Love to Hate You: An Enemies to Lovers, Best Friend's Brother Romantic Comedy (The Fillmores Book 2)

by Melissa Schroeder

  “Sydney!”

  She shrugs. “Sorry. You’ve been unprofessional, and you know how I feel about that.”

  She’s right. “Okay. I’ll find her and talk to her.”

  “She’s in Juniper. The LOLs have been busy yapping.”

  I roll my eyes. First, of course all those little old ladies have been yapping about Nancy. Secondly, going there and begging forgiveness isn’t going to be easy. The entire town will be watching us. But I will do it, because, well, I love her. I would say like a sister, but that is so not the way I feel about her. And my show. It employs hundreds. We were planning on opening a new office in Juniper and start a home improvement business, hoping to bring jobs and revenue to Juniper. Now, fuck, that is probably in the air. Man, I really screwed this up. I have no one to blame but myself.

  “Okay. I’ll jump in the shower and head up there today.”

  “You’ll apologize.”

  “Yes.”

  “You will beg her to come back.”

  I shift my weight on the chair and her eyes narrow. “Fine.”

  This is going to suck balls, but I have to save my show and my friendship. Somehow, I have to do that.

  “Now, go away.”

  “Text me.” She rises and gives me a kiss on the cheek, and she ruffles my hair like she used to when we were kids. “And be careful.”

  I nod as I watch the CEO and billionaire Grady follow her out like he’s her little puppy dog. I rise out of my chair and go to the kitchen to refill my cup. Coffee is one of the few things I think might help this situation. I’m going to need all the help I can get. Begging isn’t in my wheelhouse, but this is Nancy and while I might not say it out loud to anyone else, I definitely know that I do need her. Even if I didn’t, she’s owed an apology.

  Pulling in a deep breath, I head to the bedroom. Better to get going now because drawing it out is just going to make it worse. Either way, it is going to be a kick in the balls.

  Chapter Three

  Nancy

  Once Everly and Becca go to open their shop, I decide I’m going to force myself out and about. I have no food in the house and I definitely need food. A lot of it. Primarily sugar based.

  After a quick trip to the store—which took three times as long because this is Juniper Freaking Springs—I hurry home hoping to avoid my family. I don’t think most of them would show up—well only one of them would. The grand dragon of the Howard family, my grandmother. I’m making myself a cup of coffee when my phone starts blowing up. Yep, my family knows I’m home. Lovely.

  Dad: When were you going to tell me you were back in town?

  Mom: I think it’s rude you didn’t contact me right away.

  Ugh. They’re texting separately because that’s how they live. Separated when I was six, they didn’t divorce for another six years. Not because they were trying to work it out, but because they would have to stop jumping into bed with people in order to sign the papers. Only, my father “found love” and pushed the divorce through. My first stepmother lasted about three years. There have been two others since, and he’s always on the lookout for a new victim. He doesn’t physically hurt people, it’s just that he likes to cheat. It’s his defining personality trait. He always seems to find some stupid woman who thinks she will be the one to tame him. That woman—whoever she is—will always lose out to my father’s cheating ways.

  My mother, on the other hand, has been on a journey of self-discovery. It’s not a good thing. It’s hard to have self-discovery in the true sense when you have to stop along that path to get Botox injections. Her journey is more of a social media campaign to make everyone think she’s spiritual. And by spiritual, I mean she wants to sell her jewelry line for other one percenters to show how spiritual they are.

  Me to Dad: Maybe never? Not sure.

  Yeah, I don’t play nice anymore. No reason to. They see it as a sign of weakness. I don’t, but I also refuse to give them any more ammunition.

  Me to Mom: Next time I arrive at two in the morning, I will make sure to text you.

  I know they won’t ask me how I am doing or how the season went. The only thing they like about my show is that they can brag their daughter has one of the top-rated shows on TV. Had. I had one of the top-rated shows.

