Page 13 of Protected By My Best Friend's Brother

Lucas pulls back like he’s been shocked, running a hand through his disheveled hair. He’s been doing that all morning, and it’s not helping my concentration. Every time those fingers rake through dark waves, I remember how close we came to kissing at his father’s retirement party. How his hands framed my face, his thumb brushing across my cheek as he pushed a strand of hair behind my ear. His eyes had darkened just before a voice called everyone inside for James Walker’s announcement.

“Maybe we should take a break,” he suggests, his voice rougher than usual. “Clear our heads before—”

“No time.” I force myself to focus on the presentation materials spread across my desk, willing my heart to slow down. “Garrett moved up the timeline specifically to throw us off balance. We can’t let him win.”

Lucas moves behind my chair to read over my shoulder, and suddenly, I’m hyper-aware of his presence. His cologne—something expensive and woodsy that wasn’t part of his college wardrobe—mingles with coffee and printer ink. His breath stirs the loose strands of hair at my neck.

“These projections are impressive,” he murmurs. “The way you’ve integrated their historical data with our sustainability framework...”

“I had an excellent teacher.” The words slip out before I can stop them. “Someone who used to help me practice presentations until 3 AM, usually with pizza and terrible jokes about market trends.”

His hands settle on the back of my chair, close enough that I feel their warmth but not quite touching my shoulders. “As I recall, you were the one with the terrible jokes. Something about supply and demand walking into a bar?”

“That joke was hilarious, and you know it.” I spin my chair to face him, forgetting how close he is, until I tilt my head. The movement brings us inches apart.

“Emma.” My name sounds different when he says it like that, low and almost reverent. His gaze drops to my lips for a moment before snapping back up, and the air between us seems to crackle with unspoken energy.

A knock at my office door makes us both jump. Natalie stands there, eyebrows raised at our proximity, a knowing smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

“The Johnsons are here,” she announces. “Early.”

Lucas straightens, CEO mask sliding into place so quickly I can almost hear it click. “How early?”

“Now early. Garrett’s already escorting them to the conference room.”

Of course, he is. Apparently, five hours and forty-three minutes was too much preparation time for our ambush presentation. I glance at my desk, seeing the chaos through a client’s eyes: colorful sticky notes creating a rainbow across my models, three empty coffee cups (all with lipstick marks at different angles), and the half-eaten protein bar I’d forgotten about.

“We can do this,” Lucas says quietly as we gather our materials, his confidence steadying my nerves. “Your strategy is solid. The integration timeline is revolutionary. They’d be crazy not to—” He stops as I straighten his tie, my fingers smoothing the silk against his chest, feeling the solid warmth beneath.

“For luck,” I whisper, ignoring how my hands shake slightly. “Though maybe keep your jacket on this time. Unlike the swimming pool incident.”

His laugh sounds strained, but warmth replaces the tension in his eyes. “That was one time.”

“It was three times, but who’s counting?” I step back before I can do something stupid like press my palms flat against his chest to feel his heartbeat. “Ready to revolutionize sustainable energy analytics?”

“With you? Always.”

As we head for the conference room, the words hang between us, heavy with meaning.

Professional. We need to stay professional. Even if his arm brushes mine with every step, sending sparks through my entire body. Even if I can still feel the phantom warmth of his hands near my shoulders. Even if—

“Ms. Hastings.” Garrett’s voice cuts through my thoughts with surgical precision. “So glad you could join us. The Johnsons were just asking about Walker’s latest technology offering.”

Game time.

I square my shoulders and step into the conference room, very aware of Lucas right behind me. His presence feels like a shield and a livewire all at once.

The Johnsons sit at the far end of the table – Jeremy in his customary gray suit, looking more like his father each time I see him, and Elaine beside him, elegant as always with her calculating gaze that misses nothing. The tension in their postures tells me Brighton has already made a compelling offer.

“Actually,” I say, channeling every ounce of confidence I can muster, “I’d love to discuss technology integration. Specifically, how Walker Enterprises is about to revolutionize sustainable analytics in a way Brighton can only dream of.”

Time to prove that professional brilliance and personal chemistry aren’t mutually exclusive. Even if maintaining that professional distance is getting harder by the minute.

Mr. Johnson leans back in his chair, fixing me with a skeptical look. “Brighton’s offering immediate integration. You’re asking us to wait six months for an untested system?”

“I’m asking you to be part of something revolutionary.” I pull up our prototype interface, hyper-aware of Lucas moving to stand beside me. His shoulder brushes mine as he reaches for the remote, and I force myself to focus on the projections instead of how perfectly we still fit together, even after two years apart.

“Look at these sustainability metrics,” Lucas adds, his voice steady despite our proximity. “Emma’s approach doesn’t just process data faster—it understands your unique workflows. The same workflows your father built with my father.”

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