Page 16 of Protected By My Best Friend's Brother

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Sophie reads over my shoulder, her voice rising with indignation. “I’m going to kill him. Slowly. With one of your color-coded reports.”

“Don’t. He’s right.” I set the phone down with forced calm. “Tomorrow’s vote determines Project Phoenix’s future. The company’s future. We can’t let personal complications get in the way.”

“Emma.” Natalie’s voice softens. “The Johnsons didn’t just love your technical innovation. They loved how you and Lucas work together. How you balance each other. How you make each other better.”

“Which is exactly why we need to keep things professional.” I start gathering the scattered presentation materials, needing to move, to do something with the nervous energy building inside me. “The board already thinks he’s letting personal feelings influence business decisions. If they believe our relationship—our working relationship—is clouding his judgment...”

“Then what?” Sophie challenges. “They’ll somehow miss how brilliant you are? How perfectly you and Lucas complement each other, personally and professionally? How your ideas could revolutionize the entire industry?”

“They’ll use it against us.” The words come out small. “Like Garrett’s already trying to do.”

My computer pings with a new email. From Lucas, copied to the entire board:

Excellent presentation today by Ms. Hastings. Her innovative approach to sustainable analytics demonstrates the kind of forward-thinking leadership Walker Enterprises needs. I look forward to tomorrow’s vote on Project Phoenix funding.

“Well,” Sophie says after a moment. “I guess we know what side of the professional-personal fence my idiot brother has chosen.”

“Please don’t call him an idiot.”

“Emma, for real, are you okay with his behavior?”

I stare at the email, at the careful distance in every word. At how thoroughly he’s drawn the line between CEO and whatever we almost were. The worst part is that I understand why he’s doing it. I’ve seen the way Garrett watches us, calculating how to use any personal connection against Lucas’s leadership.

“It’s fine,” I say again, even as my heart aches. “We have bigger things to worry about. The board vote, the Johnsons’ decision, Brighton’s next move...”

“Emma.” Natalie places her hand over mine. “It’s okay to want both. A flourishing career and personal happiness aren’t mutually exclusive.”

But maybe, for some of us, they have to be.

I open the Project Phoenix files, losing myself in sustainability metrics and implementation timelines. Numbers don’t get complicated. They don’t send mixed signals, maintain icy distances, or make your heart race with a single touch.

They also don’t look at you like you hung the stars, then pretend they don’t feel the connection every time you’re near.

Tomorrow, the board votes on my vision for the company’s future. I can’t let personal feelings complicate that. I can’t let this ache in my chest distract me from everything we’ve worked for.

Even if every email and every careful interaction feels like losing him again.

My phone lights up with one final message from Lucas:

The Johnsons would be crazy not to see how amazing you are. I mean, how amazing your ideas are. Sorry. Good luck tomorrow, Ms. Hastings.

I don’t respond. Don’t tell him that keeping our distance won’t make the electricity between us less real. Don’t mention how his hand felt on my back, how perfectly we still fit together, or how being professional is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Instead, I turn back to my sustainability metrics. At least numbers never try to pretend they don’t care.

Even when everyone knows they do.

Chapter Seven

Lucas

I’ve been staring at the same sustainability report for an hour, but all I can think about is Emma during the presentation. I remember the seamless way we moved together, anticipating each other’s thoughts, and how she felt under my hand when I steadied her—a touch that was both completely innocent and anything but professional.

She’d leaned into my palm slightly, unconsciously seeking support while her voice remained confident. We’d fallen into our old rhythm like dancers remembering steps after years apart. That moment she glanced back at me, sharing a flash of triumph when the Johnsons started nodding along with her projections.

The board meets in twelve hours to vote on Project Phoenix’s future, and I can’t focus on anything except the way she smiled when Mrs. Johnson called our approach “compelling.”

“You’re brooding.”

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