My Brother's Best Friend - A Second Chance Romance (San Bravado Billionaire's Club Book 8)

by Layla Valentine

  “A social life, maybe?” he answers. “You know, parties? Friends? Dating?”

  I laugh out loud. “Right, a social life,” I echo sarcastically, “because I work sixty hours a week and still somehow manage to frequent the party scene.”

  “I know you hate fun,” he jokes, “but parties aren’t everything. Are you seeing anyone?”

  Again I laugh. “Me? No, absolutely not,” I say honestly. “I’m painfully single right now.”

  Jackson picks up his glass and hovers it above the middle of the table. “Well, we can toast to that,” he says, and I clink our glasses together gently before finishing the rest of the drink.

  I’ve had drinks at this restaurant once, so I know they’re pretty cheap, and Jackson’s right: I haven’t cut loose in a while, so I could do with a mimosa…or three. He tips the last of his drink back, too, and asks for refills as the waitress takes our glasses.

  “Seriously, though,” he clarifies, “are you not dating at all? Not even casually?”

  “Oh my God, why are you so desperate to know about this?” I ask, laughing.

  “I like to know what my baby sister is up to!” he defends, tossing his hands up. “I’m sure a lot of your clients are single guys, right? Why don’t you ask one of them out?”

  That, I think, is a horrible idea. “I’ve done that once,” I explain, “and I will never make that mistake again.”

  Jackson grimaces. “That bad?”

  “Worse,” I shudder. “He actually laughed at me.”

  Jackson’s jaw drops, and I rush to clarify.

  “They’re all celebrities and millionaires, Jackson! They don’t want to go out with plain old me. Plus, the only time I see them is when we’re working out, so I’m usually all sweaty and yelling at them to push their limits.”

  Jackson shrugs. “That’s a turn-on for some guys,” he points out, and I wrinkle my nose, giggling.

  “I don’t know; I’ve been on a few dates since I’ve been here, but nothing has really stuck,” I sigh.

  “All losers?”

  I laugh. “Yeah, no one that fits my impossibly high standards,” I say sarcastically. “No. A few of them have been…nice, but I just haven’t found anyone that I’ve connected with.”

  My mind wanders to the one man that I’ve felt a connection with since I arrived in San Bravado, then I quickly shake the thought away. I do that a lot, honestly. Every time I think about Tyler Cross, I force the thoughts out of my mind, because that’s never going to happen.

  “And what about you, huh?” I say, turning the attention back on Jackson. “No cute coworkers you could ask out?”

  “Three-quarters of our store are men,” he says, “and the rest are married moms who just use a part-time job as a reason to get out of the house. Neither of which is really my type.”

  I nod sagely. Dating in this city is difficult for people who don’t frequent nightclubs, which neither of us do. Jackson was never really the clubbing type, even when he was at the age where it was all his friends wanted to do, and I work so much that I really never find the time.

  “Well, here’s to being single,” I say, and Jackson laughs.

  “Look on the bright side,” he says around a huge bite of waffle, “at least your career’s going well.”

  Once again, I’m uncomfortable. I know Jackson wants to talk about it, but he doesn’t want me to worry or pity him. The problem is, I don’t know how to talk about something that’s bothering Jackson without worrying.

  As if fate wants to heighten my discomfort, before I can reply, I watch Jackson’s eyes go wide.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, and he points behind me.

  I turn around to see that he’s pointing to the television that hangs above the bar, normally showing tennis or golf at this time of day, but which now is interrupted by a commercial for VirtuGym. Upbeat techno music thumps as the camera pans around a room of people exercising on treadmills and ellipticals in a dimly lit room, all wearing VR headsets.

  “Do you want to get in shape, but find running a drag?” a familiar voice asks, and I turn around to gauge Jackson’s reaction—composed but clearly irritated—to Tyler’s voice narrating the peppy, energized commercial.

