Page 8 of Bought by His Brother's Best Friend

“To Paris?” He looked at me as if I’d suggested we swim the Atlantic.

“My meeting tomorrow will only take a few hours. The rest of the weekend would be ours to explore the city.” I leaned against the bar, projecting casual confidence despite the surprising nervousness I felt. “Consider it an elevated version of the charity date you agreed to.”

Shane stared at me, trying to determine if I was serious. “You want me to drop everything and fly to Paris with you? Tonight.”

“Yes.” I smiled at his incredulous expression. “It’s the weekend, Shane. Surely, even dedicated sports agents get days off?”

“But... Paris? That’s not exactly dinner at a local restaurant.”

“Twenty thousand dollars isn’t exactly a standard dinner bid,” I countered. “Besides, I have a feeling you could use a break from routine.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head. “This is insane.”

“The best decisions often seem that way at first.” I lifted my glass again, continuing to watch him. “Forty-eight hours in Paris. Come and keep me company. What do you say?”

Something shifted in his expression—a spark of excitement breaking through his practical nature. “My passport is current,” he said slowly, as if thinking aloud.

“Excellent start.” I couldn’t help smiling at his tentative consideration of my admittedly outrageous proposal. “My jet leaves at one. We’d be in Paris for breakfast, back early Sunday.”

“Your jet?” he repeated, a mixture of amusement and disbelief in his voice. “Of course you have a jet.”

“It’s a company asset,” I said, though that didn’t make it sound any less privileged. “Very practical, actually.”

“Nothing about this situation is practical, Damien.” But there was a smile playing at the corners of his mouth now.

I stepped closer, drawn by that almost-smile and the possibility it represented. “Life isn’t always about being practical, Shane. Sometimes it’s about saying yes to unexpected opportunities.”

He studied me for a long moment, searching my eyes for something—sincerity, perhaps, or reassurance that this wasn’t an elaborate joke. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to find it.

“Yes,” he finally said, his voice firmer than I expected. “I’ll go to Paris with you.”

A wave of pleasure washed through me, more intense than the situation warranted. I’d expected more resistance, more practical objections. His agreement felt like winning something precious.

“You won’t regret it,” I said, raising my glass in a toast.

He clinked his tumbler against mine, a mix of nervousness and excitement in his smile. “I already think I’m going to, but somehow I’m saying yes, anyway.”

“That’s the spirit.” I grinned, feeling lighter than I had in months. “I’ll text you the details. Pack light—anything you forget, we can buy in Paris.”

Shane laughed, the sound genuine and unguarded. “Of course we can. You probably have accounts at all the best shops.”

“I do.” I admitted with a wink. “Perks of being obscenely wealthy, as you put it.”

His phone buzzed, and he glanced down at it. “It’s Marjorie, probably wanting to make sure I properly thanked you for saving the foundation’s fundraising goal.”

“Tell her mission accomplished.” I finished my drink and set the glass on the bar. “I should head out—we leave in a couple of hours, and I’ve got some last-minute preparations to make.”

“Right. The Paris trip that’s actually happening.” He shook his head again, as if still not quite believing it.

“It is happening,” I confirmed, enjoying his bemused expression. “I’ll send a car for you at midnight.”

“I can drive myself.”

I smiled at his instinctive independence. “You could, but then your car would be sitting at the airport for two days. The car service will be more practical.”

“Fine,” he conceded with a small smile. “Midnight.”

I resisted the impulse to touch his arm or shoulder as I said goodbye, maintaining a friendly but professional distance. “Until then, Shane.”

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