The Billionaire’s Forbidden Little Sister

by Monroe, Max

  Prior to him, I was on a man ban. And prior to the man ban, the longest relationship I’d ever had started in the spring and was done before fucking summer.

  Tongue-tied and chest now tight with anxiety, I stare down at the notebook in my hands. “Uh…”

  “The mere thought of labeling this is making you uncomfortable, isn’t it?” His voice holds nothing but patience, but I’m still unable to look him in the eye.

  “Maybe a little.” I shrug, staring down at the blank page of my notebook. “I’ve just never really been good at the whole relationship, boyfriend-girlfriend thing.”

  “Okay,” Theo starts, and he slides his fingers under my chin to bring my gaze to his. “How about we avoid the use of labels until we get to know each other and figure out what this even is?”

  “No labels?”

  He nods and then taps the blank page in my notebook with his index finger. “Sounds like rule number one to me.”

  Pen to the paper, I write it down.

  Rule Number One: No Labels. Put down the Cricut, Debra. We don’t need your vinyl.

  When my eyes scan the words I just wrote, relief fills my chest, but a second later, the inklings of disappointment float around inside my belly.

  It’s confusing.

  “And rule number two,” he adds. “We don’t hold back on the personal stuff. If you’ve got a stash of old photos in your top left-hand drawer, I want to know about them.” He waggles his brows. “Especially if they’re nudes.”

  “Deal.” I nod and write it down. And then, just because, I add another rule to the list.

  Rule Number Three: Lots of sex.

  He smirks like the devil. “Love where your head’s at.”

  “Figured you’d like that one.” I snort and add two more to the list.

  Rule Number Four: This stays top secret. Just between us. More secure than the Pentagon.

  Rule Number Five: No friendshipping with anyone else.

  I know we both know what number four really means—don’t tell Cap.

  But I tap my pen toward number five and flash him a pointed look.

  I might have a shitty track record with long-term commitment, but I sure as fuck am not the type of girl to sleep with more than one guy at a time.

  “Lena, I’ve never been averse to monogamy,” he says without hesitation. “With my insane work schedule, I barely had time for friendshipping as it was. Plus—” he taps my nose “—if I’m friendshipping you, I don’t want to be friendshipping anyone else.”

  Suddenly, I am the Grinch, my heart growing three sizes in my chest.

  But I simply brush it off and busy myself with jotting down another rule.

  One that is incredibly important to me.

  Rule Number Six: Work and internships are always priority number one.

  Theo reads it and meets my eyes. “Lena, I can assure you that I’m the exact type of guy who understands this rule. And I promise you, I will never make you choose.”

  A breath I didn’t realize I was holding jumps from my chest.

  “Were you worried about that?” he asks, and I don’t really know what to say.

  “I think, maybe, I was…?”

  “Your internship, your career, it’s important to you, isn’t it?”

  “It feels like one of the most important things I’ve ever done for myself. And one of the only things I’m so close to finally getting right.”

  He searches my eyes for a long moment. “For someone so confident, so worthy of being confident and proud of herself, that’s kind of a self-deprecating thing to say.”

  “I’m a complicated girl, Theo,” I try to laugh it off, but he’s having none of it.

  “Why don’t you think you’ve gotten anything right?”

  “Well, I kind of have a track record for being indecisive. And incredibly impulsive,” I say, staring down at the notebook in my lap. I wheeze a laugh. “Hence almost having sex during my best friend’s party tonight.” Normally, this is the point in the conversation where I’d change the subject, but there’s just something about Theo, about this moment, that makes me want to open up to him.

  So, I look back up at him, and I do.

  “And even though my father and brother are insanely supportive, my mother…Vicky…well, she’s what some…okay, all might call scrutinizing and judgmental.” My fingers fiddle with the edge of the notebook paper. “I’ve never really been her favorite kid, if you know what I mean. Truthfully, I’ve always been more of a constant disappointment and irritation to her than anything else.”

