Falling for Your Best Friend's Twin: a Sweet Romantic Comedy (Love Clichés Romantic Comedy Series Book 1)

by Emma St Clair

  The man laughs, but the sound doesn’t have the same effect on me that Zane’s deep voice does. In fact, the longer this new guy stands here, the more it highlights how much I prefer the man across the desk. The one who is all wrong for me. And who, according to his sister, wouldn’t ever be interested.

  “I never thought Zane would date someone so smart and sassy. I saw you come in, and her come scurrying out and put two and two together.”

  So many words.

  So many flattering words.

  I only wish that they were coming out of Zane’s mouth.

  “You’ve misunderstood,” Zane says, just as I blurt out, “Your math is wrong.”

  “What?” the guy asks.

  Now both men are staring at me and, holy mama, it’s hard to formulate complete sentences.

  I clear my throat and sit up, pulling my feet off Zane’s desk. “Your math. You said you put two and two together, but you got a five. Or maybe more like a five thousand. Zane and I? We’re not a couple.” I laugh, thinking again of the vapid but gorgeous woman I just chased off. I can’t even compete with that. “Totally not a couple.”

  Zane looks offended. Probably because I’m insulting his choice of women.

  “Abby is our tech specialist,” he practically growls. “We hired her to fix the glitch.”

  “Oh.” The other guy points between us. “So, you two aren’t … together?”

  I expect Zane to say something about how ridiculous the idea is. Or to laugh like I’m doing now, though it’s more of a giggle. Because even if the mental image of Zane as Batman seems stuck in my brain, there is no way he would see me as his Vicky Vale. Or Catwoman. Or Rachel Dawes. Take your pick of franchises, and I don’t hold up to a single one.

  But Zane doesn’t say anything. Surprising.

  “Zane is my best friend’s brother,” I explain, like that puts the final word on it.

  “Great. I’m Jack, since my partner here is too rude to introduce me.”

  Jack leans closer to shake my hand. A waft of cologne hits me. Nice, but a little too much. I pull my hand away just in time to sneeze.

  “Bless you,” Jack says, going back to his position on the wall.

  “Back to the task at hand,” Zane says, his voice clearly irritated. His blue eyes pin me in place. “Do we have bugs or not?”

  “Oh, you’ve got bugs. Big ones. Much worse than what you thought.”

  His irritation gives way to a look of panic. He and Jack exchange a glance. Jack peels himself off the wall and perches on the edge of the desk.

  “Is this going to delay our launch? It’s in a month. How big is the scope of the problem?”

  “You’ll be fine,” I say. “But you’ll be seeing a lot more of me. Paying me a lot more too.”

  Jack turns to look at Zane. “Should we cancel the trip?”

  “No,” Zane says. “We need extra VCs even more now. It’s going to be fine. Abby will take care of us. Right?”

  He looks slightly desperate, and it’s the most I've seen his tough shell crack. It softens me even more toward him.

  I smile. “I’ve got you. Didn’t Zoey tell you how amazing I am?” I flutter my lashes at him, happy to see him squirm in his seat.

  “She did,” Zane says.

  “Great.”

  Jack eyes me with a look I don’t know how to interpret, like he’s sizing me up. It makes my fingers start to twitch.

  Jack looks at Zane. “If you just got rid of Charlotte—”

  “Chelsea.”

  “Right. Charlotte was the one from last month, I guess?” Jack asks. Zane doesn’t answer.

  I snort, and Jack flashes me a wide smile.

  “If you got rid of Chelsea, you need a date for the weekend. And mine just fell through.”

  Zane’s eyebrows shoot up. “What happened to Anna?”

  Jack waves a hand. “Don’t worry about it. Anyway. Are you taking Abby?”

  I’m sure the look of shock on my face mirrors the one on Zane’s.

  “Taking me where?” I ask.

  “No.” Zane shakes his head firmly.

  Jack and Zane ignore me. Their eyes are locked, like they are two bulls about to fight.

  I wave my hand between them. “Hey—guys. Where are we going?”

  “We’re taking some of our VCs—the potential venture capitalists—on a trip,” Zane answers, though he doesn’t take his eyes off Jack.

