Page 61 of Protected By My Best Friend's Brother

“We’re figuring it out,” I say, touched by their concern. “Together.”

Mom’s smile is knowing. “That’s all that matters. The rest will fall into place.”

Driving home later, I feel centered in a way only family can provide. These Sunday visits always remind me of where I come from—a home where my color-coding system started with reorganizing Dad’s car magazines, where Mom’s garden taught me my first lessons about environmental impact, and where my crazy ideas were always encouraged.

The apartment feels quiet when I return, but not in a lonely way. More like a peaceful interim—a space between the warmth of my parents’ home and whatever comes next.

My phone buzzes with a text from Lucas as I settle on my couch:Dinner tonight? I miss you.

I reply:Can’t tonight.Still processing Mom’s pot roast. But tomorrow?

Lucas:It’s a date. Love you.

Love you too. Even when you’re being magnificently magnificent.

I smile at the screen, warmth spreading through me at our private joke.

Two years ago, I would have stared at that message for hours, analyzing every word and punctuation mark for hidden meaning. Now it just feels right—like we’ve finally found our rhythm.

I set my phone aside and reach for the sustainability reports I need to review for tomorrow’s meeting. The complex data spreads before me, but instead of feeling overwhelmed, I feel centered. Ready.

Just a few months ago, I would have worked through the night, trying to prove something—to the board, to myself, to a Lucas who was still keeping his distance. Now I know when to push and when to rest. When to fight for my ideas and when to let others shine.

Brighton’s offer still hovers at the edges of my thoughts—head of global sustainable technology, creative control, my name on the patents. Everything I’ve worked for professionally offered on a silver platter. It’s tempting, but not in the way Theodore Brighton expected. Not because I doubt my place at Walker Enterprises, but because I want to be certain of my worth beyond Lucas’s connection. I need to process this decision carefully, evaluating what it means for my career and our relationship.

Some things change. We grow, adapt, and learn to balance the professional and personal.

But having someone who values both your brilliance and your chaos? Who sees you completely and loves you, anyway?

That’s the constant I never expected but somehow always hoped for.

I close the report, smiling at the thought of tomorrow’s dinner. Whatever challenges work brings, I know we’ll face them together.

Chapter Twenty-One

Lucas

Brighton’s offer to Emma sits in my inbox like a challenge, not a threat. Double her current salary. Head of Global Sustainable Technology Innovation. A corner office overlooking Central Park. Complete control over their new green energy analytics division.

Two years ago, I might have been the one tempted by such an offer—the prestige, the Manhattan skyline, the corporate validation. Two weeks ago, this would have terrified me and sent me spiraling into protective mode, trying to shield Emma from choices I thought I should make for her. Now, after the gala, after proving we’re stronger together, I’m smiling at Brighton’s attempt to separate us.

Theodore Brighton has always been ten steps ahead in business, but he’s miscalculated here. He doesn’t understand that Emma’s passion isn’t about corner offices or impressive titles—it’s about creating something that matters. Something sustainable in every sense of the word.

A knock on my door makes me look up. Emma stands there, tablet hugged to her chest, wearing my hoodie over her dress—a habit she’s developed since we started dating. There’s a smudge of ink on her cheek, her hair is escaping its clip in rebellious tendrils, and my heart does that familiar flip at how perfectly she fits into my life. How right she looks standing in my doorway, brilliance and chaos in equal measure.

“We have a problem,” she says, her expression a blend of concern and excitement that usually precedes her most innovative ideas.

“Just one?” I lean back in my chair, enjoying how comfortable we’ve become. “That must be a record.”

She closes the door, moving to perch on the edge of my desk. Close enough that the distinctive blend of her floral shampoo, fresh coffee, and that unmistakable printer toner—her signature perfume in the corporate world—surrounds me.

“The integration protocol we developed for the Johnsons’ supply chain? The one that’s supposed to revolutionize their sustainable manufacturing process?” She taps her tablet screen, bringing up a warning message. “It’s not just incompatible with their legacy systems—it could crash their entire production line if we implement as scheduled.”

This gets my full attention. I straighten, all amusement fading. “What? But you tested—”

“I tested it on their current platform. But their manufacturing division is running on a proprietary system from 1992 that nobody mentioned because, and I quote, ‘it’s always worked fine before.’” Her fingers make frustrated air quotes around thewords. “If we try to force our sustainability metrics through their old protocols, we could shut down three factories and cost them millions in lost production.”

Any other time, her frustrated air quotes would make me smile. Right now, I’m thinking about how perfectly Brighton timed their job offer. Almost like they knew we’d hit this snag. Like they were waiting for us to stumble.

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