Page 85 of Protected By My Best Friend's Brother

“He said what?” Natalie demands three days later. O’Sullivan’s is quiet this late afternoon, the usual crowd not yet arrived. The familiar scents of beer and comfort food ground me amid the weightiness of our conversation.

“That he won’t influence my decision.” I trace patterns in the condensation on my glass of water, creating little rivers that merge and separate like the potential paths before me. “He’s barely talked about it since. Just keeps saying he wants me to make the choice that’s best for my career.”

“Because he’s terrified,” Sophie says quietly. She’s been unusually subdued, pushing her salad around her plate without interest. “I found him yesterday staring at expansion plans for our European operations. He’s already researching how to split his time between London and here if you take the job.”

“What?” My hand stills on my glass, heart clenching.

“You didn’t hear it from me.” Sophie meets my eyes, her usual mischief replaced by genuine concern. “But Em...I’ve never seen him like this. He’s so determined to support you that he won’t admit how much he’s hurting. Classic Lucas—trying to be noble instead of honest.”

I think about Lucas these past few days—how careful he’s been, how supportive while maintaining a slight distance, as if preparing himself for my departure. How he’s redirected every conversation about the Goldman Sachs offer to focus on what it could mean for my career, never mentioning what it might mean for us.

“But is London the obvious choice?” Natalie leans forward, her analytical mind always cutting to the heart of the matter. “Emma, you’ve revolutionized how Walker Enterprises approaches sustainable technology. The board actually listens to your ideas now. That rubber duck crisis? They would have shut down your innovative solution two years ago before you could even try it. Now they trust you enough to let you take risks.”

Her words resonate with something I’ve been feeling but couldn’t articulate. The rubber duck incident would have played out very differently at most companies—especially one with Goldman Sachs’ traditional corporate structure.

“And the team,” Sophie adds, warming to Natalie’s point. “You’ve built something special there. They don’t just follow your leadership—they believe in your vision. Remember how they stayed all night for the Gordon Junior crisis? That kind of loyalty doesn’t come from job descriptions.”

“Which I could implement on a global scale at Goldman.” Even as I say it, something feels off. The words sound impressive but hollow like I’m reciting Walsh’s pitch rather than expressing my ambition.

“Could you, though?” Natalie challenges, ever willing to push when needed. “Their offer is impressive, but let’s be real—corporate giants like Goldman Sachs don’t exactly embrace unconventional approaches. Would they have let you turn a rubber duck rebellion into a system feature? Would they understand why you color-code sustainability matrices by emotional energy?”

I imagine trying to explain my organizational systems to a room full of Goldman Sachs executives—the emotional energy categorization, the sustainability impact color-coding and can’t quite picture the receptive nods I get from our team at Walker.

“Remember your presentation to the board about the Johnson plant approach?” Sophie adds. “You convinced a room full ofskeptics to let you bring the CEO of a billion-dollar company to crawl under machinery. That kind of trust takes years to build.”

I nod slowly, remembering the board’s faces when I’d proposed our unconventional approach. “It wasn’t easy. But they listened. They considered my crazy idea instead of shutting it down immediately.”

“Or maybe the real question is,” Sophie says gently, “what does success look like to you? I’ve watched you and Lucas work together. You balance, challenge, and make each other better... that’s rare. And I’m not just saying that as his sister or your best friend.”

“It’s not just the work partnership,” Natalie agrees, surprisingly sentimental for someone usually focused on hard data. “Though I’ve never seen two people collaborate the way you do. It’s how you both light up when solving problems together. How he automatically steadies you when you’re excited about a new idea. How you know exactly when to push him out of his comfort zone.”

Their observations strike a chord deep within me. Lucas and I do have something special—a synchronicity that makes us both better, professionally and personally. We anticipate each other’s thoughts during presentations. His steady practicality balances my enthusiastic innovation, while I push him beyond traditional approaches with my willingness to take risks.

“Which is exactly why he won’t tell me to stay.” I slump back in the booth, the realization bringing a fresh wave of frustration. “He’s so determined not to hold me back that he won’t even really talk to me.”

“So, make him talk.” Natalie’s eyes gleam with familiar determination. “You’re Emma Hastings. Since when do you let anyone, even Lucas Walker, shut down important conversations? The woman who stood up to the board aboutimplementing untested protocols is letting her boyfriend get away with noble silence?”

“He’s not just being noble,” Sophie defends. “He’s terrified of influencing you the way—” She stops herself, then continues more carefully, “He’s afraid of being the reason you miss an opportunity this big. But Em...” She reaches across the table, squeezing my hand. “Maybe what you need isn’t his influence, but his honesty. About what he wants, what his fears are, and what he’s willing to fight for.”

As we leave O’Sullivan’s, the setting sun paints Silver Springs in gold and rose hues. I find myself noticing details I’d normally overlook—the architectural details on the old buildings, the way the community garden on Fourth Street has bloomed under the summer sun, the familiar rhythm of the town I’ve come to call home.

I think about London—exciting, cosmopolitan, filled with history and innovation—but lacking the connections I’ve built here. Would I find another O’Sullivan’s there? Another team willing to work through the night to solve duck-related crises? Another Lucas?

The last question answers itself.

***

That evening, I let myself into Lucas’s place with the key he gave me last week. Muted voices lead me to his home office, where I find him on a video call, speaking what sounds like German. He’s still in his work clothes, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up—his challenging problems look.

“Ja, das könnte funktionieren,” he’s saying, his pronunciation careful but accented. “Senden Sie mir die Details für das Londoner Büro.”

He ends the call when he sees me, surprise and something like guilt flashing across his features. There are European market reports spread across his desk, and his laptop shows property listings in London. The sight makes my heart twist—while I’ve been wrestling with my decision, he’s been quietly preparing for a future divided between continents.

“You’re learning German,” I say softly.

“Brushing up. Our Hamburg office could use more direct oversight if we expand European operations.” He tries to smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Though my accent is terrible.”

“Lucas—”

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