My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

And once I step inside the cold, red-and-green décor of the restroom, I lock myself in one of the stalls and try to catch my breath.

Jesus. I’m so confused.

Before I can stop myself, I pull out my phone and look at the last text Milo sent.

One week ago.

Milo: I heard you got the job at Beacon. I’m proud of you, kid. You deserve it. You deserve everything you want and more.

I never responded.

I wanted to respond so many times, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Not after how things ended that night at my apartment.

Is there more to this than I realized?

God, don’t be stupid, Maybe. Don’t be some stupid, hopeful romantic who can’t distinguish reality from fantasy

Just because I’m still in love with him doesn’t mean I should put myself through any more pain. And it sure as shit doesn’t mean I should talk myself into being hopeful when there is literally no hope to be found.

All of that hope was already snuffed out with two fucking words—I can’t.

Milo

It is July 13th. Evan and Sadie’s wedding day.

The day my best friend will say “I do.”

The morning was spent fitting in a round of golf with Ev and the rest of the groomsmen. And the afternoon flew by as we checked in to the W Hotel in Union Square and got ready in the rooms we booked for the afternoon.

We’re wearing black, fitted tuxes with white dress shirts and black bow ties; Sadie has chosen a simple yet classic style to signify her wedding. Personally, I’m thankful and not opposed in the slightest.

And once the clock strikes five, all of us men offer Evan good luck and early congratulations and head downstairs for the six o’clock ceremony.

I ride in the elevator with the rest of the group, but I take a quick detour once we reach the first floor. Stopping in the lobby, I say hello to my cousin Emory—my date for the evening. She’s all smiles and chatting up a storm, alternating between thanking me for letting her crash the wedding and letting me know how much she needed this night out.

“Seriously, Milo,” she says. “This wedding is a godsend.”

Just over two months after having her daughter, Hudson, it’s more than apparent that a night to herself was in dire demand for my favorite cousin. Even her husband Quince was on board with the plan, going above and beyond to make sure Em didn’t have to worry about anything besides enjoying herself.

“I’m glad you came,” I respond with a smile. “Well, let me rephrase, I’m glad you made me invite you and that you went ahead and accepted the forced invite.”

“Shut up.” She smacks me on the shoulder on a laugh. “And you’re welcome.”

All is going well until I spot the bride and her wedding party filing into the hotel lobby.

To be specific, all is going well until I spot Maybe.

Her long locks are up in a sleek and sophisticated bun, elongating the beautiful lines of her neck. Her dress is a pale pink and only seems to flatter and accentuate her curves. And a pretty bouquet of white flowers sits inside the grasp of her fingers.

She looks…stunning. But, to me, she always looks stunning.

She meets my eyes from across the expansive lobby, and it takes no time at all before she averts her gaze and looks at anything and everything but me.

I don’t know what’s worse. Whether she can’t look at me, or that she just refuses to.

Both options make me cringe.

“Well, I guess I better get inside so you can go back with the bridal party,” Emory says, pulling my attention back to her. “See you after the ceremony?”

“Definitely.” I nod and step forward to give her a gentle hug. “And thanks again for coming.”

She grins up at me. “See, I knew you’d eventually be grateful I invited myself.”

A soft chuckle leaves my lips. “Whatever makes you feel better, cuz.”

Em discreetly flips me the bird before turning on her heels and heading into the main entrance of the ballroom where the ceremony is being held.

And I resign myself to my fate. Walking Maybe down the aisle at my best friend’s—her brother’s—wedding.

Talk about a fucking mouthful.

When I reach the rest of the wedding party in a hidden corridor away from the main entrance, Margo—the wedding planner—waves me toward her. “I need the best man right here!” she exclaims and just kind of bounces around on her heels. “Two minutes, people! I repeat, we have two minutes before we begin!”

Damn, this woman is either incredibly excitable or mainlined Red Bull before she started her day.

In an attempt to not excite her further, I follow her instructions and stand where she tells me,

behind the rest of the bridesmaids and groomsmen, and right beside Maybe.

The very same Maybe who refuses even to glance in my direction.