Page 72 of Protected By My Best Friend's Brother

“Plus,” Sophie continues, her expression turning mischievous, “watching my brother crawl under machinery in his Italian suits to support your crazy idea? Priceless. I should send Mom the photos I took. She’d have them framed.”

“Don’t you dare,” I warn, though the image makes me smile. “He’s finally embracing a hands-on approach to leadership. No need to embarrass him for it.”

“Fine,” she sighs dramatically. “But only because you two are adorable together. Even covered in machine grease.” Her expression softens unexpectedly. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this happy since before Dad got sick. He’s finally himself again.”

The observation catches me off guard with its emotional weight. “He was always that person,” I say after a moment. “He just needed permission to be himself again.”

“And you gave him that.” Sophie’s smile turns genuine. “You’ve always seen the real Lucas, even when he was trying his hardest to be someone else.”

She leaves a few minutes later, but her words linger. Indeed, I’ve always seen past Lucas’s CEO persona to the person underneath—the one who values people over profit marginsand who understands that true innovation comes from human connection. But what means even more is that he sees me the same way—not just as an analyst with good ideas but as someone worth betting on, even when my approaches seem unconventional.

The rest of the day passes in a blur of preparation for tomorrow’s board meeting. By the time I head to Lucas’s place that evening, I’m equal parts exhausted and exhilarated. The week of intense work at the manufacturing plant, followed by the rush to compile results, has left me drained, but the validation of our approach provides a special kind of energy.

Lucas greets me at his door with a smile that still makes my heart skip. He’s changed from his office suit to casual clothes—jeans and a soft sweater that makes him look more like the boy I first met than the CEO of a billion-dollar company.

“Successful day?” he asks, taking the dessert box from my hands and kissing my temple.

“Very,” I agree, following him into his kitchen. The promised wine is already open on the counter, breathing. “Though I heard an interesting rumor about a possible new department focused on our hybrid implementation approach.”

He has the grace to look slightly abashed. “I was going to mention that. After dinner and the wine, preferably.”

“Lucas Walker,” I stop, hands on hips. “Were you trying to butter me up before proposing a major career change?”

“More like celebrating your well-deserved success before discussing exciting new possibilities,” he corrects, pouring wine into glasses. “Is it working?”

I can’t help but smile. “You might be onto something.”

“The board hasn’t formally approved anything yet,” he explains, handing me a glass. “But the chairwoman is intrigued by the potential. After tomorrow’s presentation, assuming it goes well, we could start discussing structure and scope.”

“And the reporting relationship?” I ask, voicing my earlier concern. “If I headed this department—“

“You’d report to the executive committee, not directly to me.” His expression tells me he’s already considered this complication. “I thought about that potential challenge.”

Of course, he did. This is Lucas—thoughtful, strategic, always considering all angles.

“I’d want to maintain professional boundaries at work,” I say, needing him to understand. “What we’ve built—our relationship, our partnership—matters too much to risk with blurred lines.”

“I agree.” He steps closer, the warmth in his eyes making my breath catch. “Though I can’t promise I won’t occasionally admire my brilliant girlfriend from across the conference room.”

“As long as it’s only admiring,” I say firmly, though I can’t quite suppress my smile. “No more making out in your office before meetings.”

“That’s hardly a pattern!” he protests, hands lifting in mock innocence.

“Uh-huh.” I give him a pointed look, arching a brow. “And it better stay that way.”

Laughing, we settle at the dining table, where Lucas has set out dinner—grilled salmon, roasted vegetables, and a crisp salad. The soft glow of candlelight flickers between us as we eat, conversation flowing effortlessly from work to weekend plans. Every so often, his knee bumps mine under the table, a quiet, familiar touch that sends warmth curling through me.

When we’re both pleasantly full, Lucas takes my plate and his, stacking them neatly before carrying them to the kitchen. “I’ll clean up later,” he says when I move to help. Instead, he grabs the bottle of wine and his glass and gestures toward the living room.

“Come on. Dessert time.”

I grab the tiramisu I brought with spoons and my glass as we make our way to the couch. Lucas sets the wine on the coffee table, then pulls me down beside him, his arm curling around my shoulders as we settle in.

“I found something today,” he says, reaching behind a cushion and pulling out a worn paperback. “Remember this?”

I take the book, running my fingers over the dog-eared copy of ‘The Alchemist.’ A smile spreads across my face. “You kept it? After all these years?”

“It was the best gift you ever gave me,” he says softly. “For my twenty-fourth birthday. You wrote something inside about finding your personal legend.”

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