Page 4 of My Bestie's Billionaire Brother

Jane checks her watch. "I need to go feed Jasper before we leave. You two good to finish up here?" Her innocent tone doesn't match the pointed look she gives me.

"We're fine," I say quickly, perhaps too quickly. "Go ahead."

She slips away, leaving Charlie and me alone with Oliver, who's now contentedly drinking water.

"I should walk him out a bit more," I say, reaching for the lead rope.

"I'll do it," Charlie offers. "You should rest that shoulder."

I start to protest but stop myself. My shoulder is throbbing steadily now that the adrenaline has worn off. "Thanks," I concede, handing him the lead line. "Just ten minutes or so."

"C’mon, big guy. And no funny business." He clips the lead to Oliver's halter with practiced ease.

When they return, Oliver looks relaxed and content. Charlie hands me the lead rope, our fingers brushing again.

"He has impeccable ground manners now," he observes. "Must be my magical influence."

"Clearly," I agree dryly. "Perhaps I should hire you as his full-time handler."

"I charge exorbitant rates," he warns, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Ah, well. Back to getting dragged through the dirt for me, then."

He laughs, and I find myself joining in. Oliver watches us with pricked ears, as if he's in on the joke.

I busy myself adjusting Oliver's cooler to hide my excitement of being near Charlie. "Anyway. I should go get cleaned up."

"I'll see you at dinner," he confirms. "Jane just texted the details. Six o'clock at Riverview."

I nod, suddenly looking forward to the evening more than I care to admit. "Six o'clock."

Riverview Restaurant sits perched on a cliff overlooking the Columbia River, its wall of windows capturing the sunset in shades of amber and rose.

The hostess leads me to a table where Charlie already waits alone, standing as I approach. The setting sun catches in his hair, gilding the dirty blonde to gold, and his summer-sky blue eyes track my movement with an intensity that makes me momentarily forget how to walk.

"Hi, there." He pulls out my chair, the gesture smooth and natural. "You look...not like someone who was dragged through the dirt this morning."

I settle into my seat, smoothing the skirt of my simple black dress. "Amazing what soap and clean clothes can do for a girl."

"Jane's running late," Charlie explains, returning to his seat across from me. He's changed into a pair of navy pants and a plaid button-down shirt.

"So it's just us?" The words escape before I can filter them.

One corner of his mouth lifts. "For now. Problem?"

"No," I say quickly. "Just surprised. Jane's usually pathologically punctual."

"Unlike her brother." He signals the waiter, who appears instantly at his elbow. "Wine? Unless you're still on competition duty tomorrow?"

"One glass is fine. Oliver's done for the weekend—we're heading back to Seattle tomorrow." I pause as the waiter hands us menus. "White, please. Whatever you recommend, Charlie."

Charlie orders me a pinot gris with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to choosing wines in fancy restaurants.

"How's the shoulder?" he asks, nodding toward my left side.

"It'll be fine. Nothing some ibuprofen can't handle." I adjust my position, sitting straighter. "I've had worse injuries from the cello, honestly."

His eyebrows rise slightly. "The cello? I didn't realize it was such a dangerous instrument."

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