Page 29 of Enemies with My Brother's Billionaire Bestie

There’s a pause before Elliot replies, his voice a little husky. “I had fun, too. We should do this again. As friends, of course,” he clarifies quickly, his words making my chest ache.

“Don’t do this, El,” I whisper, almost a plea. “Don’t… make me fall for you.”

He stares at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Do what? It’s just lunch, Ollie. And we don’t have to do it if you don’t think our friendship is solid enough,” he says, his words laced with a regret I don’t understand.

“Goodnight, El,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll think about the offer.”

I turn to leave, my heart heavy, wishing I could say what I really want to. But for now, the words stay locked inside me.Don’t do this, Elliot—don’t make me fall in love with you.

Chapter eighteen

Elliot

What is love, really? Is it just an illusion, spun from fairytales, or is it something that catches us off guard, a force we can’t control? This question from Olivia’s blog lingers in my mind, and I’m starting to believe it might be the latter.

For a long time, I convinced myself that love was nothing more than a fleeting illusion. Every heart-racing moment I’ve felt with Olivia, I’ve chalked up to stress or something easily explained away. But now? I can’t ignore it any longer—I’m falling for Olivia Reed. It’s reckless, it’s unexpected, and it’s happening.

The alarm blares, but I’m already awake—been awake for hours, in fact. Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I see the mess I’ve become: scruffy beard, hair in disarray. I’d much rather stay home, avoid Olivia, because after two unofficial "dates" with her, I’m a breath away from saying something I shouldn’t—something I’m not ready to admit.

Dragging my bare feet across the wooden floor, I stumble back when I notice movement in the kitchen. “Jeez, Mom, you scared me!” I exclaim, grabbing the counter to steady myself andpressing a hand to my chest as if that might make my heart beat slower.

She doesn’t even flinch. Instead, she sets two plates of grilled cheese and bacon on the table like it’s any other morning. “I knocked, but you didn’t answer, so I let myself in,” she says, shrugging like it’s perfectly normal.

“Come on, Ma, what if I had someone over?” I grumble, flicking on the coffee maker.

She laughs—a knowing laugh, one that says she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. “You’re never with anyone, El, at least not in a long time,” she teases, nudging me toward one of the empty chairs.

I start stuffing my face with food, letting my earlier frustration melt away. But then, out of nowhere, she reaches over and strokes my hair, and for a moment, I’m sixteen again—just a boy and his mother trying to stay afloat after her husband left them in the dust.

“I don’t think anyone’s cooked like this for me in a while,” I admit with a smile, leaning into her hand and pressing a soft kiss to her palm.

She smiles too, but there’s a sadness in her eyes. “You know, darling, it doesn’t always have to be like this. You could find someone, someone who makes you happy,” she says softly, her words weighted with meaning.

“No, Ma, please, let’s not do this,” I plead, lifting my half-eaten plate and taking it to the sink.

“You know I’m right, El. You’ve been torturing yourself long enough.”

I slam my fork on the plate, the sound loud and sharp, but she’s not deterred.

“I’ve heard about the Reed girl, son. And I’ve seen the way you look at her.”

I spin around in disbelief. “So you’ve been stalking me? Mom! That’s creepy.”

“It’s not stalking if Aaron willingly gave me the info,” she says unapologetically. I should’ve known. Aaron was the last person I’d trust to keep my business under wraps.

“Whatever ideas you’re having, they’re not happening, Ma. It can’t happen,” I mutter, trying to convince myself as much as her.

She stands, wrapping her arms around me like she’s afraid I might break. “Don’t fight this anymore, El. It breaks my heart to see you suffering like this,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

I pull away, facing her, and stare into those blue eyes that always seem to know me better than I know myself. If only I had as much confidence in myself as she has in me. But I don’t. When your heart gets broken, parts of you stay shattered forever.

Forcing a smile, I say, “I’m fine, Ma. Honestly, I am.”

She studies me for a beat, then her worry lines smooth, replaced by her usual warm smile. She steps back and heads for the door.

“Since you’re fine, I hope you don’t mind that I invited Olivia over for a chat,” she says casually.

“You what?!” I stutter, horror dawning.

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