  “So, Abby isn’t your date?” Jack asks.

  “Abby is still right here, guys,” I say.

  Still, the two fighting males ignore me. Zane’s nostrils flare. I would find it comical except I feel like somehow, I’ve become the red flag. I’m choking on the testosterone in here.

  “Abby isn’t my date,” Zane says.

  “So, you won’t mind if I ask her.” Jack’s statement is a challenge.

  The last few minutes are like staring at a cipher without the key. I’m following, but barely. I understand that there’s some work trip with investors and these two do—or don't?—want me to go.

  What I haven’t figured out is the context here. Give me code any day of the week. It has discernible patterns. The pieces fit together into a whole. People? Way too unpredictable.

  “Fine,” Zane says, not looking at me though I know he has to feel my eyes on him.

  With a wide smile that I somehow don’t trust, Jack turns to me. Weirdly, the longer he stays in this office and the more words come out of his mouth, the less attractive he becomes.

  “Would you like to be my date on a corporate retreat? Purely professional, of course.”

  I think he added that last bit because I was so busy peeling my jaw up off the floor.

  “You want me to do what now?”

  “We have a weekend with some potential VCs. They’re bringing their wives, and we’re bringing dates to even things out.” With no warning, Jack steps into my space and takes my hand. I fight the urge to yank it back. “Would you be willing to be my date for this investor weekend?”

  I’m staring into Jack’s eyes. But I keep sneaking glances at Zane. There’s this thing Zoey does when she’s really upset, and Zane is doing it now. He looks like he sucked in a big breath and is holding it. His cheeks are red, and his eyes are practically bugging out of his head.

  I narrow my eyes at Jack. “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

  Why this is the first thing that comes out of my mouth, I don’t know. I want to be able to rewind the last few seconds and say something, anything, other than that.

  Jack’s eyes go wide, and then he squeezes my hand, barking out a laugh. “Noted. I like a woman who speaks her mind. So, what do you think?”

  I think I want to fall right through the floor. Especially when I glance up and see Zane staring at me with the kind of eyes you usually see in movies with laser beams coming out of them. I fully expect to see steam shooting out of his ears.

  What I don’t understand is why he’s upset. He doesn’t want me, so I don’t know why he cares if Jack asks me to be his date. But Zane definitely cares.

  Here’s the thing: this isn’t my life.

  I am never the girl in the center of male attention. Especially between two men who look like Jack and Zane. I’m the nerdy girl at the beginning of the movie, before the makeover. The difference is that I don’t want the makeover. I tried being someone else, letting other people tell me how I should look. That one time was enough to prove that changing for someone else is never the right move. I’m me. And though I still battle insecurities from time to time, overall, I’ve come a long way.

  Jack is still holding my hand, laughing a little, probably still at my idiotic sex remark. “Come on, Abby,” Jack says. “Be my date. It will mean a free weekend at a resort, good food, and probably boring conversation with strangers.”

  “Abby needs to fix the glitch. She’s going to be too busy,” Zane says.

  I raise one eyebrow at Zane. His lack of faith in my abilities is really ticking me off.r />
  “Not so busy that I can’t take a few days away.”

  “You promised me that we could launch on time,” Zane says.

  “And you will. I can work from anywhere. Even from a resort.”

  Zane and I are still glaring at each other when Jack drops my hand, looking disappointed. But it’s the pleased look on Zane’s face that has me speaking up.

  “I’ll go,” I tell Jack.

  A grin breaks over his face. “You will?”

  “Yep.”

  I’m going to regret this. I already know. Because the tension and testosterone in this room is at unsafe levels, like a nuclear reactor with an unstable core. I also have zero desire to spend time rubbing elbows with investors’ wives at some resort. I can already imagine Zoey’s face when I tell her. She won’t believe it.

  And I really do have a lot of work to do if I want to work out the issue with their code. I’ll probably spend the whole time ordering room service while my face is buried in a laptop.

  But something about the angry set of Zane’s face just pushes those buttons I have. The ones that make me feel like I have to prove myself. I have to. And I will.