  “That’s fucking sad,” he mutters on a sigh. “I hope you know, if your mom is that way with you, that says everything about her. Not you.”

  I let his words sink in for a long moment as I try to comprehend if there’s truth in them, but the complexities of Vicky’s and my rocky relationship and the sudden seriousness of this conversation is making me feel claustrophobic.

  “Can we…uh…continue this conversation another time?”

  A soft smile touches his mouth. “Getting a little too deep, huh?”

  “Uh…yeah.” A surprised laugh hops from my throat. “I’d prefer to keep things light and airy for the duration of the evening, please and thank you.”

  He chuckles at that. “Consider us easy-fucking-breezy from here on out. Well…after one last rule.”

  “Have at it.” I hand him the pen and stare down at the page as he jots something down.

  Rule Number Seven: Even if the truth hurts, no lies to each other.

  “We don’t need to elaborate on this now, but I like that you told me when things got too uncomfortable for you, and I want to keep it that way,” he says and sets the pen down on top of the notebook. “Tell me you know I’m a safe space, and we can get back to our regularly scheduled programming of easy-fucking-breezy.”

  “Okay. You’re a safe space.” I smile, and he smiles right back.

  And with no pressure, no deep questions, no heavy conversation, Theo really does just leave it at that.

  God, this man, he really is kind of wonderful.

  Theo

  “I swear to God, you need to leave.”

  I look up from the screen of my desktop and find Carey standing at the threshold of my office. The sun has set, and the only light inside the room comes from the glare of the computer and the lamp on my mahogany desk.

  One quick glance at the time confirms it’s just a little after seven.

  Shit. I didn’t realize it was this late.

  “You.” He points to me, and then he gestures his thumb over his shoulder. “Go. Now. Or else.”

  “Or else what?”

  “Or else I will strangle you and your insane friends.”

  I smirk, already knowing full well what’s caused his sudden need to get me out of here. “Who called this time?”

  “Who hasn’t called?” he retorts and waves both hands in the air like he’s all of a sudden taken a liking to air traffic control. “Thatcher…Caplin…even Wes… I’m done with fielding your calls.”

  I tilt my head to the side and squint my eyes. “But isn’t that sort of your job?”

  “Work calls are my job. Not calls about your little book club. And, speaking of book club, y’all need to have a come to Jesus talk with Thatcher. I know that big bastard has chosen the last two picks, and I can only handle so much fucking cheese before it turns me lactose intolerant.”

  “So, I take it you didn’t like the book?”

  “Are you really asking me that right now?” He quirks one perfectly sculpted eyebrow and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “Did you even read my notes?”

  “I…skimmed them.”

  Truthfully, I opened his email this morning, but when I saw the length of his wordy notes, I clicked right out of that fucker and decided I’d give it another go later.

  Obviously, another go never came.

  But with the way the members of book club never seem to stay on topic for more than twenty seconds at
a time, I figure I can bullshit my way through this one without anyone really catching on.

  “You skimmed them?” he repeats on an exasperated sigh. “I skipped Real Housewives trivia last night at Bar Social so I could finish that damn book, and you just skimmed the notes that stole two fucking hours of my life?”

  “Well…you do have a tendency to ramble, Care…” I pause and shrug.

  But before he can respond with what is most likely a smartass retort accompanied by jazz hands, the phone on his desk starts ringing.

  “Oh hell,” he mutters on a sigh and shakes his head. “Yeah. Okay. I’ve had enough. Your time here is up, Bossman.” He points toward the hallway again. “Because I swear on Barbra Streisand’s performance in Hello, Dolly, I cannot field another Gossip Girl-style call from your romance-book-loving buddies without breaking something.”

  “But I thought you loved Gossip Girl?”

  “I do love Gossip Girl, but I hate your friends,” he corrects.

  “Hate is such a strong word, Care.”