  The camera zooms in to one of the VR headsets worn by a young woman on a stationary bike, and suddenly, we’re watching her competing in a simulated bicycle race, then bouncing to a young man on a treadmill whose VR headset is showing him some sort of dystopian landscape, outrunning zombies. Tyler takes off a headset and steps off one of the bikes, looking exceptionally fit—more like a model than the owner of the business.

  “Your health is the most valuable asset you’ll ever have, so why not invest in it? Join VirtuGym, the futuristic workout experience that’s committed to making sure you achieve your goals and have fun doing it!”

  The commercial ends, and I have to take a moment for myself before I can ask Jackson how he feels about it. I’ve done my best to forget about Tyler these past few years, and I don’t want my face to give away the feelings that seeing him dredges back up. Luckily, the waitress comes back with our fresh drinks, allowing me time to compose myself.

  “What a prick,” Jackson grunts when the waitress leaves. “Looks like my ideas are working well for him.”

  That comment is enough to bring me out of my spiral of nostalgia and back to the moment.

  “I still can’t believe he only gave you $500K,” I grumble. “Didn’t the company get valued at a billion dollars recently?”

  Jackson nods, wearing an expression that I can’t quite interpret, something between jealousy and sadness. “Yeah, and they just opened up their first location outside the U.S., in Tokyo.”

  I frown, reaching for Jackson’s arm and patting it lightly in what I hope is a supportive gesture.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  Jackson runs a hand through his hair, rolling his eyes. “Yeah,” he reassures me, “I just wish that I hadn’t sold out when I did. Tyler was obviously right, and I backed out way too early.”

  I shake my head firmly. “No,” I disagree. “You didn’t. I wouldn’t be surprised if Tyler just got his parents to provide the startup cash for the next branch, once you were out of the picture. If you’d gone in on the loan and everything had gone under, what would you have done then?”

  He considers this for a moment, then shrugs. “I mean, it’s not like Tyler couldn’t have bought us out of it,” he says, and I raise one eyebrow skeptically.

  “And you would have been happy just knowing that Tyler could do whatever he wanted with the business because he could afford to take the risk?”

  Jackson sighs, then takes a long sip of his mimosa. “I guess not,” he admits. “Dammit, Mel. You’re always so rational.”

  I nod. “You made the right decision getting out when you did,” I promise. “I don’t want you to lose sight of that.”

  Soon, Jackson and I have both finished our meals, and I ask for the check, which he takes from me and then hands his credit card to the waitress. She takes it away to run the transaction and Jackson finishes off the last of his near-forgotten cup of coffee.

  “I’ll admit that it stings that he’s a billionaire now,” he says quietly.

  “Yeah,” I say, unsure what I could possibly say to make him feel better. “It’s…impressive.”

  “Right?” Jackson says, taking his credit card back from the waitress. I set the tip down on the table, leaving a few dollars extra for the excellent service. “He was already loaded, and now he’s one of the richest young entrepreneurs in the world.”

  “You sure you’re okay?” I ask, leaning forward a bit toward him and finishing my second mimosa.

  Jackson sighs, forcing a smile that I know is just to make me feel better. “I’m fine,” he promises. “I just…I’ve been wondering for years if I made a bad decision in taking the money and walking away. Now, I know I did.”

  “You didn’t—”

  “I know,” he interrupts, “t
hat what I did made sense at the time. And maybe I’d have been unhappier if I’d stayed and tried to work things out with him. I mean, we’d have fought over every little decision, and it would have ruined our friendship. But it ruined our friendship anyway, and look at what I could have had.”

  “Something better will come along,” I insist. “It always does. You’re only 28. You’ve got a lot of time.”

  “I guess so,” he agrees. “It just kills me to wonder if I did the right thing.”

  I wince at the jealousy in Jackson’s eyes. “Try not to think about it,” I tell him, leaning in to give him a goodbye hug before we both go our separate ways. “You’re doing great without him.”

  Jackson laughs disbelievingly, but all he says is, “Thanks, Mel.”

  I order a cab through the app on my phone and, since we’re having lunch in one of the more populated areas of the city, I see that it’s already pretty much here.

