Page 39 of Baby Surprise for my Brother's Best Friend

Not permanently.

But if I have my way?

She will be.

The limo is quiet, save for the soft hum of the engine and the muted flashes outside.

Sophie sits beside me, spine straight, legs crossed tight at the knee, her hands smoothing over her clutch like she’s trying to iron out her thoughts. There’s a tension in her shoulders she can’t hide, polished, composed, but wound tight.

I don’t think her nerves are about the gala itself.

She’s done press and boardrooms and a hell of a lot worse. But this, being next to me, paraded around as if she belongs in my world, in this world of old money and silent weapons, this shakes her. Because she knows what one wrong move could cost.

Her job. Her reputation. Her control. Maybe even her life.

"Here’s the deal,” she says. “You smile. You charm. You don’t speak unless absolutely necessary.”

I grin. “You sure you don’t want me to just flash a smile and wave my dick around?”

She glares, but the corner of her mouth twitches. “Please don’t.”

Her voice breaks for a split second until she regains her composure. The crack in her armor is almost unrecognizable. But I catch it.

I lean in, my lips brushing the shell of her ear as I whisper, “I'll behave, but remember, you’ve got this,dolcezza. Don’t think about them. Just pretend it’s only us. You, me… and your vibrator.”

Her gasp is audible, and her hand smacks my arm before she even thinks about it. “I don't have a hot clue what you're talking about.”

Her cheeks flush a glorious pink.

Paparazzi bulbs pop outside the window, catching us mid-movement.

She exhales sharply. “Great. Caught mid-smack. They’ll think I hate you.”

“I think you like me,” I letting my gaze drop with my voice, slow, deliberate, to the curve of her thighs before meeting her eyes again.

Her breath hitches.

And my heart skips a beat when she doesn’t deny it.

The gala is a glittering blur of champagne flutes, expensive perfume, and smiles that slice sharper than knives. The kind of room where every handshake is a deal, every laugh a calculated move.

I know these people. I’ve played this game. And I’m good at it.

But tonight, I’ve got Sophie on my arm.

And suddenly, none of them matter.

She moves beside me with practiced grace, but I can feel the stiffness in her spine, the tension humming beneath her skin. She’s trying too hard not to look out of place. Trying not to hear the whispers coming from the women who fell into money because of who they're fucking.

Those voices behind their well-manicured hands and diamond-draped necks. When you've been around their circles long enough, their type is easy to spot.

So, I do what I do best.

I charm. I grin. I distract.

I throw an arm around a donor’s shoulder, spin a story that has influencers laughing too loud, and pour drinks like I belonghere. Because I do. I was raised in rooms like this. Dad bought me my first tailored suit before I learned to drive.

But Sophie?

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