Page 25 of Protected By My Best Friend's Brother

I hate the way she’s started second-guessing every interaction, every word. I hate the way I’ve made her feel like she needs to. I hate how the light dims in her eyes when she corrects herself, when she forces herself back into the formal box I created.

I should step back, return to my seat, and maintain an appropriate distance while she explains how she’s potentially saving our largest client and the future of sustainable technology. I should be the responsible CEO Garrett wants, focused only on numbers and professional interactions.

Instead, I say, “Just don’t try to fix it yourself this time. Remember the printer incident?”

A startled laugh escapes her. “That was one time! And I maintain that any reasonable person would assume red means power.”

“You tried to convince the IT department it was possessed.”

“It was making demon noises!”

“It was out of toner.”

We’re both grinning and it feels like old times for a moment. Like the wall I carefully constructed between us has developed a crack, letting the real us shine through. The team is watching our exchange with expressions ranging from confusion to knowing smiles.

Then, someone clears their throat, and reality crashes back in. I’m still standing too close to my head analyst in a room full of employees, smiling at her like a lovesick teenager instead of focusing on how she’s just outmaneuvered our biggest competitor.

I see the exact moment Emma remembers where we are and who’s watching. The light in her eyes dims, and she straightens her posture slightly.

I step back quickly. “Please continue, Ms. Hastings.”

The rest of the presentation goes smoothly, but I can’t focus on the implementation schedule. Instead, I watch Emma’s hands move when she explains something she’s passionate about, and her eyes light up when she talks about sustainable technology milestones. She’s brilliant and capable but terrible at pretending to be someone she’s not.

Unlike me. I’ve gotten far too good at hiding behind a professional mask, denying what I really want in service of what I think I should be.

Her midnight email’s challenge echoes in my mind:Do you really want to become what Brighton already is, instead of being what made Walker Enterprises special in the first place?

No. I don’t. I want to be the CEO who recognizes brilliance and embraces innovation, even when it comes in unconventional packages. I want to be the man who acknowledges what’s in front of him instead of hiding behind corporate jargon and appropriate distance.

Afterward, the team files out, buzzing about how our integrated sustainability platform might help us beat Brightonto the market. Emma lingers, gathering her materials. Before I can stop myself, I close the door.

“Emma.”

She looks up, startled by the use of her first name after days of formal “Ms. Hastings” exchanges. “Yes, Mr. Walker?”

“Lucas,” I correct. “Please. At least when we’re alone.”

“Oh.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture I remember from when we were younger. “I thought... I mean, you’ve been very clear about maintaining professional standards, and I know the board is watching the Project Phoenix budget, and I don’t want to make things more difficult for you...”

“You don’t make things difficult.” The words come out more intensely than intended, raw with honesty. “You make things real. What you’re doing with this project, the way you see possibilities nobody else does...”

Her eyes meet mine, full of something that looks dangerously like hope. “Lucas...”

I should say more, acknowledge her midnight email, and tell her she’s right about everything, that we’re stronger together than apart. That her color-coding system isn’t just a quirk but a brilliance that translates complex data into actionable insights. That I’ve been an idiot thinking professionalism meant distance.

Instead, fear makes me retreat to safer ground.

“The team’s going out for drinks tonight,” I say quickly before I can do something unprofessional like tell her how beautiful she looked during the presentation. “To celebrate beating Brighton’s timeline. You should come.”

“Is that an official order, Mr. Walker?”

“Lucas,” I remind her. “And no, it’s... It’s just me asking you to be there. Please?”

She studies me for a long moment, her analytical mind clearly assessing what’s changed, why I’m suddenly abandoning the professional distance I’ve insisted on maintaining. “Okay.But only if you promise not to act like I’m radioactive all evening. The team needs to see that you support this accelerated development schedule.”

“Deal.” I smile, feeling something tight in my chest ease slightly. “Though maybe we should establish a safety perimeter around any beverages, just in case.”

“One time!” But she’s laughing now, real and bright in a way I haven’t seen in too long. “I only spilled one drink on you, and it was technically Sophie’s fault for telling that joke right when I was taking a sip.”

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