  “So, we’re good?” Jack asks. “Abby, you’ll come with me, and Zane, you can get another date?”

  “Oh, Zane never has a problem getting dates,” I say.

  When did my mouth spring a leak? I can be a little too honest, a little too outspoken. But I don’t usually broadcast every thought as soon as it comes into my head.

  “It's no problem,” Zane practically growls.

  The low sound sends a little shiver through me.

  “I’m looking forward to our weekend, Abby,” Jack says, winking at me before ducking out the door.

  I realize the second he’s gone that I’m alone with a version of Zane who looks like Zoey the time she found out her boyfriend was cheating on her junior year. Essentially, his eyes scream murder. And I’m not exactly sure why. Is he upset with me or with Jack?

  “So, um. I’m going to get back to work,” I say, grabbing my takeout container. “Thanks again for dinner.”

  Zane just grunts, doing something on his phone.

  At the door, I turn back. “So, when is this trip?”

  “This weekend. I’ve already texted you an itinerary.”

  Of course, he has. Feeling a mix of confusion, disappointment, and irritation, I leave Zane and make my way back to my workspace. I may not understand what just went on in the office or what kind of trouble I’ll be in this weekend, but for now, I can lose myself in what I do understand: code.

  Chapter Five

  Zane

  “I am going to poison her coffee.”

  Zoey sighs and the sound comes through loud and clear via the Bluetooth connection in my Lexus.

  “Then you probably shouldn’t have admitted it out loud. Now I’ll have to testify to it when I’m called under oath.”

  I squeeze the wheel tighter. I need to calm down, so I don’t crash. Not that we’ve been moving more than five miles an hour since I left the Eck0 office. You’d think there’d be no traffic at nine o’clock at night, but something is always under construction in Austin.

  “Do you mind telling me what she did to get you so riled up? And what you did to provoke her?”

  “Provoke her? I did absolutely everything she asked for. The setup she wanted down to the letter.” Not that Abby had asked for much. I’d expected a long list, but all she wanted was an empty desk with double monitors.

  “Uh-huh,” Zoey says. “And the food? You ordered from The Wall?”

  “Yes,” I seethe. Though Abby didn’t start eating until it was already cold. Who eats food that’s been sitting out more than an hour? Abby, that’s who. I shudder just thinking about it.

  “So, you did nothing to her?”

  “No. Well …”

  “Well, what?”

  I finally make it to my neighborhood. Once I’m in the driveway of the small home I purchased a year ago, I turn off the engine and just sit, looking at the dark windows. It’s a house that screams settling down with a wife and kids. In fact, I’m the only single guy in the whole neighborhood. Every other house has swings or bicycles out front. And then there’s me: the single guy who has barely furnished the place and is never home. I’m not sure what I was thinking, buying a place like this. It only highlights what I don’t have. And what I’m not sure I really want.

  “I didn’t do anything, but Abby did walk in on me trying to break it off with Chelsea.”

  “Was she the redhead?”

  “No. The blonde.”

  “Huh. I didn’t know about a blonde.”

  “We only went on two dates,” I say.

  “Ah. So, your latest two-date girl stops by the office, and Abby did what?”

  She actually did me a favor, if I’m being honest. I catch myself smiling as I think of Chelsea practically sprinting from my office with her purse-dog. If I had seen the dog first, I wouldn’t have gone on even one date with Chelsea. Call me picky, but dogs in purses is a deal-breaker.

  “Hello? Zane? You still there?”

  “Sorry. I’m here. It’s fine. I’ll handle Abby. She isn’t the problem. It’s me.”

  I can almost hear the sound of Zoey’s jaw dropping. “Hang on. Did you just admit that you’re the problem?”

  I groan. “I shouldn’t have called you.”

  “Don’t hang up. I’m sorry for giving you a hard time. Look, I knew it was risky recommending Abby. She likes getting under my skin, so I should have known she’d do the same to you. But she really and truly is the best.”

  This makes me feel a little better. Both about Abby’s ability to fix whatever’s going on with our app and website, and that it’s not just me. If she does this to Zoey too, then I feel a little honored. Like I’ve made it past some kind of approval process.

