Page 1 of Protected By My Best Friend's Brother

Chapter One

Lucas

“Harrison Garrett is waiting in your office.”

Bill Morrison, the head of security who’d watched me grow from a teenage intern to VP of Operations, stops me as I stride through the lobby of Walker Enterprises. My Hermès tie suddenly feels more like a noose. Perfect. The board member most eager to see me fail has already staked out my territory.

“Since seven,” Bill adds before I can ask, his carefully neutral expression not quite hiding his concern. We both know what it means—while I was finalizing my move back to Silver Springs, my opponent made his first move.

I try to smile confidently, but it feels stiff. Two years ago, I would have stopped to ask Bill about his daughter’s collegegraduation and caught up on security team changes. Now, every minute counts with a corporate shark circling.

“Thanks for the heads up.” I start toward the elevator bank, then pause. “How’s Frank doing since retirement?”

“Miss having him run the security team, though he earned his rest.” Bill hesitates. “Especially after everything with your father.” The tact is appreciated—we both know he means the final board meeting where Dad announced me as his successor despite our troubled history. The prodigal son, returning to take the reins of a billion-dollar company he’d once walked away from.

I scan the gleaming lobby as I wait for the elevator. The company logo dominates the far wall: WALKER ENTERPRISES. It traces our evolution from my grandfather’s hardware store to my father’s expansion into commercial real estate and finally our current position as a leader in sustainable technology—a legacy I have to prove I deserve.

My mind flashes to the last time Dad and I reviewed quarterly projections together. I’d found an efficiency in the supply chain that saved us nearly two million. “Not bad,” he’d said, examining the figures with clinical precision. “These numbers support your theory.” The words delivered with the faintest nod - his version of enthusiastic approval. The next day, we’d argued about the future of the tech division, and a week later, I was on a plane to New York.

Two years of silence followed those meager words of approval. How do you build on a foundation that cracked before it could set?

The click of familiar heels makes me turn. Sophie’s here early, probably to ensure I show up. My sister’s always been the responsible one.

“Finally made it into town, big brother?” Sophie joins me by the elevator. “When you weren’t answering texts last night, I thought you’d changed your mind and ran off to Tahiti.”

“Garrett’s already upstairs.”

“Of course he is.” She bumps my shoulder like she used to when we were kids. “He’s been gunning for the CEO position long before Dad got sick. But he’s not why I tracked you down this morning.”

“Last month, he nearly convinced the board to sell off our solar division to Brighton Analytics,” she continues, lowering her voice. “Called it a ‘strategic divestment’ to focus on ‘core competencies.’ Three board members were ready to vote his way until Emma presented her market forecast. She single-handedly saved Dad’s vision for the company’s future.”

Something in her tone makes me narrow my eyes. “Sophie...”

“You know how I always say best friends make the best employees?” Her innocent tone isn’t fooling anyone. “Remember who I recommended for the senior market analysis position before you left?”

The elevator arrives empty, and I study my sister’s reflection in the polished steel doors as we ascend. She’s wearing her matchmaking smile, the one she wore during high school when she’d conveniently disappear during study groups, leaving me and her best friend, Emma, alone with textbooks and unspoken words between us.

“Sophie, please tell me you didn’t—“

“Make my best friend head of market analysis because she revolutionized our demographic targeting system? Yes, I did.”

The doors open to controlled chaos—phones ringing, keyboards clicking, voices murmuring in that tone that suggests everyone is hyper-aware of the new boss’s arrival.

I scan the executive floor, cataloging changes since I’d walked away from the VP office after that explosive fight with Dad aboutthe company’s direction. The layout is different now—more open than before. Through the glass walls, I spot the market analysis team gathered in Conference Room B, reviewing what looks like quarterly projections.

A familiar laugh—bright and unrestrained—floats through the open door. My step falters. That laugh belongs to late-night strategy sessions that felt more like dates, stolen moments during company picnics, almost-kisses by the lake, and Dad’s retirement party.

I remember our last project together, staying until midnight reconfiguring market reports. She’d come up with a color-coding system that made complex data instantly readable. “See?” she’d said, face illuminated by laptop light, eyes bright with the thrill of solving a problem. “Green for growth potential, yellow for steady markets, red for declining sectors.” I’d been more captivated by her enthusiasm than the innovation, though both had been remarkable. Two days later, I was gone without saying goodbye.

“Lucas?” Sophie’s warning comes too late.

Emma bursts out of the conference room, arms full of reports, and collides directly with me. Papers explode everywhere like corporate confetti. My hands move instinctively, catching her shoulders to prevent a fall. I freeze as I meet those honey-brown eyes—the same ones I’d last seen when I chose to flee rather than face what was happening between us.

My heart hammers against my ribs, and I’m stunned by the physical reaction her proximity triggers. Years of carefully constructed walls crumble in an instant, leaving me breathless and disoriented like I’ve been dropped into the middle of a familiar dream.

Emma Hastings.

She’s still tiny compared to my six-foot-two frame, has that sprinkle of freckles across her nose, and still makes my carefullyconstructed world tilt on its axis. The grad student who used to challenge my business strategies over coffee has been replaced by a woman whose market predictions have kept us ahead of competitors like Brighton Analytics. She radiates competence even with her chestnut hair escaping what was probably once a neat bun and coffee stains adorning her blouse.

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