My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend - Max Monroe Page 0,26
halfway down her back, and fuck, those chocolate eyes of hers could swallow galaxies.
Her skin is cream and ivory and silky smooth save a few tiny freckles that outlasted her adolescence and still dot her nose and cheeks. Her lashes are long and dark, and her lips are so full and pink, I’d think they were photoshopped if I weren’t witnessing them in person.
A small waist is hidden beneath a red ribbed top, and her dark-wash blue jeans fit perfectly over her curvy hips.
Maybe Willis isn’t a girl anymore.
No. She’s all woman.
“Where in the heck have ya been?” Bruce asks—loudly—and grabs my attention before my thoughts head toward places they shouldn’t be.
“In the back.” She rolls her eyes. “Working like a normal person.”
“Well, Milo is here to see ya,” he says. She stops mid-step and snaps her shocked gaze to mine.
“W-what?”
Her big brown eyes grow wide, her lips part into a perfect little O, and her cheeks turn a bright shade of red. Recognition has set in, but unlike me, it’s painfully obvious she’s known who I was all along.
Man, she must think I’m a real prick. Talking to her the other day like she was a goddamn stranger.
I’ll apologize for it at some point, but right now, with Bruce playing witness, I don’t see much of an option other than diving headfirst into the fray.
“Hi,” I greet, and I don’t miss the way her throat bobs when she swallows. “I’m here to take you to lunch.”
“Y-you’re what?”
“I’m here to take you to lunch,” I repeat, taking a step toward her.
She takes a noticeable step back. “But I-I’m working…”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Bruce chimes in. “Go to lunch with him, Maybe. You and I both know we’re always slow on Saturdays.”
Her mouth opens and closes a few times, but words don’t come out. I don’t know if she’s mad about how cavalierly I treated her as a stranger or if she’s still embarrassed about the messages, or hell, maybe the two are directly related. But I’ll never know if I don’t get her out of this building.
“Come on.” I step toward her to take the bucket of flowers she’s visibly forgotten about from her hands. “It’ll be nice to catch up.”
She doesn’t say anything as I set the container on the counter, but her stunned silence is in no way a deterrent.
“We can catch up and talk about some publishing contacts I think you’d be interested in.”
“Look, I really appreciate your effort to help me out and everything, but—”
Bruce takes it upon himself to chime in again.
“Stop being so stubborn, Maybe,” he says. “Let the man help you get wet.”
My eyes go wide automatically, and Maybe freaks.
“Oh my God! Dad!”
“What?” Bruce questions with a shrug—like he didn’t just say something insanely inappropriate. “Everyone needs a little help getting their feet wet in a new career. These days, it pays to know people, if you know what I’m sayin’.”
Apparently, Evan’s dad is still in the business of putting his comically wrong spin on popular sayings, and since he’s not my dad, I don’t think it’ll ever get old.
When we were sixteen and headed to prom, right in front of Evan’s date, he said, “Now, don’t go too hard on her, son. Treat her like the virgin she is, okay?”
Mind you, he was talking about his car, not Evan’s sixteen-year-old date—who, ironically, was actually a virgin. I still laugh to this day when I think about it.
But I know it’s not ever as funny when it’s your parent. “You sure have a way with words, Bruce.”
“Betty and Maybe call them Bruce-isms.”
“Trust me,” Maybe interjects. “That’s not a compliment.”
I smile. Evan would say the exact same thing.
Bruce, however, is completely unfazed. “Meh.” He is quite literally the definition of zero fucks given.
“So, to lunch?” I slide my hands into the pockets of my jeans and meet Maybe’s now-narrowed eyes.
“Apparently, I don’t have a choice…”
“Nope. Not really.” I smirk, shake my head, and shrug good-naturedly. “But I’ll let you choose where we eat.”
“Wow,” she mutters and grabs her purse from behind the counter. “So generous.”
She doesn’t slow as she heads for the door, so I quickly tell Bruce to send whatever he thinks is best to my mom and Emory, ask that he give my hello to Betty, and follow after Maybe dutifully.
It takes almost a block to catch up with her—the speedwalk she’s employed completely unrelated to getting away from me, I’m sure—and we walk the final three silently, shoulder-to-shoulder.