Page 8 of Flirting With My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

I’ve barely even acknowledged it to myself. But tonight, having her so near to me, smelling of lavender, it’s hard to deny that Jenni is a girl worth sticking around town for.

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JENNI

My cat, Noodle, bats at the tassels on my boots as my mom launches into the reasons why I need a husband. It’s annoying. The speech, not the cat. Noodles is a troublemaker, but I adore him and he can do no wrong in my eyes.

“We’re never going to have any grandchildren at this rate,” my mom says for the zillionth time. They’ve been in this competition with the Keiths for years to see who can have the most grandchildren. So far, my parents are losing, since Weston and Callie have Angel.

My parents were star-crossed lovers. My mom is from India, and her family is very traditional and comes from old money. She was supposed to have this arranged marriage, but my mom, being the rebel that she is, fell in love with my dad instead, an American from Georgia. I don’t know why her parents were so mad. It’s not like my dad grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. He also comes from old money.

My grandpa on my dad’s side grew up with Langston’s grandpa, who were both in commercial real estate, and the family stayed best friends over the years.

Except for Langston and me. I wouldn’t really say we were friends. More like rivals. Especially now that Valentine will be racing against Thunder again.

My mom’s speech makes me feel like utter garbage, but I don’t let her know that. At least not the reason it makes me feel bad. “Mom, you know I’m too focused on my career to have a boyfriend. How am I supposed to be a wife?”

My dad, Ronald Albert Finley the Fourth, owns Finley and Everly, a commercial real estate corporation that has been passed down the Finley male line for generations. I’ve been working for him since I was a teen, and he’s been grooming me to take over as the VP of the company. Ronnie would be the CEO once Dad decides to retire.

So my declaration that I don’t have time to date is pretty accurate. They’re well aware of that. But that doesn’t mean they don’t want to be grandparents.

Noodle jumps up into my lap and purrs. I stroke his orange fur and allow him to calm me. Hearing my parents lecture me on being single is one of my least favorite activities.

“You’re thirty years old now,” my mom goes on. “It’s time to settle down.”

“Thirty is still plenty young,” I say. “Lots of people don’t get married until they’re close to forty.”

“By then, you’ll be too old to have babies.”

“Can we change the subject?” I request. The truth is, I can’t have babies, but I haven’t had the courage to tell my parents.

“You’re always wanting to change the subject.” Mom throws her hands in the air in frustration.

“Meera, maybe we should let it go for now.” Dad puts a hand on her arm.

She pulls her hand away. “I don’t want to let it go. Do you know what kind of pressure I’m under? Getting calls from my mother and my sisters always asking when my children are going to get married. All of my sisters are grandmothers now. Not to mention the Keiths gloating over the fact that they have Angel.”

“Maybe you should try talking to Ronnie. He’s perfectly capable of giving you grandchildren.” As far as I know, anyway. They won’t be getting any from me. Unless I decide to become a foster parent. It’s something that’s been on my mind a lot lately. It’s a way I can help the community. Give some troubled kids a better life.

“We’ve tried talking to Ronnie about getting married. He’s just as hardheaded as you are.” Frustration laces her words.

“He has no excuse.” Now I sound like my mom, but that’s not an unusual thing. I catch myself sounding like her a lot. I adore her. We’re usually so close, but this is the one topic we can’t see eye to eye on, and it’s killing me inside. I just can’t bring myself to tell her the truth. I’ve known for a year now, and she hasn’t hounded me too badly about the getting married thing, but ever since three of my cousins got pregnant in India, she’s been harping on me nonstop.

It’s really put a wedge between us.

“Do you guys want something to eat?” I offer, hoping food will be enough to get their minds off the marriage topic. “I made peanut butter cookies.”

“You baked?” Mom looks shocked.

“I figured it couldn’t be too hard.”

That’s enough to distract her, all right. She gets up and heads to the kitchen. My house is a new construction. I moved into it a year ago. It’s crisp and white and airy with lots of tall windows that overlook the rolling hills and tree-covered mountains. I love nature, and I wanted to be able to see as much of it as I can.

I’ve wanted to learn to cook for a while, but I’ve found that I’m not especially good at it. I might ask my chef to give me lessons if my own attempts keep failing.

I lead them to the cooling rack sitting on the white marble countertop. My mom picks up a cookie and sniffs it like she’s checking for poison. Then she hesitantly takes a bite, which crunches so loudly it practically echoes off the kitchen walls. She chews, and her eyes seem to water a little bit like she’s in pain. She swallows and forces a smile.

“Do you want one, Dad?” I offer.

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