  I close my eyes as the pain moves through me again, and I really hate it. I hate the way it makes me feel. Guilt is something I try to avoid. I had a therapist when I was acting out in high school who told me that I felt guilty for my parents’ divorce. Yeah, sure. But I felt more guilt because by that point in my life, I didn’t care what they thought. I was just glad that they weren’t around. A sixteen-year-old girl should not think like that. She should want her parents around, should want to have their approval. I didn’t. They were never physically abusive, but they were careless with my feelings and for that, I will never forgive them.

  It was at that stage, I worried I was some kind of sociopath. Shouldn’t a teenage girl want her parents to approve of her life, to want their affection and attention? I didn’t. Not at all. I wanted them to forget I was around for the most part. I didn’t like playing the dutiful daughter any more than either of them wanted to play the loving parents. The one thing that saved me was Syd and, to an extent, Travis. They convinced me I wasn’t a monster. I hadn’t said a word to either of them about my worries, but I cared what they thought. I wanted their approval and that was the first time in a long time that had happened to me.

  So, my situation with Travis is so similar it hurts my head. I feel guilt for walking away from the show. And I could be altruistic and say I feel guilt for the people who might end up losing their jobs. Don’t get me wrong, I know the show will go on. But the ratings might take a dive and the show could end up getting canceled. But that’s not the reason. Feeling guilty for walking away from Travis shouldn’t hit me so hard, especially because of the way he behaved this season. I know it’s because I love him, not like a brother as I tell everyone. He’s in my heart. He crawled in there like a squatter, but it was inevitable from the start of our show.

  Four years ago

  Travis is missing. Not in a dire sense. Like, I don’t have to put out an APB on him. Maybe.

  We’re supposed to start filming today and he is nowhere to be found. I looked high and low—mainly around the food because the man is always eating—and his trailer. Worry rushes through me. This is not like him at all. A lot of times, he is up before me and always in a good mood. Where could he be?

  I pull out my phone as I stomp to my own trailer and text him again.

  Me: Travis, where the hell are you????

  I hear the sound of a ping from my trailer and my eyes narrow on the door. I go up the stairs, then burst inside. Travis is sitting at the little kitchenette table in the dark—well, as dark as it gets on a Texas morning. His phone is on the table in front of him as his stares down at it.

  “What the actual fuck, Travis?”

  He doesn’t even respond. Hell, he doesn’t acknowledge my presence. A chill washes over me.

  “Travis?”

  Still nothing and my panic increases. This isn’t like him at all. Usually, he’s the life of the party, always smiling with those dimples, putting everyone at ease. Actually, he’s kind of disgusting in that regard. He wasn’t the one who had been so damned nervous the day we auditioned for our new show, Flipping Texas. My hands were literally shaking. He had been invincible.

  I lean down and look him in the eye. I recognize that glassy-eyed stare. He’s freaking out.

  “Travis,” I say touching his arm. He shudders and seems to come out of some kind of trance.

  “Nancy? I came looking for you.”

  I blink. He doesn’t sound like he’s all there, as if he’s in shock or something. I’m contemplating calling for medical help when he interrupts my thoughts.

  “I can’t do it. I just,” he looks me in the eye, his milk chocolate gaze colliding with mine and I see it there. The fear, the desperation. I feel it
in the depths of my soul, leaving me almost breathless. Not once have I seen him like this. Even in high school, with his shy smiles and kind of nerdy ways. He was tall and gangly, not gaining the muscle mass he has now until college. He was always so sure of himself or appeared so. “I can’t.”

  I grab one of the rickety chairs and drag it to sit next to him. “You can do this.”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. No way.” He looks away, then looks back at me. “I threw up in the bathroom.”

  “And? I did already too.”

  Something sparks in his eyes, something like hope, but it dies quickly. “That’s a lie.”

  “Tray Tray, are you calling me a liar?”

  I expect the anger to come when I use his childhood nickname. It always gets a rise out of him, but instead, he looks away. Before he does, though, I see the shame.