  “Take care of yourself, Jackson,” I remind him. “I love you.”

  “Love you, too,” he replies. “Come around more often! I want to see you more than once every few weeks.”

  I laugh, already hurrying to my cab, and nod in agreement to a promise that I know I might not be able to keep. Then again, seeing just how upset that commercial made Jackson, hearing how unfulfilled he is at the phone store…I’m going to definitely make an effort to keep Saturdays free for our brunch date.

  Seeing Tyler on the television brought back feelings that I have been telling myself were long-since dead. The truth, though, is that ever since that night we spent together, he’s never been far from my thoughts. I’ve been on other dates, sure, but nothing that really stuck. Knowing that Tyler is now running an international business that he built up by himself…even if I still hate him for what he did, I can’t deny that it’s impressive. Seeing his face, the busy life that comes with running a successful franchise has clearly not taken any time out of his fitness regimen, because he’s still just as fit as he was five years ago.

  Regardless of how I feel, I know Tyler’s moved on. He probably travels all over the country setting up new branches of VirtuGym—potentially all over the world, now that he’s made it an international chain. There’s no way that he doesn’t have a steady stream of women who can’t wait to jump into bed with him, and with things going so well for him, there’s no way he still thinks of me.

  That’s my problem: no matter how well things are going for me, I can’t let go of what I can’t have. Tyler and I spent two nights together five years ago, and now, he’s one of the richest young men in the world, preoccupied with his business and everything else, and I want him again. I should have stopped thinking about him; I’ve tried to let him go, but I just can’t. Maybe it’s because he was my first time, or maybe it’s because we connected in a way that I’ve never connected with any other man, or maybe it’s just because he was such good friends with my brother and I knew that I shouldn't have been doing it in the first place.

  Whatever the reason, I make myself another promise to stop thinking about Tyler Cross and to focus on what’s going well in my life: my business, my clients, and my relationship with my brother.

  I’ve got everything I need. I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted since I was young, right? I can focus on that, and I’m sure that I’ll forget all about Tyler.

  Chapter 9

  Tyler

  A little trick I’ve learned over the years—a key that any successful person will swear by—is that I never sleep in, even on a Sunday. I reply to emails and texts by eight in the morning every day, ensuring that anyone who is looking to correspond with me knows that I’m on the ball, even when I’m not in an office. Because when running a business, there are no days off. If my clients and investors know that I’m prioritizing them by replying first thing every morning, they know that they can rely on me, and trust is the most important thing in every relationship—boardroom or bedroom.

  By 8:00, I’ve already been awake for two hours, completely finished with replying to emails and texts, liked and replied to a few select social media mentions, and made a cup of coffee. Sundays are admittedly more relaxed than a weekday, and I tend to make a French press of dark roast and sit at the kitchen table after managing my correspondence, reading the news on my tablet.

  I’ve checked a few global papers already, and I’m now reading the San Bravado Times. It’s normally full of classified ads and gossip about local celebrities, so I don’t take a whole lot of time leafing through it to get to the crossword puzzle. But as I flip through the pages, something catches my eye: a name I recognize, that stops me in my tracks.

  Mel Page is featured in a segment about up-and-coming entrepreneurs in the city, and I’m reading it before I can make myself turn the page. It’s a lot of fluff, just stuff to fill the article, but I read every word twice. Apparently, she’s become a celebrity personal trainer, which has made her something of a celebrity herself. She works with a few movie stars, some of whom are big names, and she’s in high demand.

  “I waited for three months to get my first training session with Mel Page,” a soccer player (who is apparently, famous, but I’m more of a football guy, so his status is lost on me) is cited saying in an interview. “It was worth the wait—she knows what she’s doing and she’s one hell of a motivator. I’ve never worked with a better trainer.”

  My stomach is fluttering at just seeing her name, and I can’t believe how successful she’s become in what feels like such a short time. It seems like it was just a few weeks ago that she was the nineteen-year-old sister of my business partner, a girl who’d been embarrassed to even tell me about her dream job because she thought it was silly. Now, she’s got everything she wanted, and she’s one of the best in the business. While I can’t say I’m surprised, I’m definitely impressed.

