Page 17 of My Bestie's Billionaire Brother

The memory makes me uncomfortable. I was twenty-nine then, and the thought of marriage had terrified me. Not because I didn't care for Olivia, but because I wasn't ready to be the man she needed.

"That was almost ten years ago," I protest. "I've grown up since then."

"Have you?" Dad raises an eyebrow. "Your track record suggests otherwise. A string of meaningless relationships, except for Vanessa, and she wasn’t right for you."

I bite back a retort.

"I need to go," I say, desperate to end this conversation. "I have a meeting with the marketing team in ten minutes."

He nods, gathering his papers. "Fine. But bring Tess to dinner this Sunday. Your mother will be thrilled."

My stomach drops. "This Sunday? I'm not sure if she's?—"

"No excuses, Charles. We want to celebrate this development properly."

After he leaves, I collapse into my chair, the full weight of what I've done crashing down on me. What the hell was I thinking? I just told my father that Tess and I are dating. And now he's invited her to dinner, expecting us to show up as a couple.

I grab my phone, staring at Tess's number. How am I supposed to explain this?

Hey, Tess, funny story. Remember when you agreed to be my fake date for those weddings? Well, I may have accidentally told my father we've been secretly dating for months. Also, we're expected for dinner on Sunday.

I put my phone back face down. This is a disaster. I can picture her face—those expressive eyes widening in shock before narrowing in confusion. She may back out of our arrangement entirely. And I wouldn't blame her.

But if she does, I'm screwed. The weddings start in two weeks, and I need her there.

Chapter 5

Tess

It's a beautiful June morning and I'm just arriving back to my house from the barn. Oliver was such a good boy today, doing exactly what I asked him to. He jumped everything that I pointed him at with no complaints.

As I pull into my driveway, I see an unfamiliar black sedan parked in front of my house and wonder who it belongs to. It's kind of early for delivery people, but they are delivering earlier and earlier these days. Sometimes I wake up and find that I’ve had a delivery occur sometime in the middle of the night. Do these poor delivery people not sleep?

Stepping out of my truck, I’m quickly approached by a young man in his twenties, dressed in a dark blue jacket. He moves with a confident ease as he approaches me.

“Tess Whitlock?” he asks, his tone professional.

“Yes?” I answer tentatively, glancing around quickly to see if any of my neighbors are outside.

He hands me a to-go cup of steaming coffee.

“Mr. Astor asked me to deliver this to you. I'm sorry if I startled you,” he says, his voice apologetic.

“Oh…okay. Thank you so much,” I manage, amused by the memory of our conversation two nights ago, where we tradedplayful jabs about my dislike for coffee. Clearly, he wants me to give coffee another try.

I head into the house and set my purse on the kitchen counter. I carefully remove the lid from the cup. Taking a whiff and have to admit it smells pretty good. I don't have any half-and-half to add to it. I do have some sugar, but I normally don't sweeten my drinks, so I decide just to give it a try black.

After all, they say that truly good coffee stands boldly on its own, without the need for cream and sugar to disguise its flavor.

I take a tentative sip and I'm surprised that it actually tastes kind of good; definitely better than any coffee that I've ever tasted before.

My mind drifts back to the conversation the other night at the bar as it has many times the last couple of days. I still can't believe that Charlie asked me to go to all these weddings with him. I still don't understand why he would wantmeto go.

He could pick from any woman he wanted, so why me? He explained that he needs somebody who understands the inner workings of the Seattle social system, and although I do understand them, I haven't been part of them in quite a while. Plus, I never liked them when I was part of them.

But when he mentioned that he could get me a job at the Seattle Symphony, I knew I had no choice in the matter. A job opportunity like that was too important to pass up.

I'm going to have to go shopping for some dresses. I don't often wear a dress that fancy. The outfits I wear for symphony performances, though professional, lack the flair needed for a wedding, where sparkling accessories and elegant silhouettes are the norm.

---