  Travis and his sister were raised by a monster. Their grandfather taught that any fear you experience makes you weak. I hate their grandfather and I daily hope he is burning in hell.

  “Travis,” I grab his arm and shake him. Seconds tick by before he finally looks at me. It’s still there, the shame of feeling nervous because we are starting our new show. It makes me want to dig up his grandfather and beat him up. “Remember when we did the audition? I was shaking so much I could barely talk. Did that make me weak?”

  He shakes his head, his eyes steady on mine. He’s no longer as pale as when I first walked in. At least there’s that. My stomach is still in knots though.

  “Being scared doesn’t make you weak.”

  “A…”

  “Go on.”

  He sighs and looks away. “A real man wouldn’t be afraid of anything.”

  I know the saying is something he probably heard his grandfather say. Of course, the man hid on his farm for years, unable to live up to the fact that his wife left him, and his daughter was a drug addict who abandoned her children.

  “That’s not right.” He glances at me. “A real man can feel fear. But he uses it to his advantage. He stands up when his knees go weak, and he feels like he’s going to throw up, because he is going to kick ass and take names later. You can do this, Travis. We can do this. You’re not alone. I’m here with you.”

  For a long second, he studies me, then he releases a sigh that sounds like relief. “Yeah…okay.”

  I take his hands in mine and lean closer so that we are only a few inches apart. “You and me, Travis. We can do this. We are going to kick ass, take those names, and we are going to dominate the home improvement TV show market. You and me. Right?”

  He nods but says nothing and, all of a sudden, I notice the thin rim of gold that circles his irises. The air around us seems to heat and my head starts to spin. I draw in a deep breath trying to get my thoughts in order, but all I do is pull in the scent of sawdust and pine. It always reminds me of Travis. But right now, his gaze dips down, then right back up. Did he just look at my lips…like he wanted to kiss me?

  Heat rolls through me like a slow, lazy breeze, warming my blood and leaving me even more breathless. I find myself leaning in close, needing this closeness, needing something…I don’t know what.

  There’s a knock at the door, loud, obtrusive and whoever it is should get a raise, because I almost kissed Travis. My cohost and best friend’s brother.

  Her younger brother.

  Jesus.

  I sit back and release Travis’ hands.

  “Yes,” I call out, not missing the breathless quality of my voice.

  The door opens and one of the gophers—I think his name is Phil—stands there with an irritated look on his face. “You guys need to get your makeup done, and we need to go over the schedule for today.”

  “Sure thing. We’ll be there in a second.”

  “You’re already late.”

  “Well, I guess I can forgo changing my tampon, but I thought maybe that was important.”

  The little ass pales a bit and I try not to laugh. “Fine. Hurry up though.”

  He slams the door and there is a long moment of silence before a rusty laugh escapes Travis. I look at him.

  “I take it that was a lie?”

  I smile at him. “Tell a man something like that, and there’s a good chance he won’t argue with you.” Our smiles fade just a little. “So, ready to do this?”

  He draws in a deep breath, then releases it slowly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  “Always remember we’re in this together.”

  He nods, his gaze locked with mine. The determination I see there sends another wave of heat running through my blood. “Together.”

  Present Day

  My phone vibrating on the counter pulls me out of my thoughts, but it is, thankfully, no one I am related to by blood.

  Syd: I’m sorry.

  Me: Why? What did you do?

  Syd: Just remember I’m only looking out for you.

  Oh, damn.

  Before I can respond, there’s a knock at my door, then my phone buzzes again.

  Mrs. Peterson: Travis is at your door.

  Jesus. I roll my eyes. Like I need someone to tell me that. I don’t move immediately. Maybe if I’m quiet, he’ll just leave. I know it’s cowardly, but right now, I don’t want to face him and everything he brings with him. Those memories I just sifted through left me raw, my emotions even more ragged than when I walked out of the party yesterday.

