My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

Get it together, you bastard.

As Sam drops me at my building and I close myself into the solitude of my office, my neuroses over my best friend’s little sister become acutely more obvious. For the love of God, if I’m going to get anything done today, I need to shut down that section of my brain completely.

I glance down at my semi-hard cock and scold him too. Absolutely no more running through that kiss for the rest of the workday! I wouldn’t call his response compliant, but I push onward anyway.

Yes. I can do this. I can just think about work.

I glance at the clock on my desktop computer and see I have another thirty minutes before I need to be in the conference room to discuss the accounting discrepancy with Emily and ten other employees of the finance team.

I resign myself to my fate of catching up on late emails, but I only get through ten messages before my phone starts to ring. A FaceTime request from Cap.

Oh, here we go…

Normally, I might be surprised to hear from him so early on a Saturday. But after our encounter last night, I wouldn’t expect anything less. Caplin Hawkins is a shitstirrer of epic proportions, and I know from way too much experience, he isn’t going away if I ignore him.

Not after seeing me with Evan’s sister.

On a sigh, I accept the call on my desktop, and his big ole fucking head fills the screen. He’s looking down and tapping out something, and before I know it, Thatcher Kelly is there too, smiling back at me.

Fucking hell. It’s the whole goon squad.

“Oh man! Is that the office I see behind you?” Cap exclaims. “And here I thought you might’ve come to your senses and learned that Saturdays are meant for relaxing.”

“I told you he’d be in the office,” Thatch chimes in. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?”

“You two are so cute, bickering like an old married couple. Is your anniversary coming up? I’ll have my assistant send a gift,” I retort.

Cap gives me the finger, and Thatch, the crazy giant, smiles. “Like Cassie would share all of this—” He runs his hands down his body in a horrendous display of eroticism. “With just anyone. She needs a twelve-inch, trick-performing, light-saber-powerful cock to even consider it.”

Cap laughs hysterically, and I cover my eyes. Dear God, “To what do I owe this horrible occasion of video-chatting with you?”

Cap’s laugh turns to wolflike. “Well, I was having a nice Saturday chat with Thatch and telling him how I saw you last night at Daphne Ares’s party…”

My pulse races in my throat as I gear up for the shit I know is coming.

“And needless to say, we both decided it was the perfect time to call and catch up with the devil himself.”

Thatch nods. “And here we thought you’d all but given up on having a social life.”

“Yeah, buddy,” Cap adds with an annoying smirk. “What’s going on? Mind clueing us in on what changed your old-man ways?”

Old man. That’s the second time I’ve heard that in the past twenty-four hours, and of course, the sheer mention of it makes me think about Maybe and our kiss…again.

My chest tightens with the unease of a man who knows he’s in the wrong, but Thatch keeps right on talking as though there isn’t a vise closing in on me every second. “Is it the summer air? A new diet? Or, maybe, just maybe, the motherfluffing girl I knew you were already lusting after!”

“All right, you assholes. No need to spell it out any further,” I respond on a heavy sigh. Having to deal with my conscience is bad enough. Being interrogated by Thing 1 and Thing 2 is just plain cruel. “I thought you’d shaken your Gossip Girl addiction, Cap.”

No doubt he’s spent the early part of his morning gabbing like a damn drama queen.

“Now, now, there’s no need to bring Gossip Girl into this,” he snaps. “If I hear you talking bad about my girls Blair and Serena, consider our friendship over.”

I roll my eyes and Thatch chuckles.

“I’m a Vampire Diaries man myself,” Thatch comments insanely. “But let’s not stray from the important shit.”

“You’re right, dude.” Cap nods. “And the important shit is that our good friend Milo here is playing with fucking fire.”

“I am not playing with fire.”

I am. I most certainly am. But sometimes denial is just a hell of a lot easier than facing reality head on.

“You’re so full of shit, and we all know it.” Cap eyes me shrewdly. “You, the man who loathes socialite parties, were at one. Last night. With a girl who just so happens to be our good buddy’s little sister.”

I start to open my mouth to try to explain, but apparently, he hasn’t hit his fucking word count for the conversation yet.