My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

“You weren’t awkward and embarrassing.”

Honestly, she kind of was, but wasn’t everyone? If you don’t have an awkward phase of adolescence, you must have some kind of contract with the devil. And considering I already have some strikes against me, agreeing with her on this one is not the way to go.

“Uh…yeah, I was.”

“I thought you were pretty cute.”

She rolls her eyes. “Because I was Evan’s little sister.”

A smile crests my lips. “Speaking of Evan, he’s really confident in your ability to do big things in publishing. That’s why he reached out to me to work some of my connections.”

“Right. Publishing,” she says, her voice seeming the barest hint disappointed. I search her eyes to try to figure out why, but she shakes her head quickly and picks up the corners of her lips into a genuine smile. “Thank you, Milo. I could definitely use the help. I’ve sent out more than a hundred resumes, but not a single one has called me for an interview.”

I wave my hand. “That’s because there are a lot of stodgy snobs working in the publishing industry.” I laugh, and she barks a startled bout of the same. “Luckily, I’m friendly with a few of them.”

She smiles.

“I’ll work on getting a few options together and reach out to them.”

She nods. “Thanks. I know this is probably inconvenient for you. I mean, you’re a really busy guy. I’m sure you don’t just have tons of spare hours lying around to help your friend’s sister.”

I frown a little at her insinuation that I’m only here because of Evan. Sure, it was the catalyst, but I genuinely want to be here. With her.

I shake my head and reach out to touch her hand. Unfortunately, at the searing burn of awareness the simple contact sends up my arm, I realize touching her may not have been the best idea. I move slowly to undo my mistake, so she doesn’t take it the wrong way. “I’m glad to be having lunch with you, Maybe. Happy to help and happy to see you.”

Before anything else can be said, Karen brings our food, and Maybe and I spend a few silent minutes devouring our sandwiches. There really isn’t anything better in Chelsea than a Reuben on rye from Ruth’s.

But I can’t in good conscience let the entire meal go on without bringing up the thing that’s been plaguing me about those messages of hers ever since I got them.

“So, about those text messages…”

She glances up from her plate, the width of her eyes eating away at the other features of her face. A blush once again stains the apples of her cheeks, and I hate to admit, it looks really good on her.

Dangerously, treacherously good. Which, of course, is all the more reason I have to have this discussion.

“Which ones?”

Which ones? Funny, kid.

“You know which ones.”

Maybe doesn’t respond. Instead, she takes what has to be the biggest bite of Reuben she can fit inside her mouth and holds it there.

I have to bite my lip to fight my laughter.

“I take it you don’t want to talk about them?”

She shakes her head. Her mouth is conveniently still too full to form words.

“Can I just say one thing?” I ask and, hesitantly, she nods.

“I know they were in good fun, but I think it’s important for you to understand the New York dating scene is a little different from what you’re probably used to,” I state. “Text messages like that could get a pretty woman like you into a hell of a lot of trouble.”

Her eyes narrow, and mouth still precariously full of food or not, she finds her voice. “What is that supposed to mean?”

It’s one thing for her to send me a “deflower me, please?” text message.

But it’s a whole other fucking thing for her to send that same message to some random douche she met in a bar. There’s no telling what might happen to her.

“Look, I’m not trying to offend you,” I say softly. “A lot of the men in this city are bastards, Maybe. I don’t want to see anything bad happen to you.”

She searches my eyes for a long moment, and then she spits the remainder of her gargantuan bite into a napkin and glares. “You do realize I’m not a child, right?”

Uh oh. Where exactly did I go wrong here?

Maybe

Is he really sitting here lecturing me on the New York dating scene? Like I’m an actual child?

Like he’s my father or something?

God. Not even Bruce would be so condescending, and he’s an emotionally underdeveloped gorilla!

Before I know it, I’m glaring, spitting my food into a napkin like an honest-to-God heathen and giving Milo a piece of my mind.

“You think I’m just out there sending offers for my virginity to every Tom, Dick, and Harry?”

He sits back in his chair, obviously surprised at my ire, but I don’t let up. Now that I’ve channeled all of my embarrassment into anger, I couldn’t stop if I tried. “What? You think I’m trying to sell it on the corner like some X-rated lemonade stand?”