They're Strictly Friends (Tough Love Spinoff Book 1)

by Chloe Liese

  “Thank you, love!” She patted his cheek, waving him to sit down. “Very sweet of you.”

  Dad opened his mouth, looking about to start in again, but Kai surprised me and rushed to the rescue. “I lanced the biggest boil I have ever seen off this old man’s arse today! The diameter of a tennis ball and not too far from the color either.” He winked at me as he plopped down and pulled the wine his way, taking a sip. “Mmm,” he grunted appreciatively, “that’s a good wine.”

  “Yes,” Mum sighed, pushing her glass away and looking distinctly green, “it was.”

  Dad made a small choking noise and muttered to himself about having normal children.

  “Thanks, mate,” I said out of the side of my mouth.

  Kai smiled at me but it faded quickly when both our parents turned their backs to finish preparing dinner.

  “Luc.” Kai sighed, peering into his wine. “I told Dad.”

  My heart dropped. “What?”

  “He cornered me, said he knew something was wrong with you, and you were being a stubborn wanker who wouldn’t own up.” His eyes searched mine pleadingly. “I can’t lie to him, mate—he sees into my bloody soul. It’s terrifying.”

  “You always were an absolute puss with Dad. I should have known you’d cave.”

  Kai shoved me. “Shut up, am not.”

  “Oh, right, as your recent behavior demonstrates.”

  I glanced over to see Mum and Dad canoodling by the stove, cutting bread and muttering to each other. Turning back to Kai, I leveled him with what I hoped was my most intimidating glare.

  “Who else have you told?”

  “No one!” he said urgently. “Not even Sar, I promise—though you’ve got to tell her soon too. I’ve only been able to keep it from her because I haven’t seen her in person. Next time I do, though, she’ll smell deceit on me. Then she’ll twist my finger back and poke that spot between my ribs—”

  “All right, point taken.” I threw back more wine, fighting the impulse to punch the daylights out of my little brother.

  “She should know though, and soon, so she and the children can get tested.” Kai peered over at me, his face awash with worry. “You know that’s why we’re here tonight, don’t you? To have it out? You’re going to have to tell them. Dad’s at least prepared, so he can be strong for Mum.”

  My suspicions were confirmed, but it didn’t smart any less. “Christ. Big of you all to gather me for this.”

  “Luc,” Kai chided. “Think of Mum, okay? The rest of us have had time. She hasn’t. You’re her favorite, and it’s going to gut her.”

  I frowned. “Am not. She doesn’t have a favorite.”

  Kai snorted into his wine as he took a drink. “Deny it as you might, you are. You’re her firstborn, her clone. You two are thick as thieves, and you know it. Just go easy on her, and don’t get mad when she cries.”

  I grabbed the wine bottle and poured more. “I don’t get mad—”

  “Yes, Luc, you do. If there’s one thing you simply can’t stomach, it’s a woman in tears, especially your mother.” He stood, clapping me on the back as he took the salad bowl Dad handed him. “But you’re going to have to,” he said. “End of.”

  It went as miserably as I guessed it would. Just miserably. Mum cried hard, just as Kai predicted. Especially when Kai explained how it worked genetically—that she was the carrier, and Sarah could be too. It was a glum prospect to consider, that little Noah might one day follow my path, that Amelia and Poppy could pass it on to their children. Fucking genetics. I promised Mum I’d call Sarah first thing tomorrow and tell her, and have Jo follow up, so Sar didn’t freak.

  Dad chided me for not trusting him sooner, in a loving, paternal sort of way. Kai patiently answered all their questions as best he could when they could tell I was sick of it. On the way out, Dad squeezed my shoulder and halted me.

  “You should tell her,” he said.

  Shite, he had made the connection between Elodie and me. The man was too damned observant. “Who?”

  Rolling his eyes, Dad squeezed my shoulder again and all but shoved me outside. “Don’t play simple, Luc. Elodie needs to know by the time she starts, and if you don’t tell her, I will.”

  I lunged at him, grabbing his shirt. Dad stood steady, undeterred by my rage. “You will not,” I gritted, my breath coming fast and angry.

  Dad plied my fingers off him and patted my hand affectionately. “She deserves to know. Tell her, son.”

  During a somber ride home chasing the day’s last light, I debated how on earth I’d come clean with her. Now here I was, dragging my feet as I stepped up to my front door. I walked in cautiously, not wanting to disturb Elodie if she’d gone to bed already. I wasn’t sure if she’d be awake, and if she was, I wasn’t sure I could face her. Fumbling about, I locked up the place for the night, heading last to the kitchen to check the range dials and make sure they were completely off.

  I passed the breakfast bar but quickly backtracked, seeing a plate of muffins and a note. Stepping closer, I saw they were massive—full of large, plump blueberries and covered in thick sugar granules. I lifted the note but couldn’t see it, so I snatched it up and then trekked over to the light above the oven.

  Some days are harder than others. Tomorrow’s a new day, and hopefully a better one. Let’s talk then.

