My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend - Max Monroe Page 0,61
conversation hasn’t waned since he showed up at the party this evening. We’ve talked about anything and everything. His business. His favorite places he’s traveled to. My time at Stanford. Bands we want to see live. My favorite book recommendations. The best secret spots in New York that tourists don’t know about.
You name it, and it’s been discussed.
And the more we talk, the more time we spend together, the more I understand why I’ve always carried a torch for him.
Milo is the one guy who makes me realize why I’ve never dated or been in a long-term relationship, why no guy has ever held my interest for longer than a few weeks.
It’s like I’ve been waiting for him or something.
Which feels downright insane and a bit terrifying, if I’m being honest.
What if this is only one-sided?
What if Lena is wrong about him?
What if I’m the only one who’s starting to fall deeper into like?
Fuck. My brain feels like it might short-circuit if I keep circling around these racing thoughts.
For once in your life, just stop overthinking shit and live in the present.
Yes, that is exactly what I need to do. Live in the present. And right now, the present is enjoying the company of this intelligent, sexy, downright wonderful man.
“Do you think that photographer managed to dupe some girl into doing his pretend photo shoot?” I ask, and Milo smirks at me.
“So, you did know he was full of shit?”
“Of course I did.” I snort. “When it comes to men and dating and relationships, I may be inexperienced in a lot of aspects, but I can smell a bullshitter from a mile away.”
“I don’t think you’re as inexperienced as you think you are,” he comments, and I tilt my head to the side.
“What do you mean by that?”
“You can hold your own, kid,” he answers, and there is this genuine honesty highlighting his voice. “Behind that pretty, innocent face of yours resides a woman who seems to know what she wants. Truthfully, it’s jarring. But in a good way.”
“Jarring?” I question. “How is that jarring?”
“Because you may look like some delicate little flower, but you’re not. You’re feisty and sassy as hell when you want to be.”
“I am not that sassy.” I try to disagree, but Milo flashes a knowing look my way.
“Oh yes, you are,” he retorts with a little smirk. “But you’ve been like that since I’ve known you. Honestly, it’s one of my favorite things about you.”
His words stun me into silence.
One of his favorite things?
So, he has more than one favorite thing? About me?
My heart threatens to find a way out of my chest.
Thankfully, Milo pulls up in front of my apartment building and double parks, and I grab my stuff to make a swift exit.
With his hand at the small of my back, guiding me toward my building, my head starts to feel lighter than my body, and I search for words of any kind—anything that will serve as a distraction.
“Is avoiding getting towed one of Billionaireman’s superpowers too? A cloaking device perhaps?”
“Sure. It’s called having enough money that you don’t have to care.”
“Ah,” I sigh with a little laugh. “Must be the same thing that allows you to drive in New York City in the first place. Normal people don’t pay to have cars here. Except Bruce,” I amend. “But I’m pretty sure he sacrificed my wedding fund to pay for it.”
“I had a lot of fun tonight,” he says, changing the subject entirely, when we come to a stop just outside the entrance door. A smirk crinkles the left corner of his mouth. “Thanks for being such a pain in my ass and making me come to that party.”
“You’re welcome, old man.” I giggle.
“Old man?” he questions in feigned outrage. “Really?”
I shrug, and a little smile touches my lips. A sarcastic retort sits at the tip of my tongue, but my phone chimes inside my purse. And then does it again. And again. And again.
“What the hell?” I mutter and pull it out to find my inbox finally decided to update from this morning. “I swear to God, sometimes Gmail gets a thrill out of commandeering my emails for like twelve hours.”
Milo just laughs, and I quickly scroll through the delayed emails to make sure I didn’t miss anything important.
But my hand freezes and my eyes go wide when I spot the subject line of one particular email.
“What?” he asks, but I’m too dumbfounded to utter a word.