My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend - Max Monroe Page 0,52

long brown locks are tossed up into a messy bun, and an uncertain smile shapes her full pink lips. Her body is clad in a little black dress, and nude stilettos cover her petite feet.

She looks good. Too good.

Option one is not the right choice.

Option two is more of the same. A short, floral summer dress that rests a little too high on her thighs, and the pale pink heels on her feet only add to the elongation of her toned legs.

Nope. Not that one either.

The last and final photo is more laid-back and the clear best option of the three. Jeans, a little white blouse that shows just a slight hint of her lower stomach, and a pair of flats.

I waste no time at all in giving her my choice.

Me: The jeans but with a different shirt.

Maybe: What? Why? I thought the white blouse was cute. It’s fun and flirty.

Me: It shows too much.

Maybe: You’re nuts! It doesn’t show anything. Maybe I should just wear one of the dresses.

No. Way.

With the things I’m thinking about doing to her in those dresses, I can only imagine what some low-life catfish will be thinking about doing.

Me: No. Definitely the jeans.

Maybe: Fine. Jeans it is. But I’m sticking with the blouse. Thanks for the advice!

I should end the conversation, but I literally can’t. The phone is attached to my hand permanently now and will forever be a part of my body. At least until she’s home from the date, that is.

Me: When is he picking you up?

Maybe: I’m meeting him at a restaurant in Greenwich Village.

I almost chastise the bastard for not picking her up for the date, but then I realize it’s a good fucking thing he isn’t going to see where she lives.

Unless she decides to take him home…

Me: Are you planning on bringing him back to your place for a nightcap?

A nightcap? For fuck’s sake, I sound like my dad.

Maybe: A nightcap? LOL. If you’re asking me if I’m planning on some kind of first-date hookup, I don’t know. I guess I’ll just see how the night goes.

Oh God. I do not like that response.

Me: Just be safe, okay?

Maybe: You got it, dude.

Two seconds later, a Michelle Tanner GIF with a thumbs-up populates under her message.

Maybe: And you be safe too.

I furrow my brow. What is she talking about?

Me: Safe doing what?

Maybe: I don’t know. I figured you probably have a big night out planned with one of your “friendly” lady friends.

I’m equal parts amused and terrified at where this conversation could lead.

Me: Here we go again.

Maybe: HA. I could have said fuck buddies, but I was trying to be cognizant of your delicate sensibilities.

Me: Smartass.

Maybe: So, you DO have a “this is not a date” date tonight?

Four minutes ago, I had nothing going on. Paperwork, Netflix, and a bottle of scotch to smother the inappropriate fantasies about my best friend’s sister. But now that she’s going out, I can’t stay home. I’ll lose my fucking mind.

Me: I have dinner with a friend, yes.

Maybe: A friendly lady friend.

Me: I can confirm it is a woman.

Maybe: A fuck buddy.

A laugh bubbles up from my lungs. I knew she could only hold that in for so long.

Me: Jesus.

Maybe: LOL. All right, I’m going to go get ready for my date. I hope you have fun on your non-date date tonight.

Me: Thanks. I really hope your TapNext date isn’t a serial killer, but I’ll make sure Bruce creates a nice arrangement for the funeral if he is.

Maybe: LOL. Very funny. Goodbye, Milo!

When our conversation comes to an end, I feel…uncomfortable.

She’s twenty-four years old. She should be going on dates. She should be putting herself out there.

This is a good thing for her.

It just doesn’t feel good for me.

Truthfully, it doesn’t feel so good at all.

Now I have to figure out something to do.

After scrolling quickly through my contacts, I text Senna Flick, a friend who’s been a casual monthly fling for the last two years. Where I’m busy running Fuse, she’s busy traveling around the world doing marketing for a wealthy media conglomerate that owns two major television networks and produces movies on the side for a popular online streaming website. Getting together has always been uncomplicated and mutually beneficial.

No-strings-attached sex and sufficiently intelligent company.

Tonight, as a whole, feels different, but the text exchange is simple, just as it always is.

Me: Dinner tonight?

Senna: I’ll be ready at 8.

I sigh when I read the text but do the nice, gentlemanly thing and type