  “Any tips? Besides keeping her fed and full of caffeine?” I ask. “Don’t keep her up past midnight? Or maybe it was don’t feed her past midnight.”

  Zoey laughs. “Aren’t you just full of surprises! Admitting something is your fault, asking for help, and now making jokes. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Abby is having a good influence on you.”

  Is she? I’m not sure any of those are good things. I know what Dad would say about all three.

  “And if you’re thinking about Dad—”

  “How do you do that?”

  “We’re twins. And even if we were just regular brother and sister, we grew up in the same house. We have shared experiences. And I can almost hear Dad telling you to be strong, to be a man. Not to ask questions, not to ask for help, and not to show weakness.”

  I close my eyes. Dad isn’t a bad guy. Truly. He’s just a military man who had to deal with raising two kids alone when his wife died in a car accident while they were in high school. The only way he knew how to deal was with more rules. The laughter in our house was buried right next to Mom. He did his best, but it’s like the scales tipped, forcing me and Zoey into being just as structured as Dad.

  We’ve talked about this, after we were both in college, out of the house where it felt like we had a little breathing room. And even though we’d both like to loosen up a bit, it feels like an impossible task sometimes. How loose is too loose? What does balance look like? Structure and rules feel safe.

  Right now, this whole conversation feels unsafe. I steer us right back into the shallow water. “Yes, Zo. I’m asking you for help. Mark this day on your planner.”

  “Already putting down a gold star. Okay, crash course in handling Abby. First, I gave up fighting the force that is Abby. She’s Abby and she isn’t changing. It took me the first two years of college to figure that out. Now, I appreciate her quirks. And I know she’s usually looking for a reaction when she pushes my buttons, so I don’t give her one.”

  “Okay. I can try that.” Abby definitely pushed all my buttons today. She was like that kid who gets on the elevator and uses both hands to hit the
button to stop on every floor. And I’m embarrassed at how effective it was.

  “Second, realize that under her crunchy outside, she’s got a soft center.”

  Zoey pauses, and somehow, I know what she’s going to say next. There’s one thing we always describe that way. I prepare myself by bracing my head against the steering wheel and squeezing my eyes shut.

  “Just like Mom’s chocolate crunch cookies.”

  My mouth practically waters at the memory, even as my chest burns. Mom never wrote down her secret recipe, something Zoey and I realized the first time we decided to make a batch after she died. We were sophomores in high school, and I remember finding Zoey crying on the kitchen floor, Mom’s recipe cards spread all around her on the tile. The sight of my sister’s tears and Mom’s handwriting on the cards was like a knife to my gut.

  “It’s not here,” she had said. “Mom’s the only one who knew the recipe.”

  I had wrapped my arms around her, and we cried together. Not over the cookies. Okay, maybe one or two tears were because of the cookies. They were really that good. But more because we wouldn’t walk into our house, smelling that delicious smell again. The scent that told us Mom was home, and she had been baking.

  I lean back, blowing out a steady breath. “I miss her,” I say, trying to wrangle the emotion that’s rising up, threatening to cut off my airways.

  “Me too, Z.”

  For a few minutes, we sit like this. The perfect kind of silence, one that says so much without either of us needing to speak.

  Finally, Zoey clears her throat. “So, you’ve got a handle on Abby?”

  “I’ve passed Abby 101.”

  “Passed?” Zoey laughs. “No. You just crammed before the final, which is apparently this weekend. How did she get roped into this VC thing anyway?”

  I groan. Abby must have mentioned it to my sister already. What else did she say? Specifically, what did she say about me?

  “Jack,” I tell her. “That’s how.”

  “Ohhh.” Zoey’s tone is the one she’d use if you told her that racoons tore up a bag of trash all over the back patio. “Say no more.”

  Zoey isn’t Jack’s biggest fan. And neither am I, if we’re being honest. On paper, he is the perfect partner for the startup in a lot of ways. But the more time I spend with him, the less I like him. And the more I regret being tethered to him. He’s too slick, too smooth, and I’m not sure I really trust him.