but wouldn’t tell me what he, or we, would have been running from.