Page 51 of Protected By My Best Friend's Brother

The drive to the Silver Springs Country Club passes in comfortable silence. Lucas keeps glancing at me when he thinks I’m not looking, and each time I catch him, his ears turn slightly pink.

“You do look beautiful,” he says, voice soft as we approach our destination. “I mean, you always do, but...”

“But this time, I’m not covered in coffee stains and arguing about sustainable technology integration?”

“Those have their charm. Especially when you’re proving Garrett wrong about implementation timelines.”

As we round the final curve in the road, the country club comes into view – a grand colonial-style building ablaze with lights against the darkening sky. Floral arrangements spill from urns flanking the entrance, and valets in crisp uniforms dart between luxury cars. Through tall windows, I glimpse the sparkle of chandeliers and the shimmer of evening gowns.

Near one of those windows stands Clara Brighton in a sleek red dress, surrounded by board members. Even from this distance, I sense the calculation in her posture, the way she seems to be watching the entrance. Waiting for us.

“She’s already working the room,” I murmur, as unease ripples through me. “Do you think anyone believes her narrative? About our relationship compromising the business?”

Lucas’s hand covers mine, warm and reassuring. “Let them think what they want. Our work speaks for itself.” He studies my face. “Second thoughts?”

“Never about us,” I say immediately. “Just about navigating corporate politics while revolutionizing sustainable analytics and maintaining perfect posture in these heels.”

His laugh warms me. “Multitasking at its finest.”

The valet opens my door as we arrive, and Lucas helps me out, his touch steady and grounding. The evening air carriesthe scent of roses and expensive perfume, underpinned by the earthy freshness of recently watered gardens.

Lucas hands the keys to the valet, then offers me his arm. “Ready to show them what a real partnership looks like?”

“To dazzle clients while breaking all the conventional rules?” I straighten my shoulders. “As I’ll ever be.”

***

The terrace buzzes with Silver Springs’ elite—hospital board members mingling with corporate donors and local politicians. Servers weave through the crowd with trays of champagne and delicate appetizers. A string quartet plays near the balustrade, their music almost lost beneath the hum of conversation.

“There they are!” Elizabeth Walker’s warm voice rises above the ambient noise. Lucas’s mom hurries toward us, elegant in navy silk that complements the flowers in her garden. “Let me look at you both.”

Elizabeth has always shown me kindness from my earliest days as Sophie’s gangly friend, constantly dropping things in their immaculate home. But tonight, I see something new in her expression—a warmth and approval that makes me stand taller.

Her eyes glisten as she takes us in, her smile radiating joy. “I always hoped...” She squeezes my hand. “But seeing you together like this... oh! Wait right here.”

She disappears inside, returning moments later with a small velvet box. “I wore these the night James and I announced our engagement. Sapphires for those beautiful eyes of yours, dear.” She opens the box to reveal delicate drop earrings that catch the evening light, deep blue stones surrounded by tiny diamonds. “They brought me luck. Maybe they’ll do the same for you tonight.”

“Mrs. Walker—“ I begin, deeply touched.

“Elizabeth, please. You’ve been family since you first started coming over to study.” She helps me change the earrings, her touch is motherly and confident. “Though I must say, I love seeing you make my son this happy. He lights up when you walk into a room, just like his father used to.”

Lucas clears his throat, clearly moved. “Mom...”

“Oh, hush, let me have this moment.” She straightens his tie with practiced ease. “Now go show everyone what a perfect team you are. And Emma?” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “I had them drain the fountain, just in case.”

“One time!” I protest, but we’re all laughing now.

As we enter the ballroom, the atmosphere shifts noticeably. Conversations pause, and heads turn our way. Whispers immediately circulate, with phrases like “unprofessional conduct” and “compromised judgment” drifting through the crowd. Clara’s photo campaign has clearly made an impact.

But Lucas keeps his arm steady around mine, greeting board members and clients with the perfect balance of professional courtesy and personal warmth. Watching him navigate the room, I’m struck by how differently he carries himself now compared to when he first returned from New York. The careful distance has vanished, replaced by confidence and authenticity—a man completely comfortable in his skin.

“The Johnsons have arrived,” Lucas murmurs in my ear, nodding toward the entrance where Jeremy and Elaine Johnson are accepting champagne flutes. “And so has Theodore Brighton.”

I follow his gaze to where Clara’s father stands beside a towering ice sculpture, his silver hair immaculate, his smile calculated as he chats with Garrett. Even from here, I sense his predatory assessment—a man who views business as a battlefield and people as chess pieces.

“Walker!” Mr. Johnson’s voice booms before I can respond. He approaches with his wife, smiling broadly. “And Ms. Hastings! Just the duo we wanted to see. Clara was telling us some interesting things about your working relationship.”

There’s a curious glint in his eye, but nothing malicious—more like he’s evaluating us with new criteria in mind. Mrs. Johnson studies us more carefully, her analytical gaze reminding me of my first presentation to their board.

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