Page 14 of Enemies with My Brother's Billionaire Bestie

“Tomato soup? I love this!” she exclaims, digging in with enthusiasm. “Wow, Elliot,” she groans in delight, taking bite after bite before resting her head on the counter, visibly content.

“So, still planning to write that scathing review of my restaurant?” I tease, knowing her answer already.

She lifts her head, beaming. “If I didn’t know you, I’d consider marrying you just to eat like this for the rest of my life.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re hilarious, Ollie. Now eat up,” I say, cleaning the kitchen, but I can feel her eyes on me.

“You look different when you smile, Elliot—softer. You shouldn’t hide such a beautiful smile,” she says softly, as if it’s the most casual comment in the world, even though it hits me like a truck.

Dropping the rag, I turn to face her. It’s time to say what I’ve been avoiding. “I’m sorry, Ollie. About last time—and for calling you delusional. You’re not.”

She looks taken aback, but I press on before my nerve fails. “I know I’m far from perfect, and that you don’t exactly like me, but I had no right to say what I did. I’m really sorry. Now,can we focus on planning Daniel’s wedding before he burns my restaurant down?”

She laughs, and the tension lifts. I let out a breath of relief, glad to have gotten it out.

“Wow, that’s a lot of words for an apology from you, Elliot,” she jokes, standing to scrape the remains of her soup into Max’s bowl. She watches as he devours it, smiling warmly.

“Please don’t ask me to repeat it,” I say, feigning terror. “I’d rather take my chances with Daniel’s fire.”

She reaches across the counter and briefly squeezes my hand. “I forgive you—because you made me an amazing meal.”

“That’s all I can ask for,” I say, rinsing her plate in the sink. When I turn back, she’s still sitting there, wearing a familiar expression—the kind that tells me she’s got a question burning inside, and she won’t rest until she gets an answer.

“Go on, Ollie. We both know you’re not leaving without asking.”

Her lips part, hesitation flickering in her eyes. “Why did you come back, Elliot? Don’t give me the ‘I love it here’ line. We both know there’s more to it.”

Her question hits harder than I expected. This isn’t the light-hearted conversation I imagined after serving her soup. And yet, something about the way she’s looking at me makes it feel like the truth is on the edge of spilling out.

"Why did you bring her here tonight?" I ask quietly, unsure of the answer myself, but knowing things would be simpler if I could just push her out the door.

Chapter nine

Olivia

I shouldn't be here having this conversation with him. I should shove the jacket aside, walk back to my brother's house, and slam my bedroom door—a reminder that Elliot and I are never friends. I know all the things I should do, but here I am, overfed and still savoring the taste of the most delicious tomato soup I have ever had, smiling, and now asking questions like we are old buddies.

My question makes him visibly uncomfortable. He doesn’t say a word, but his furrowed brow, the way his fingers grip the edge of the counter, and the sudden disappearance of the smile from his eyes—all reveal his panic.

Clearing my throat, I shift the stool aside, guessing this is my cue to end this conversation.

“You know what, forget I asked. I guess I should be on my way now,” I say with a forced smile, rubbing Maximus one last time before heading to his office to grab my wet hoodie.

When I return, he’s no longer behind the counter but seated at one of the tables, a glass of wine in front of him and the bottle beside it.

“Thank you for the shirt. I’ll make sure to erase every trace of my scent before I return it.”

Before my hands wrap around the doorknob, he whispers, “I came back here because I had nowhere else to go.”

His words stop me in my tracks as I try to process what he means and if I want to know more. From his reflection on the door, I see his finger tracing around the rim of the glass in front of him. Instead of leaving, I turn around to face him, hoping he'll explain further, and he does.

“I left the city because, despite my success, it was filled with painful memories—memories I’m not sure I trust you enough to share,” he explains, his expression apologetic. I can’t blame him; I wouldn’t trust him with certain details about myself either.

“It’s fine. I don’t know what I was thinking when I asked. I guess I wanted to irk you a little,” I lie.

But deep down, I want to know if, like me, he feels at home in this town, if he’s running from something—something that made him into this harsher man he is today. His response confirms it; something else broke Elliot Sharp, and it wasn’t just his father leaving. Maybe it was somebody else leaving him.

Swallowing the wine, Elliot carries his cup over to the sink like he didn’t just share an ambiguous truth with me. “You’re the first person I’m telling this to, so if I hear it elsewhere, I’d really have to put you down,” he says, trying to lighten the mood and change the subject.

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