My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

Me: How did the interview go?

It doesn’t take long for her to respond.

Maybe: Honestly, I think it went really well. I wasn’t a disaster like I feared I would be, I was able to speak in actual sentences and not ramble, and I left feeling like I actually gave a good first impression.

A sigh of relief leaves my lungs, and I grin.

Me: So, no My Little Pony references?

Maybe: HA. No. Thank Everything.

Me: I knew you’d kill it.

Maybe: Pretty sure you were the only one who knew that. LOL.

Me: Nah, you knew it too. You just needed a little help to calm down.

Maybe: If what you did to me on your desk is your go-to way of calming people down, then I hereby hire you as my Director of Calming Down.

Visuals of Maybe’s spread thighs fill my head, and my cock starts to respond beneath my zipper. Shit, this girl, she might be the death of me.

Any response I have to her message is one thousand shades of dirty, and it takes me a good thirty seconds before I can come up with a response that doesn’t revolve around taking her panties off with my teeth.

My cock, though? Well, he thinks that’s the best idea we’ve ever had. But that horny bastard has been one-hundred-percent Team Maybe ever since she wrapped her pretty little lips around him.

He can’t be trusted.

And the rational side of my brain? Well, it’s urging me to hit the brakes.

This is Maybe Willis we’re talking about here.

My best friend’s little sister.

If anything, she should be off-limits, just like my best friend—her fucking brother—said to Cap.

Not the one and only star of my far-too-dirty fantasies.

Pretty sure it’s way, way, way too late for that, dude. You’ve officially fallen, and you can’t fucking get up.

I push my scattered thoughts to the back of my mind and attempt to change the subject.

Me: So, I take it plans of celebration are in order tonight?

Maybe: Slow your roll, Ives. I haven’t gotten the job yet.

Me: But you will.

Maybe: Jesus. We don’t know that yet! They still had three more candidates to interview after me.

Me: Trust me, Maybe. Come Monday, you’ll get the “We’d like to offer you a position at Beacon House” call.

Maybe: Stop trying to get my hopes up, you nutcase.

I know Maybe will get the job.

She is brilliant, passionate, and deserves to be at a publishing house like Beacon.

A few weeks ago, when I first contacted their editor in chief, Taylor McHough, he was more than on board with bringing her in for an interview. Not to mention, he already told me, with her credentials, and the fact that their competitor wanted her badly, she was basically a shoo-in. The interview was just logistics.

Me: Just trust me, kid. You got the job.

Maybe: Well, I guess it’s safe to say that, now that you’ve officially gotten my hopes up, you have to come out with me tonight.

Me: Come out with you?

Maybe: Yeah. Me, you, and Lena are going to go to a dance club in Tribeca.

Me: Pretty sure I haven’t agreed to this…

Maybe: But you will. Trust me, kid. You will agree.

Me: Kid. That’s cute.

Maybe: C’mon, Milo. Come out with me tonight.

Me: What club are you going to?

Maybe: Paul’s Cocktail Lounge.

That’s a rowdy fucking club. Fun, loud, and a place I frequented quite a bit in my twenties. But it’s been years since I’ve done the nightclub scene in NYC. Working seventy-plus hours a week tends to put a damper on going out.

Maybe: Pretty please… Lord knows, Lena will leave me on my own by ten because she pretty much knows everyone in the entire city. I need a dance partner…

That last text hits me straight in the chest.

Visuals of horny pricks looking for their next one-night stand grinding on Maybe fill my head, and I’m instantly on edge.

More like jealous…

Me: Fine.

Maybe: YOU’LL GO???

Me: Yeah. I’ll go.

Maybe: FANTASTIC.

Her enthusiastic response makes me grin.

But once our conversation is done and I’m left to my own thoughts, the unsettling discomfort and the stark reality that I’m more than playing with fire—aka just fucking pouring gasoline onto the flames at this point—starts to sink in.

I’m into this girl.

More like, you’re so far into her, it’s too late to go back now.

Maybe

“Stop fidgeting with your hair.” Lena grins at me in the reflection in my bathroom mirror. “You look gorgeous.”

I can’t help it. I’m on emotional overload. All hyped up like Jessie Spano that time she took caffeine pills. Nervous. Excited. Freaking out. I am all the things.

Between the interview with Beacon House today, and Evan and Sadie coming into town tomorrow for their wedding, so much is happening at once.

Yeah, but you can’t forget the most important thing—knowing Milo is going to come celebrate with you tonight…

Holy Mother of Baloney, the more I think about seeing him tonight, the more nervous I get.