Page 56 of My Bestie's Billionaire Brother

The drive back to Seattle feels eternal. Charlie frequently checks how I'm feeling. Each time, his eyes search my face with such intensity that I feel so bad I put him through this. But beyond exhaustion and a lingering soreness in my throat, I'm okay.

"Everything is going to be okay," I tell him somewhere past Ellensburg, the afternoon sun painting the hills in golden light. "I promise I'm not going to collapse on you."

"Humor me," he says, eyes flicking between me and the road. "I just need to keep asking.”

I laugh softly. "Thank you so much for being so amazing through all of this. I can’t even imagine what would have happened if I’d been alone."

"We’re not even going to think about that." He looks over at me briefly. "I’ve got to say, watching someone you care about struggle to breathe really clarifies your priorities."

Someone you care about. The words settle in my chest, warm and unexpected. I grab his hand and squeeze it tightly.

Seattle's skyline appears on the horizon as evening approaches. Charlie drives directly to his downtown penthouse, insisting that he is going to stay with me tonight but first he needs to pick up Hans and some clothes to change into.

"He's been alone all weekend," Charlie explains as we ride the private elevator to his floor. "The dog walker came by twice a day, but he'll be climbing the walls by now."

He opens up the door and the sound of nails skittering on hardwood draws my attention.

Hans races toward us, his entire body wiggling with joy. Charlie scoops him up, accepting enthusiastic face licks with good-natured complaints.

To my surprise, Hans squirms out of Charlie's arms and plants his front paws on my legs, his expression expectant. I scratch behind his ears, and he melts against me with a contented sigh.

"He likes you," Charlie observes. "Now we’ll just have to see what he thinks about Art."

"I worry about Art meeting Hans," I admit, watching the dachshund licking Charlie’s face again. "Art hasn't spent much time around dogs. He's... particular about his personal space."

Charlie raises an eyebrow. "Particular?"

"He once hissed at my neighbor's seven-year-old for trying to pick him up. The poor kid cried for ten minutes." I scratch Hans behind the ears, earning another happy wiggle. "Art likes things his way."

"So, what you’re telling me is, he's a cat," Charlie says with a grin.

"Yea, but not just any cat. He's a twenty-pound tuxedo cat with an attitude. I found him at a shelter five years ago, and he's ruled the roost ever since." I bite my lip, picturing Art's indignant expression when I left him alone this weekend. "I'm actually a little nervous about introducing them."

Charlie sets his overnight bag on the counter and crosses to the refrigerator. "Hans is good with other animals. He's more interested in people, honestly."

"I just hope Art minds his manners," I respond weakly, still petting the dog.

Charlie gathers a few things while I bond with Hans. “Thank you for staying with me tonight. I really don’t want to be alone after the day I’ve had.”

"Tess." He sets down his bag, crossing the room to take my face gently between his hands. "Wild horses couldn't drag me away from you tonight."

The intensity in his eyes leaves me speechless. I swallow hard, suddenly aware of how much I’m getting used to spending time with him.

As we drive to my house, Hans curled contentedly in my lap, I steal glances at Charlie's profile. His jaw is set in determined lines, but exhaustion shows in the shadows beneath his eyes. He catches me looking and reaches for my hand, lacing our fingers together on the console between us.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," I say, squeezing his hand. "Just...thank you. For everything today."

Charlie lifts our joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles. "Let's make a deal. No more near-death experiences, and I'll keep being your hero as needed. Sound fair?"

I smile, feeling so much better after such a shitty day. "Sounds perfect."

Chapter 18

Charlie

I'm standing at the edge of a cliff in La Jolla, watching the waves crash against the rocks below as guests file into rows of white chairs. The sun hangs low in the sky, painting everything in gold.

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