Briggs (Carolina Reapers 7)

“Do you see how amazing that tux looks on you? I designed it for you. It. Is. Happening.” She forced out every word through those pretty, gritted teeth.

My gaze dropped to her lips, and I felt it, that magnetic pull that had put us in that situation four years ago when she’d been seventeen-fucking-years-old. But she wasn’t seventeen now. She was a fully grown woman.

And I still wanted her. Fuck.

“You’re under contract!” she snapped.

I sucked my teeth for a second and nodded. “Yeah, well, we’ll just have to see about that.” Then I walked away like I should have done four years ago.

2

Bristol

A headache pulsed behind my eyes, and I shifted in my new office chair to lean over my desk.

“How is it that I didn’t drink on New Year’s Eve, and yet, I feel hungover?” I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose.

“Oh, let’s see,” my best friend’s voice filtered in over the speakerphone. “Could it be because you rushed yourself through college, sprinted across the graduation stage, and then didn’t hesitate to spend all your inheritance on a menswear company?”

I glared at the phone.

“Stop glaring at me,” Grace teased, and my eyes widened.

“We’re not on FaceTime,” I chided right back. “Stop pretending like you know me.”

“Not pretending, Bristol.”

I sighed, leaning back in my chair.

“It couldn’t have been that bad, could it?” she asked, her tone much softer.

I bit my bottom lip, my heart racing at the memory from last night. When I’d seen Cormac…God, all those memories from that night had come rushing back—not that they’d ever fully left me alone. No, those few precious minutes where Cormac had stolen my breath? They had been the fuel to my fantasies on lonely nights and even lonelier days. Hard as hell to find true companionship or intimacy when my big brother scared off anyone who dared approach me.

And I’d come to terms with that over the years, realizing that if a man wasn’t brave or bold enough to try with me—regardless of who my brother was—then he wasn’t worth the energy. But Cormac? I’d never come to terms with what had happened between us or what had happened to him after.

That old familiar guilt ate at my insides, and my heart sank at the realization that I may never be given my chance to make amends.

“I don’t know, Grace,” I finally answered her. “I had all these expectations for last night.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said, and I could just picture her brow furrowing, her arms outstretched to wrap me in a hug. Grace had been the best friend I’d ever had—we met freshman year of college. She was the creamer to my coffee and vice versa. She loved me for me, not my family name or the money that came with it.

“I never thought we’d be best friends or anything,” I continued, blowing out a breath. “But I had thought he’d at least be…cordial. I mean, it was four years ago. And he’s doing amazing on the Reapers…”

“It’s been four years for you too, babe,” Grace said. “And you’re not exactly over it either.”

“Oh, I’m so over it,” I snapped. “You should’ve seen him—”

“Is he still as hot?” she cut me off.

“Hotter,” I grumbled. He’d grown even more into the man he’d been four years ago, if that was possible. His muscles were more defined, and new ink decorated the skin around his neck, his collarbone, and probably lower too. I hated how badly I wanted to know if he had art sprawled across his chest or if he’d left it bare. I hated that the second I’d seen him last night, I was that young girl all over again—couldn’t breathe around my racing heart, couldn’t think around the sparks zinging across my skin.

“But that’s not the point,” I hurried to add. “He was furious to find out I was behind the endorsement. You would’ve thought Detroit had offered him the damn deal.”

Grace chuckled at the mention of the Reapers’ rivals offering him an endorsement deal. “Are you going to let him out of the deal?”

“He signed the contract,” I said, but even I could hear the defeat in my voice.

“True,” she said, never one to judge. “You could absolutely hold him to it.”

I could. He was bound by so many legal terms he’d never find a loophole—not because of me, but because my lawyers were just that damn good. They swung the deal to favor him monetarily but made sure myself and the company were protected through and through.

“Or,” Grace offered. “You could let him out of the deal and finally forgive yourself for something that wasn’t your fault to begin with.”

“It was, though,” I almost whispered. She knew every detail of that night and the events that followed after. I’d spilled the whole story over margaritas one night, and while it had felt great to confess then, it didn’t do anything to cleanse the guilt that had never stopped trying to suffocate me.