Page 6 of Protected By My Best Friend's Brother

“See these spikes?” Her finger traces a pattern on the screen. “They correspond with our major deliverables, but there’s something else.”

She steps back slightly, her excitement about the data evident in her posture.

“The Johnsons aren’t just impressed by Brighton’s AI capabilities—they’re interested in sustainable energy integration. Their internal reports show massive investment in green technology.”

“Which is exactly what Project Phoenix could offer them,” I realize, the pieces clicking into place.

“Exactly.” Her eyes light up with that spark of enthusiasm I remember so well. “Brighton offers real-time analytics with AI integration, but they’re still developing their renewable energy expertise. We could position ourselves as the only company offering both—if we can fast-track the Project Phoenix timeline.”

“The board won’t approve accelerated development without proof of market demand.” But my mind is already racing with possibilities.

“Unless,” Emma says, biting her lip in that way that means she’s about to suggest something either brilliant or terrifying, “we could use the Johnson account as a pilot program. Create a hybrid approach combining our traditional relationship management with innovative tech solutions. Weekly micro-reports and direct channels between their sustainability team and our researchers. We make them partners in developing the solution rather than just clients.”

It’s brilliant. Risky but brilliant. We could save the account while simultaneously proving the viability of Project Phoenix. But it would require...

“We’d need someone to manage the relationship personally,” I say slowly. “Someone who understands both the technical side and the human element.”

As the words leave my mouth, I realize I’m not just talking about the Johnson account. I’m talking about the company, about the bridge between my father’s legacy and the futurewe need to build. Someone who can translate innovation into human terms, who sees both the data and the people behind it.

Our eyes meet, and I know we’re thinking the same thing. Emma’s perfect for this—she has the analytical skills and the natural warmth that makes people trust her. But it would mean working closely together, probably late nights, long meetings, and opportunities for our carefully maintained professional distance to collapse.

“I’ll do it,” she says before I can figure out how to suggest it. “I mean, if you think it’s appropriate. Given our history.”

The word hangs between us, heavy with unspoken moments and missed opportunities. I can see Garrett hovering by the conference room, his expression suggesting he’s already drafting the press release about my inevitable failure.

“Can we keep it professional?” The question comes out more vulnerable than intended.

She lifts her chin, a challenge flashing in her amber eyes. “Can you?”

“I asked first.”

“What are we, twelve?” But she’s fighting a smile now. “Yes, Mr. Walker, I can maintain appropriate professional boundaries while saving our biggest client and revolutionizing our approach to sustainable energy. Despite any previous incidents involving lakes, floating docks, or suspicious garden gnomes.”

“Good.” I stand, needing to move, to put some space between us before I do something stupid like tell her how beautiful she looks when intensely focused. “Because the board is watching this closely, and I need to prove—”

“That you’re not just the prodigal son returning home?” She asks it gently, understanding in her eyes. “That you’re more than the guy who used to set the curve in business class while simultaneously holding the record for most party invitations in a semester?”

“Something like that.” I run a hand through my hair, a nervous habit I thought I’d broken years ago. “The board—especially Garrett—is expecting me to fail. They’re waiting for any sign that I’m still that irresponsible kid who...”

“Who taught me to drive stick shift so I’d stop being afraid of hills?” She moves closer, and suddenly, the office feels too small. “Who spent an entire summer volunteering at the animal shelter because your sister was too young to walk the dogs alone? Remember how you named every one of those dogs, even the ones that would only be there for a day? That kid?”

I remember that summer—how Emma had shown up at the shelter every Saturday with color-coded schedules for the dog walking routes. She’d organized a fundraiser that tripled their annual donations by creating a matching algorithm between potential adopters and dogs. She’d seen something in me then that I’d barely recognized in myself: not just the party boy or the boss’s son, but someone capable of commitment, of caring about something beyond myself.

“Emma...”

“Sorry.” She steps back, her composed demeanor sliding back into place. “You’re right. Boundaries. I’ll have a detailed proposal for the Johnson strategy ready before the board meeting. Very professional. No mention of past adventures or questionable decisions involving garden decorations.”

“Thank you.” The words feel inadequate.

She heads for the door, tablet clutched to her chest again. “Just so you know,” she says without turning around, “you were never a disappointment. Not to anyone who really knew you.”

Before I can respond, she’s gone, leaving only the faint scent of her perfume and a confused mess of emotions I thought I’d buried when I left.

My phone buzzes. Garrett is requesting an update on the Johnson situation. I should answer it, focus on the boardpresentation I need to prepare, and do any number of official, CEO-like things that don’t involve remembering the way Emma’s eyes lit up when she talked about her ideas or how much I want to prove her faith in me isn’t misplaced.

Instead, I find myself saying something that would have made perfect sense to twenty-two-year-old Lucas but feels dangerous in my current position:

“The gnomes definitely had suspicious faces.”

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