  God, was that just yesterday?

  The knocking starts up again, then, “You know the LOLs will report you wouldn’t let me in, and then you’ll have to deal with the questions.”

  Dammit. He’s right and I hate it. I hate everything about this, especially because my heart is still bleeding. I draw in a deep breath and shoot off a text to Syd.

  Me: You are in so much trouble.

  I know that she’s trying to fix things for us, make it work so that we can save the show. It isn’t just a job to her, not our show. She loves us both. So it comes out of a good place, but it still pisses me off. I need to heal, and this isn’t going to help.

  I walk to the front door, pause briefly, then open it. And there he is. Standing so tall and beautiful, the late afternoon sun adding a bit of a glow behind him. Really, universe? You’re working against me making him look like some kind of photoshopped cover model for one of those romance books with bearded heroes that our friend EJ sells in her bookstore. Life is so not fair.

  He’s dressed in his usual way. An old t-shirt, a little worn, which just adds to the charm. It molds to his arms, showing off the corded muscle, and stretching across his chest. He’s wearing a pair of jeans. There are faint splashes of paint on them. Most men would look like a bum in these clothes. Travis looks like a wet dream come to life.

  Fuck. My. Life.

  “Hey,” he says, his wary gaze taking in my appearance. I definitely don’t look like a photoshopped model. More like the before picture of a makeover, but I tell myself not to care. I really don’t want to, but…I kind of do. Dammit.

  “What do you want?”

  “Can we talk?”

  “We are talking.”

  Yeah, I’m being rude, and I don’t care. Not much. But I am trying to hold my ground and save myself. If I let him talk me into coming back, nothing will change. He will continue working his way through women, and I will forever be heartsick in love with him.

  “Listen, I deserve anything you want to say to me, but I don’t want to talk here on your porch. I’d rather have the conversation inside where we don’t have an audience. I would also not want to read about it on the Express.”

  I look around him and sure enough, there’s Mrs. Peterson typing away on her phone. God, that woman.

  “Fine. But don’t think this means anything.”

  All of a sudden, his expression clears and while he doesn’t really smile, his mouth curves slightly. My entire body yearns…just flat out yearns for him. Fucking stupid body.

  I step back and let him in my house. He’s so big, so obtrusive in my env
ironment. I want to tell him to leave, to just go away. Every time he’s here, it gives me a memory of him in my space.

  “Want to sit down?”

  “No. You’re not going to be here long enough.”

  His mouth flattens again. I bite the tip of my tongue. Otherwise, I would have opened my stupid mouth to fix it. To make everything better. We continue to stare at each other, but he says nothing. I cross my arms under my breasts. Did his gaze just dip? Nope. That’s my imagination screwing with me. Why would he look at my barely C cups when he tends to go for the double D’s?

  He still stays nothing, so I decide to get this shitshow on the road. The longer he’s here, the more of a chance there is that I will give into him.

  “So, Travis Fillmore, sell it. Tell me why I should return to work with an asshole who shows me no respect whatsoever.”

  His face flames and I realize that he’s at least embarrassed by his behavior. He’s not a bad guy, but for some reason, he doesn’t want to be a good guy for me. Our working relationship is toxic and it’s mostly his fault.

  “Nancy—”

  I wave his plea away and make sure he understands where we are at the moment. “Listen, I just want you to get this over with so I can kick you out. I’m giving you five minutes, then I’m kicking your ass out.”

  Chapter Four

  Travis

  I study Nancy as I try to come up with the words to argue my case. They’re failing me now. I had a whole speech planned about how I was in the wrong. I was. I am. All the way. Full stop. I was positive it would win her back and I would get her to return to the show. But there’s a problem. The words are now bleeding out of my brain, and my tongue feels thick and useless. It’s like that first day on the set when I had the panic attack and she had to talk me through it. Just Nancy and me. But now, I’ve fucked everything else up trying to spare my own feelings and keep from embarrassing myself.