  “Yes. And it is the exact right word for this situation.” He runs a hand through his perfectly coiffed hair. “If you don’t step away from your desk and head to Thatcher Kelly’s apartment in the next five minutes, I’m going to invite half of the Kinky Boots Broadway cast over here to make you insanely uncomfortable.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Try me,” he challenges with a little raise of his brow. “I’ll have ten boisterous gays obsessed with Liza Minnelli here in less than an hour. Broadway tunes and kinky fucking boots will be all up in this joint.”

  I’m tempted to call his bluff, but hell, Carey Matthews isn’t one to bullshit.

  And considering his husband Bill is a Broadway choreographer, I know he has the right connections to bring his threats to fruition.

  “Fine,” I mutter, click the mouse to send an important email his way, and dramatically lift my hands away from my keyboard. “But I’m expecting you to review that email I just sent you and make sure everyone on the board is in the loop regarding merchandising plans for Paris and Venice.”

  “Consider it done,” he says and then pointedly gestures over his shoulder again. “Now, get out of here before I have to hire a hit man to kill off your idiot friends.”

  I laugh at that as I stand up from my chair, toss on my jacket, and slip my cell phone, wallet, and keys into my pockets. “Damn, Care. You’re cutthroat.”

  “Oh, darling, you have no idea.” He grins wickedly. “Tyra Banks and those bitches on America’s Next Top Model ain’t got nothing on me.”

  For someone who calls me Bossman, he sure doesn’t hold back on the bossy.

  If only he weren’t so damn valuable around here, I might consider firing his dramatic ass.

  At eight o’clock on the dot, and thirty minutes late to the party, I arrive to another book club meeting.

  Of course, my fashionably tardy entrance doesn’t go unnoticed in this crowd. The only thing that’s ever gone unnoticed is Quincy’s silence, and I’m pretty sure that’s only because most of us—other than the big mouths, Thatch and Cap—are enjoying seeing how long it’ll last. Maybe I should start a pool with the rest of the group for when they think he’ll put a mannequin in his place at the table.

  I’m betting soon.

  “It’s about fluffing time!” Thatcher booms as I step into the cigar room turned poker room turned fucking book club room of his Manhattan penthouse.

  “Sorry to keep you all waiting, but you know, I was kind of busy with work.”

  “Like you’re the only one with a j-o-b.” Cap rolls his eyes as I sit down in an open chair beside Trent. “What the fuck ever, dude.”

  “Well, apparently, I’m the only one who understands that his j-o-b is slightly higher priority than book club.”

  “Get with the program, brother.” Cap points his finger toward me. “Book club nights are set in stone.”

  I don’t bother with a witty retort.

  Instead, I silently take my licks and cross my fingers that the punishment portion of tonight’s meeting will end if I keep my mouth shut.

  “Can we move this along?” Wes questions on a sigh. “I’d really like to get home and see Win before she goes to bed tonight.”

  Thatch grins. “A little trouble in the Lancaster house? Is Wes in the doghouse again?”

  Wes flips him off. “Tomorrow is her birthday, you bastard. And because I’m a good husband, I’d like to start the celebration off early.”

  Thatch starts to open his mouth again, most likely a sarcastic retort on the tip of his tongue, but Kline reaches over and slaps his palm across Thatch’s face and takes the floor.

  “So,” he says and glances down at the book sitting in front of him. “Love Turned Accidental Marriage,” he reads the title of what is apparently our current read out loud. “Let’s dive right in, shall we?”

  Surprisingly, Thatch goes right along with it, and Kline promptly removes his hand from the giant’s now smirking face.

  “Yes, Klinehole, let’s dive right in,” he agrees, looking around at the group. “Personally, I really loved how—”

  “Hold up!” Cap chimes in and stands up from his seat. “Since this book was shit, I’ve made the executive decision to move right along to our next book.”

  “What the fluff?” Thatch exclaims. “This book was gold! How couldn’t you love Shonda? Or the way she found herself falling for Thomas? They were motherfluffing meant to be from the start!”

