My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend - Max Monroe Page 0,84
it sounds like a damn trumpet, but I’m too much of a mess to care.
“You’re welcome.” A soft, slightly amused smile crests her lips. “So, your brother’s big day is two weeks away, right?” she asks, and I nod. “How did the fitting go this morning?”
“Good,” I say, and there’s relief in talking about something that has nothing to do with Milo. “Sadie looks amazing in her dress, and thankfully, the bridesmaids’ dresses she picked are actually really pretty.”
“No peach taffeta or purple tulle?”
“No.” A soft laugh escapes my throat. “Thank God.”
Lena grins. “You know what I think you need?”
“Prozac?”
“No, you lunatic.” She laughs. “A girls’ night. Just me and you, some pizza from Vino’s, and a Gilmore Girls marathon.”
“Shut up, you’re a GG fan too?”
“Girl, I’m an OG GG fan. My love for Lorelai was established before my love of coffee.”
“I’m game as long as we avoid talking about anything that occurred last night and get way too much junk food to celebrate my new job.”
Lena looks at me with wide, puzzled eyes. “New job?”
“Beacon House called me this morning.”
“Seriously?”
I nod. “I start next month.”
“Maybe!” she exclaims and quickly wraps me up into a hug. “Girl, I am so insanely happy for you! Holy hell! That’s certainly the best news I’ve heard all week!”
A full smile covers my mouth for the first time in what feels like forever. “Thanks.”
“And you have my word,” she adds. “There will be a shit-ton of junk food and no talk of the man whose name we shall not mention until you’re ready to talk about him. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.”
For now, I am going to avoid all things Milo-related until I give my brain time to actually process what in the fuck happened.
Or, at least, until you have to face him at Evan’s wedding…
Milo
I check my messages again. And still, no response from Maybe.
This morning when I woke up, I sent her a text asking if I could come over and talk to her.
I wanted to make things right. I wanted to tell her why I did what I did.
I just wanted to be honest with her. Well, as honest as I could be with her. Hell, I’m still trying to process it all.
Her response.
I can’t. I already have plans. Sorry.
I can’t. Sorry. It was all too reminiscent of the words that fell from my lips last night.
I wanted to text her back. Call her. Show up unannounced at her apartment.
But I knew that wasn’t right. Or fair.
She asked me to leave last night. And it’s pretty damn obvious, after her abnormally short and flippant message this morning, she wants space. From me.
Damn, it’s a knife to the chest.
And several hours after that painfully brief text exchange, just before I left my place and headed to get things set up for Ev’s party, I got a call from Taylor McHough.
A close acquaintance and the editor in chief at Beacon House.
The one who interviewed Maybe for her dream job.
He thanked me profusely for recommending her, and then proceeded to tell me he went ahead and offered her the job, before they finished interviewing the rest of the candidates.
Today. This morning, to be exact. Taylor McHough called Maybe and told her Beacon House wanted her to come aboard as their newest junior editor. Per Taylor, she accepted the position and will start with their next group of orientees in August.
Two days ago, I would’ve been the first person she called with that news.
She would’ve been a rambling, excited, adorable ball of energy, and I would’ve been the person who got to see her brown eyes shine and her full lips crest up into her cute-as-fuck grin.
But today, after the horrid way things ended last night, I’m the very last person she called—aka she didn’t call me.
The realization makes my stomach turn.
How in the fuck did it all go so wrong?
Especially when everything about her felt so right…
Evan’s big-ass grin catches my attention from the across the bar, and I force myself to stop thinking about the one person I most definitely shouldn’t be thinking about tonight.
My best friend looks happy. A little drunk, but happy nonetheless.
It makes me feel guilty and relieved at the same damn time.
What a nightmare.
Thankfully, our good buddy Cap doesn’t hesitate to step up to the plate and grab the attention of everyone in the room, including me.
“I’d like to propose a toast!” He stands up from his barstool and punctuates that statement with a wolf whistle.