Page 12 of My Bestie's Billionaire Brother

For a moment, I can pretend that my career isn't potentially circling the drain, that I'm just meeting an old friend for drinks like any normal thirty-two-year-old woman without a looming unemployment crisis.

"Hi!" Jane stands to embrace me. "God, it's good to see you. You look..."

"Stressed? Panicked? One unexpected bill away from a complete nervous breakdown?" I offer, sliding into the booth across from her.

"I was going to say 'beautiful as always,' but clearly we need to get a drink in you immediately. Luckily, I’ve already ordered us a bottle of that Pinot Noir you like."

Jane has always helped me to get out of my own head. While I spent my teenage years obsessively practicing cello, Jane was the one who'd drag me out for midnight snack raids and impromptu dance parties. Now she's a successful couples therapist in Portland, married to a successful attorney, and has her life completely together in a way that makes me both proud and slightly envious.

“What’s going on, babe?” Jane asks.

"Everything," I groan, accepting the glass of wine the server sets before me. I take a generous sip before continuing. "Remember I told you about the funding issues at PacWest?"

Jane nods, her expression already sympathetic.

"Well, today rehearsal was cancelled because of a supposed 'power outage,' but the buildings all around us had power. Then I met Beck at Emerald City Coffee, and she confirmed what I've been dreading." I take another sip, letting the wine warm my insides. "PacWest is basically done. They're three months behind on rent, major donors are jumping ship, and they can barely make payroll."

"Oh, Tess," Jane reaches across the table and squeezes my hand. "I'm so sorry."

"Beck says we'll be lucky if we make it to the end of summer. I just..." My voice catches, and I hate the vulnerability in it. "I don't know what I'm going to do. I have Oliver's boarding fees, my mortgage, and do you know how many professional orchestras are actually hiring cellists right now?"

"Not enough?" Jane guesses.

"It's like musical chairs, except when the music stops, a hundred cellists are fighting for three chairs." I drain half my wine glass in one go.

Jane rests her hand on mine and gives it a squeeze. “It’s going to be okay. You know that, right?”

“I know. It just all feels like a lot right now,” I say, shaking my head and looking away for a moment. “Tell me something interesting please to take my mind off of it. Do you have any good client stories?”

“Oh, I’ve got a good one for you. I saw a couple yesterday who nearly divorced over a chicken."

Despite myself, I laugh. "I'm going to need more context."

"So these two have been married fifteen years, right? Comfortable, settled, mildly bored with each other. Husbanddecides he wants to spice things up—in the kitchen," she adds with a theatrical wink. "Buys a cookbook, announces he's making coq au vin for dinner. Wife comes home after a terrible day, starving, thinking dinner is almost ready but then sees him just starting to prep this complicated French dish that won't be ready for hours."

"Oh no," I say, already knowing what’s going to happen next.

"Oh yes." Jane leans forward, hitting her stride. "She loses it. Says he's selfish and inconsiderate. He says she's ungrateful and doesn't appreciate his efforts. Somehow this devolves into him sleeping on the couch and her calling a divorce attorney."

"All over chicken?"

"All over chicken." Jane nods sagely. "Though of course, it wasn't really about the chicken."

"It never is," I agree, sipping my wine. The warmth of it spreads through my chest, mingling with the comfort of Jane's company. For the first time today, my shoulders relax.

"It’s always about communication, expectations, and—" Jane suddenly stops, her gaze shifting over my shoulder. Her smile widens. "Well, well. Look who’s here."

I turn, and my wine nearly sloshes over the rim of my glass.

Charlie Astor stands there, all six-foot-five of him, wearing a charcoal gray suit that fits him perfectly. His dirty blonde hair is just disheveled enough to look intentional, and his blue eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles down at us.

"When my little sister threatens bodily harm if I'm late, I tend to listen," he says, bending down to give Jane a hug before sliding into the booth beside her. His eyes meet mine across the table. "Hey, Tess. Good to see you again."

"Hi," I manage, hating the sudden flutter in my chest. Charlie has made me feel this way ever since I was a teenager. You’d think I’d be used to it…

"How's the music business?" he asks, flagging down the server for an extra wine glass.

"Currently on life support," I reply before I can stop myself. I give him an abbreviated version of what I’d just told Jane.

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