  “Meh.” Cap waves him off. “It was cheesy, dude.”

  “It was an adorable rom-com, you motherfluffer!”

  My phone vibrates inside my jacket pocket, and I glance away from the two stooges to check my messages.

  Lena: Right now, I’m thinking about your cock and how GOOD it feels inside me.

  Jesus Christ. I choke on my tongue but try to make it look natural. It doesn’t work. Cap slaps me on the back in an effort to help me, and the reminder of who just sent me that text makes me start choking again.

  “What’s the deal, dude?” Thatch asks. “You try to deep-throat an invisible cock?”

  Cap dissolves into a fit of laughter while I hold up a single, meaningful finger. When my phone vibrates in my hand again with another message, I discreetly put my phone under the table, out of everyone’s view, and read her next text.

  I feel like a teenage boy hiding Playboys from his mom.

  But that doesn’t change the fact that her words don’t disappoint.

  Lena: My legs around your back, my tits in your mouth…mmm…doesn’t that sound nice, Theo?

  I run a hand through my hair and swallow hard as my dick jumps to life in my pants. Pants that are in a room full of big-mouthed, hyperfocused men with way too much of a tendency to peck someone to death like a pack of hens.

  God, this woman. She is going to get me in so much fucking trouble.

  I look away from my phone and see that Thatch and Cap are still bitching at each other and decide it’s temporarily safe for me to continue this conversation. It’s risky, but honestly, after the things she’s already said, there’s pretty much no chance of me stopping.

  Me: Nice isn’t the adjective I’d use to describe it…

  Lena: What adjective would you use?

  Me: Essential.

  Lena: I’m still at Loro’s studio but should be done by ten or so.

  Me: I see you’re taking rule number three seriously.

  Lena: VERY seriously. I’m a conscientious friendshipper. They’d give me a badge if they made one.

  Me: Sex Scouts of America?

  Lena: It’s a very exclusive organization.

  Me: I like their message. In fact, I’ll be happy to make a donation. Should I make it at my place or yours?

  Lena: Send me your address, Theo. And give your cock a pep talk. He wouldn’t believe the things I have planned…

  The things she has planned. Jesus.

  I don’t hesitate to send her my address, and j
ust as I start to type out another response, one that would let her know just how excited my cock is at her plans, someone saying my name out loud snaps my attention back to the room.

  “Yo, Theo?”

  I look up from my lap to find Cap glaring at me.

  Of all the people in this room, he is definitely not the one I want looking at me right now. Fuck.

  My heart pounds like a big-ass kick drum inside my chest.

  “What the fuck are you doing, man?” he asks, and I don’t miss the way his eyes peer toward the edge of the table, where messages I would not want him to see are located.

  Shit. Shit. Shit. Quick as I can, I tap out of my text inbox and lock the screen of my phone.

  “Just had to check an email,” I say, but my voice is all scratchy and weird.

  “Check an email?” he questions and nods toward me pointedly. “No one checks work emails and looks that fucking excited. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were making some Monday night booty call plans over there.”

  Ding! Ding! Ding! We have a winner! Tell him what he won, Theo! Well, it’s a best friend who is actually making Monday night booty call plans with his sister!

  Sweat starts to permeate my palms, and I swallow hard against the emotions that have formed a ball in my throat. Guilt. Horror. Paranoia. You name it, and it’s there.

  “I…uh…” I pause and clear my throat. “I like work.”

  I. Like. Work!?

  It’s like I’ve turned into a fucking caveman.

  Me Theo. You Cap. Theo like Lena. Lena Cap Sister.

  Cap kill Theo with club and rock.

  “You like work?” Cap narrows his eyes at my moronic-fucking-words, but before he can call me out, before he can start asking me questions I don’t want to answer because, no doubt, I will have to lie to him, Thatch diverts everyone’s attention by pounding his gavel on the table.

  “Order! Order in the book club!”

  Cap’s gaze moves away from me and back to the man with the gavel.