Page 1 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

Chapter 1

Laura

“Don’t you know it’s bad luck for the bride to see the groom on the night before the wedding?”

I froze when I heard Conor’s voice. Slowly, I turned around, heart hammering in my chest. The lights on the porch of the hotel were low. It was summer, and flies buzzed around the lamps.

I watched as he removed his hands from his jean pockets. He was dressed in a plaid shirt and his work boots. I planted my feet shoulder-width apart and stared into the face of Conor O’Shea.

“I didn’t think you’d be here,” I said. My heart was beating rapidly, and the warm air caused a bead of sweat to trickle down my temple. I hurriedly tucked a few strands of my black hair behind my ear, and watched him as he strode confidently over to meet me.

“Hey,” I said, and suddenly realized that I was breathing hard. That my body could barely keep up with the panic in my system. Already, I felt like gulping down enormous breaths. But I knew I had to be strong—that I couldn’t show my emotions. Not now.

He stepped towards me, his boots creaking on the porch. The night was still and quiet, except for the humming of cicadas. He slowly reached up, resting his big, strong hands on my arms.

“Doesn’t matter, I guess,” he purred, his deep voice sending that old thrill of lust through me. I’d never been able to resist him. Not once. And tonight, I was going to have to do the impossible before he talked me into staying.

I couldn’t stay. No matter what.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I said, and let my arms drop to my sides. For a moment, a flash of concern crossed Conor’s face. Then his eyes rose up to the Caluga Hotel behind me. I watched his green irises flicker in the light as he studied the wide old windows, the fresh lick of beautiful blue paint on the front of the building. It wasn’t much—just a small, local hotel. But I’d known it would be just perfect for our wedding.

“I mean, you’re not going anywhere,” said Conor, studying my face again. He chuckled as he said it, and reached up to adjust his scruffy hair. In the light, I could see the streaks of red that shone through now and then. “Right?”

“Right,” I said, feeling a lump rise in my throat. Did he know? Did he suspect? My head had been howling with questions like that ever since I’d packed my bags.

Ever since I’d decided to leave that afternoon.

“You know, Laura,” he said. “You can always tell me what’s going on. You know that, don’t you?”

“Uh huh,” I nodded. But how could I tell him?

Maybe there was a chance. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe I could still stay, and go through with it all. Maybe tomorrow morning, I could go down to the registry office with Conor—and my dad, and my mom, and everyone else—and get married to him.

“Hey,” I said. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he said. “Ask me anything. After all, by tomorrow lunchtime, you’re gonna be Mrs O’Shea,” he grinned. His eyes seemed to glimmer sweetly at me as he said that. From the first moment I met him, I'd known I wanted to marry him. Conor was the best-looking of all the boys in our tiny high school. He was tall and slim, and muscular with chiseled abs. He was on the swim team and the football team in high school. These days, he wore his hair long, almost to his shoulders. His angular, square jaw and intense green eyes nearly made me forget what I wanted to ask.

“Do you still mean it? What you said at the Falls when we first got engaged?”

“What was that?”

“You don’t remember?”

He curled his lip. “What is it, Laura? What did I say?”

“You said…” I whispered, “…that you didn’t want to have kids. That you,” I gulped, “couldn’t stand the thought of any little Lauras or little Conors running around our new house.”

Conor smiled, and tossed his hair over his shoulder a little defiantly. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I do still mean it. At least right now. I mean, I’m still working with my dad—and carpentry isn’t paying a lot in this town. And you, Laura? What are you gonna do?”

“I’m going to work for the paper.”

“The paper?” he snorted. “The Caluga Collector? And how much is Old Man Marshall paying you for that?”

“I can get another job,” I said.

“I don’t want you to,” he grinned, and patted me on the shoulder. I hated it when he did that. Much as I thought I loved him, I couldn’t stand the way he spoke to me like a kid. “You know me. I love you for who you are. And I know you’ll be a writer one day if you put your mind to it. But—” he smirked. “Not right now, huh?”

I nodded, and looked away. On the porch, I could see an easel hung up. ‘WEDDING PARTY: 28th JULY, 12pm-9pm.’ I looked at my watch. It was ten minutes to midnight.

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