Page 3 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

“Look,” Dad said with a sighof resignation. “Your only job this weekend is to go to a wedding.You’re not in the wedding party—”

“Thank god!”

“—andyou’re getting a stay at a luxury resort where everything is paidfor and there are plenty of swim-up bars. I think you should takeamodestswimsuit and spend the entire weekend drunk.” He paused.“Just as long as you’re not too drunk to make it to thewedding.”

“Thanks, Dad. I think that’sa good plan.”

Even if the bathing suit wasn’t goingto be modest.

* * * *

(Matthew)

It wasn’t every day that I got a chanceto surprise my best friend, especially since our jobs had basicallykept us in different countries ever since college. We’d gottentogether every chance we could, but for the past decade it had beena once-per-year affair. And now that he was about to get marriedand start a family, that number would likely be reduced.

Wearing my driver’s hat andstanding in the baggage area of Hilton Head Island Airport, I felta pang of anticipated loneliness at the thought. Scott gettingmarried shouldn’t have bothered me as much as it did.

I flexed my left hand, where I couldstill feel the phantom weight of my recently discarded ring, pulledmy chauffer’s cap lower on my brow, and held up the sign I’dscrawled with a black permanent marker on the ride over. There wasa surge of people into the baggage claim area, and I spottedScott’s familiar blond head bobbing among the rest. As mybewildered friend staggered in my vague direction, I called out,“Chucklenuts? I’m waiting on a Mr. Chucklenuts?”

That directed his attentionimmediately, and I saw the mixture of exhaustion-heightenedannoyance and grudging appreciation for my juvenilehumor.

“Yes, I’m Mr. Chucklenuts,”he said, dropping his bag at my feet. “And you’re Mr. Minidick’sdriver, I presume?”

I let the sign fall and pulled Scottinto a bear hug. “Dumbfuck. How was the flight?”

“Bumpy.” He kicked the bagon the ground. “Carry that. It’s my day.”

“It’s the bride’s day,” Icorrected him. “Who the fuck brings a duffel bag to his destinationwedding?”

I hefted the bag over my shoulder—alittle manual labor wouldn’t kill me—and headed toward the doors.My driver waited outside, leaning against the Maybach. I gave himhis hat back and passed off the bag but took the job of openingScott’s door.

“Okay,this is sick,” Scott said, settling into one of the leather seats.“This is like a living room. It mightbethe size of my livingroom.”

“Come work for me, man,” Ioffered, yet again. “Anywhere you want on the globe.”

“Not space?” he quipped.“Bezos offered me space.”

I snorted. “I can think of betterthings to do with my money than wasting it on a dickrocket.”

“Like wasting it on yourbest friend’s wedding?” he asked as I settled into myseat.

“It’s not a waste.” In fact,it wasn’t even the first time I’d helped a friend out with theirwedding. Scott happened to be the last one to tie theknot.

Well, withoneexception.

“It’s not like I’m evergetting married,” I went on, lifting my left hand to display mylack of ring.

Scott’s eyes widened. “Jesus, Matt. Whydidn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to ruin yourwedding weekend.” Being a huge bummer during one of the mostimportant events of my best friend’s life wasn’t going to bringBrett back. “Before you ask, it was me. I called it off. And notbecause I’m afraid of commitment, this time.”

“Right.”

“It wasn’t.” God, did I haveto admit it? “He cheated on me.”

Scott sucked in a breath between histeeth. “Ouch.”

“Yeah. So, that’sengagement number four down the drain.” In a rare moment ofindulgent self-pity, I ticked them off on my fingers, in reverseorder. “Brett, Sadie, Ashleigh, Ana. I’m thinking I need to havetwo more unsuccessful engagements with dudes and then I’ll have acomplete set.”

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