  In the years that have passed since I last spoke with Mel, I’ve thought of calling her several times. Every time I’ve pulled up her contact to dial her number and talk, however, I’ve stopped. I don’t know what I’d say, really. She never forgave me for the falling-out I had with her brother, and I can’t just apologize for that after so many years of silence. Plus, if she wanted to talk to me, she’d have called, right?

  Everyone has their “one who got away” and I’ve accepted, with time, that Mel is mine.

  In all likelihood, she hates me. After everything that happened with her brother, I can’t say that her feelings would be unfounded, either. Though I haven’t exactly had second thoughts about the risk I took, the rift it created between me and Jackson is unfortunate. He was a good friend to me, and now, I haven’t spoken to him or Mel in five years.

  The night we slept together wasn’t just another fling, not for me. Sleeping with a friend’s sister—never mind a business partner’s sister—is a risk, and though I’m hardly risk-averse by nature, I always weigh the potential downfall cost versus the reward. Had Mel told Jackson about our night together, he would have been furious, and it would have been justified; it’s sort of an unspoken rule between guys that family members are off-limits for flirting, and certainly fornicating.

  Part of the thrill was in the risk, I suppose. The future of my business and my relationship with my friend was on the line that first night. I shouldn’t have done it. In any other circumstances, it wouldn’t have happened. But the moment I saw Mel across the room, in her little purple dress, curly brown hair bouncing around her collarbones as she laughed without restraint at something Jackson had said, I was intrigued; by the time we locked eyes, I was smitten.

  Over the past two years or so, as VirtuGym has become more and more fruitful and I’ve met other members of the San Bravado elite, my life has had no shortage of excitement. I get invited to any party that matters, from celebrity birthdays to business opening celebrations. I’ve been to casino parties that got so out of control that the police had to intervene, mansion soirees at which each dinner plate cost hundreds of dollars, and yacht gatherings on the finest, most expen
sive boats in the country.

  Not one of those parties has even compared to the two nights I spent with Mel, and as much as I try to force the memories out of my mind, I can’t deny that they were the best nights of my life. She could have been the best thing that ever happened to me, and I let her go. Looking at this article, I’m happy for her—of course—because I’ve always wished her the best, even though we haven’t spoken. However, the feelings are conflicted by how much more her success, drive, and incredible nature make me want her more, and I find that I can’t read the article anymore.

  Before I can flip the page, though, something else catches my eye. At the bottom of the article is a mention of the gym Mel works at—only a few miles from my house.

  My normal routine on a weekday is to go work out before I eat breakfast and head to work for nine sharp. Normally, I use my own private gym in my new house. Every once in a while, I’ll go to one of the VirtuGym locations, if I’m on the road traveling or just itching to get out of the house for the day. Tomorrow, however, I’m thinking that it might be time for a change of scenery.

  By lunchtime the following day, after a full morning of listening to dozens of district managers’ Monday reports, I’m exhausted. The only thing that can get me out of this kind of fatigue is waking up my body, and that means that I pour the remainder of my coffee down the break room sink and grab a duffel bag to change into my gym clothes.

  “Jonathan,” I call to my secretary, “I’m going out for a long lunch. Hold my calls.”

  He looks me over, glancing skeptically at my workout bag. “You’re taking your gym clothes out to eat lunch?” he asks. He always notices things like that, and it’s part of why he’s been such a great fit as my PA, but right now, he’s prying about information I don’t want to disclose.

  “Yes,” I dodge, “so if anyone asks for me, tell them I’m at a business lunch.”

  “Even if Miranda calls?” he asks, winking suggestively, referring to a potential investor I’ve been meeting with, who—after our first meeting—gave me her personal cell and expressed an interest in me that extended beyond business. Before yesterday, it might have been a cute distraction, but right now, I’m on a mission.