My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend - Max Monroe Page 0,27
we stop in front of Ruth’s, her choice that just so happens to be one of my favorite lunch spots in the city. I wrap my knuckles around the handle of the shiny chrome-embellished door and hold it open for Maybe to step inside first. A young hostess with a blond ponytail and pink-painted lips greets her, asking how many people will be dining today, and that’s when the silent treatment she’s giving me becomes acutely noticeable. Sure, we’ve been keeping to ourselves, but not even answering the hostess? A line has been drawn.
Before, I figured it was smart not to push or pry and just give her some space. No need to poke the already annoyed bear cub before at least feeding her lunch first. But that’s changed now. Now, I intend to push. Hard. For as long as it takes to get a reaction.
“A table for two,” I step up to say with an almost obnoxious level of assertion.
Maybe may think she can avoid this encounter, but she’s wrong. I’ve got years of experience in the snake pit that is the business world on my side.
Without delay, the young girl makes quick work of grabbing menus from her stand and taking us to a table.
Maybe sits down in the seat across from mine, fidgets with the napkin-wrapped cutlery, and then opens her menu on a sigh.
She stares at the lists of dishes and kitschy pictures like they hold the key to promptly removing herself from this situation.
I can’t stop myself from being amused by her. And I thought the awkward bumbling of the other day was cute; her irritation is a whole other level.
My menu still prone on the table where the hostess placed it, I cross my arms over my chest and lay it all out there. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you the other day. I can’t imagine that made you feel great.”
She purses her lips and scoffs under her breath, but for the most part, stays silent.
I push onward. “Is that why you sent those text messages? A prank to get back at me?”
Her eyes skitter upward so quickly, they almost seem out of control. But for the first time since leaving Bruce & Sons, she’s making direct eye contact.
A rosy smear of color deepens on both cheeks, and she tucks a piece of hair behind her ear nervously. “Oh. Those. I guess you got them.”
I smirk. “I did, indeed.”
Her head quirks to the side just slightly, and then her shoulders square. “You know what? Yeah. I sent them as a prank to get back at you.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me it was you?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs and has to avert her eyes from mine for the briefest of moments. “I guess I was too surprised to see you there looking grown and successful and not remembering me.”
I cringe. “Shit, I feel like a real asshole.”
“Because you were,” she teases with a little grin. “You were all,” she says and drops her voice to mimic mine, “‘I know the Willis family. They’re good people.’”
I can’t help but laugh at her ridiculous impression. “And all the while, you were just standing there like, hey, you idiot, I am a Willis?”
She shrugs and offers up a cheeky grin. “Pretty much.”
My chest blooms. Finally, she’s starting to let her guard down.
“Well, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You look…” I pause, steeling my voice against making my next word sound as depraved as it is in my head. “Different.”
If her blush is any indication, though, I’m pretty sure I fail.
“So…uh…do you know what you’re getting to eat?” she asks, changing the subject to something innocuous—thank God—while looking up at me from beneath the long curves of her full, feminine lashes.
“You can never go wrong with their Reuben on rye.”
A small smile quirks up the corner of her soft pink mouth. “So, I take it you’ve eaten here before?”
“Only once a month for the past two or so years.”
She giggles, and I kind of hate how much I enjoy that sound coming from her lips.
I feel like a bit of a bastard for being so…observant when it comes to her.
Observant? More like enamored.
Fuck. This is my best friend’s little sister.
The one who had permanently red lips in the summer from eating her favorite cherry popsicles and had posters of Joan Jett in her bedroom.
Needless to say, I shouldn’t be thinking about her in any way besides friendly. Neutral. Unaffected.