Page 30 of Enemies with My Brother's Billionaire Bestie

Of course, fate would toss gasoline on this fire, as the doorbell rings almost immediately.

Clapping her hands, my mother squeals, “That must be her. Don’t worry, I’m supposed to help Julia with the wedding bouquet, so this has nothing to do with you.” She winks.

But I know better. This is her way of making her point. She opens the door, revealing Olivia, standing there in a black crop top, blue skinny jeans, and knee-high boots, holding a box of doughnuts.

“It’s great to see you again, Mrs. Sharp,” Olivia says, kissing my mother on both cheeks.

“Trust me, darling, I should’ve come earlier when my son was being a little terror,” my mother teases, and I roll my eyes.

“Indeed, he’s pretty annoying,” Olivia says, laughing. “I almost murdered him.” Her whisper is loud enough for me to hear, and they both burst into laughter.

“If you’re going to talk about me, you might as well do it outside of my house,” I groan.

My mother whispers, “I see what you mean, Ollie, so grumpy.”

As I watch them banter, I realize just how much they have in common—witty, annoying, impossible to deal with. Sometimes I wonder if Olivia could’ve been my mother’s daughter in another life.

Olivia steps closer, shoving the box of doughnuts at me. “You should put on a shirt, El. There’s no one to seduce around here,” she says, reminding me I’m still shirtless. Apparently, I wasn’t prepared for the two toughest women in my life to ambush me like this.

“You know what? You and my mom are perfect for each other,” I mutter.

“Great. Should I consider signing some adoption papers too?” Olivia quips back. I roll my eyes.

“I can’t deal with you both right now. Please excuse me,” I grumble, heading back to my bedroom to shower.

Even with the shower running, I can still hear their chatter and laughter. When I return to the kitchen an hour later, dressed in a brown suit and black leather shoes, they look at me like I’ve dropped from another planet.

Olivia’s face shifts to amusement. “Does he always dress like this at home, Mrs. Sharp?”

“Of course not,” I grumble. “I’ve got a work thing outside of town. And for someone who’s supposedly my friend, you sure actotherwise.” She rolls her eyes, grabs her bag from the counter, and heads toward my mother.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mrs. Sharp,” she smiles, taking my mother’s hand.

“You know what? Elliot would love to drop you off on his way,” my mother says.

“Would I? What happened to both of you getting flowers together?” I ask, and Olivia looks genuinely confused.

“I just realized I still have a few things to do, so be a gentleman,” my mother says, patting me fondly on the cheek.

Olivia, despite being wise to this trick, goes along with it. When she’s out of earshot, I lean in to whisper to my mother, “Can’t you do without this meddling act, Ma?”

She doesn’t pretend anymore. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it,” she whispers back. “Look at you two. If you say you don’t see what’s going on, you’re either blind or dumb, and you, my dear, are neither.”

The words catch in my throat, because she’s right. I see it now, as I watch Olivia waiting by the door, her blonde hair in a messy bun, her eyes sparkling with something I’m not ready to admit. But the presence of a flame doesn’t always mean a fire should be lit.

“Just let it go, Ma,” I mumble, turning away.

Olivia must have sensed the tension because her question comes at the worst possible moment. “Julia was supposed to be here. I don’t understand why your mother invited me instead.”

“Yeah, she’s trying to make a point about me letting someone love me.”

“And what’s so wrong with that?” she asks, stopping me cold.

I choose my words carefully, turning to face her. “Let’s just say love doesn’t come easily to men like me.”

She shakes her head, disapproval in her eyes. “You’re lying, El. I know when you lie,” she says, unlocking the car door and sliding inside.

This is the problem—they both act like they know everything: Olivia and my mother. But they don’t. If Olivia knew the truth, she’d understand that I’m scared—scared that loving her might be my greatest weakness.

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