Page 68 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

“I don’t know! It’s got tobe in the bro code, right?” Scott sputtered.

“We’re almost forty yearsold.” Too old for anything like a “bro code.”

Fifteen years older thanCharlotte.Was I one of those creepy guyswho were only attracted to extremely young women?

I shook myself out of thatpreposterous thought. I’d had sexual relationships with women olderthan me. I’d never specifically sought out any sex partner based ontheir youth.

“Again. You’re forty. She’stwenty-five. I wish… Look, I want you to be happy, I want Charlotteto be happy.”

“But nottogether.”

“No, that’s not it.” Hesighed in frustration. “I want you to be traditionally happy. Iwant to know that if you’re interested in her, you’re serious abouther.”

I was starting to understand the realissue. “You want to see into the future.”

“I’ve had enough change inmy life, okay? I want some things to stay the same.”

A shock of clarity hit me.An unpleasant one. My stomach turned. How could I have let thingsget this far? Nothing I had done concerning Charlotte had beenokay, from the very first moment I’d talked to her. I’d promised myfriend something and broke that promise less than twelve hourslater. And despite knowing that Scott wasn’t fully okay with whatwas going on, I’d ignored his discomfort. He’d been reeling frombeing left at the altar and most of our conversations had centeredaround me trying to convince him that it was cool for me to fuckhis sister.

I needed to break things off withCharlotte.

* * * *

“Did you tell that womanfrom the other night that I was your girlfriend?”

I blinked at Charlotte’s accusatorytone and expression via Facetime. “No?”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I didn’t,” I swore. And Ihadn’t. “I told her you were one of my regular partners. Sheconfused that with ‘girlfriend.’ Which, by the way, is why Amandawon’t be happening again.”

Charlotte pressed her hand to hercollar bones and heaved a huge sigh of relief. “Thank god.” Shequickly added, “Not about the not seeing her again part. I don’tcare who you see.”

While I supposed thatshould be reassuring, something about Charlotte made mewanther to care. “Itwould be okay if you were a little jealous.”

She laughed. “Oh, is that a wounded egoI’m hearing?”

“You know, most phone callsstart out with ‘hello.’” I was a little taken aback by the ferocitywith which she objected to being called my girlfriend. No, morethan taken aback. I was nearly offended.

And I had no right to be. Because thatwasn’t the relationship we had, and it wasn’t an eventuality,either. We’d both been very clear on what we were.

I was calling to break up with her. Ishouldn’t care if she wanted to be my girlfriend or not.

“Hello,” she said sweetly.“I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”

“I know, sorry about thetotal lack of notice.” On the other hand, it was far better than a“we need to talk” text.

“You don’t need anappointment to fuck me, Mr. M.”

Her giggle destroyed me.

“This isn’t a sex call, I’mafraid.” The expression, “like ripping off a band-aid” came tomind. But I was the kind of flinching coward who never ripped themoff. “I talked to your brother—”

“Oh, weird. I just got donetalking to him, myself.” Did she sound extra bubbly or did I noticeher cheerfulness more because I knew I would have to wreck itall?

“Talk about anythinginteresting?” I fished.

“We talked about you.” Herexpression turned serious. “He’s worried that I’m going toemotionally destroy you.”

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