  XO, Elodie

  It was so stupid to tear up at something like that, but I did. Could Dad have mentioned his plan to her this morning before she left? How else had she known I’d be miserable and down when I got home? Or perhaps she’d interpreted my distress at work, and that itself was enough to merit a sweet note and blueberry muffins, just like I’d told her I wanted the other day when I whined about being hungry—massive, sugary blueberry muffins.

  I lifted one off the plate and sat down, peeling back the parchment paper. In the silence of my kitchen, as dusk fell and darkness surrounded me, I wondered what the hell was to be done with that confounding, caring woman sleeping upstairs. I ate a muffin made in love, wondering if it was possible that the woman who’d made it for me could love me after she knew the truth.

  She just might, mate. She just might.

  Nine

  Lucas

  I told Dad I’d quit Farthington if he didn’t give me until the weekend to tell her. That shut him right up. The man had principles, but his beloved retirement was trump.

  Unfortunately, that meant that over the past few days, our uneasy détente had made Elodie particularly distant. Not cold so much as a skittish horse, reticent and a little short with me. We’d talked briefly over muffins the next morning, and as it always was with Elodie and me, I saw straight through her, how desperate she was for the job. We could make it work, we agreed. We could be two adults who were completely professional and kept the personal out of it.

  “So that’s that,” I’d said, hearing the skepticism in my own voice. “We’ll keep it professional and platonic. Strictly friends.”

  She’d nodded solemnly. “Strictly friends.”

  Elodie thus began the job, determinedly above reproach between us. She spent the remainder of the week onboarding: doing business culture training, getting up to speed on our markets and industries, along with the main deals and client projects on the horizon. She was mostly working with Dad and a few other higher-ups for now, learning the clients, discussing how to pitch consultative services for companies wanting to improve their diversity and inclusion. It was a lot of pressure, because Elodie was essentially creating the service offering, but I had every confidence that if anyone could handle the doozy of the role and working with me, it was her.

  The past few days I’d gloried in arriving and leaving the place with Elodie, knowing the obvious inference people would make—that we spent ample time together, most likely slept together, that she was my girlfriend or partner—an assumption that was ethically allowable here, since Father’s only stipulation about work relationships was they were allowed so long as their impact didn’t le
ad client services to suffer.

  So as we’d strolled in, shoulder to shoulder, I knew what everyone was thinking, and for now it was a comfort. Elodie wasn’t mine, but if she were anybody else’s here, I’d probably murder them. And yes, I knew that was boorish and unreasonable, and yes, eventually I needed to own that if I wouldn’t give her my heart, her heart wasn’t mine to keep from anybody else. Rationally, I knew this. I just wasn’t quite…emotionally there. For now, it was better everyone stayed in the dark about the fact that Elodie and I were only friends and housemates.

  A mere three days into the routine, it was one of my favorite times of the workday—collecting Elodie and walking out with her. I strolled down to Dad’s office from the copy room, a stack of market insights to read over the weekend in hand, and rapped smartly on his door.

  “Come in!” he hollered.

  Elodie sat with Dad, as well as Pierce and Harry, two of our senior managers. I nodded to all but fixed my eyes on Elodie, who had already returned to the task at hand. She was making frantic notes in the margins of whatever they were going over, oblivious to my eyes on her.

  Going for the purely professional vibe a little too hard, perhaps.

  “Elodie?” I said gently.

  She startled, fumbling her pen and papers before steadying them in her lap. “Yes, Lucas?”

  I smiled, pleased to have her midnight blue eyes on me. “End of day, no? About ready to leave?”

  Elodie glanced over at Dad in deference.

  “Goodness,” he said as he shut his folder, “I lost track of time.” Harry and Pierce began shoving papers together, closing their laptops as Dad stood and stretched on a groan. “Elodie asks damned insightful questions, I got sucked right in. She’s left us with lots to think about for some incoming proposals. Perhaps you two can hash it over as well, if you don’t mind, Elodie?”

  Elodie smiled warmly at him, and I frowned because bugger if I’d seen that smile from her in days. “Of course, Jack, I’ll take these with me and make time for us to discuss them.” She stood, slipping the handful of papers neatly into her bag, while Pierce and Harry’s eyes traveled straight to her arse.

  I cleared my throat meaningfully, and their gazes snapped away guiltily.

  “Have a good weekend, lads. Dad, see you Sunday.”

  “See you Sunday, Luc,” he said offhandedly. Smiling over to Elodie, he winked at her. “Have a lovely weekend, dear.”

  Confirmation right there. I was chopped liver.

  “You as well,” she said brightly to him. She gave the other two a polite nod. “Pierce. Harry. See you next week.”

  They responded in unison, like besotted gits. Dad shook his head, fighting a smile as I closed the door behind us.

  I took her by the small of the back and guided her to the lift, still rankled by those gits ogling her precious body. “Must you wear such infernally flattering skirts, Elodie?”

  She stopped abruptly, head turning slowly toward me. In those daunting high heels, she was a paltry inch or two below me, bringing her formidable glare to nearly eye level. I might have taken an involuntary step back.

  “You’re really asking me that? As if it’s my fault you’re all perverts who can’t keep your eyes off a woman’s arse?” Shaking her head, she turned her back on me and sped off.

  I placed my hand on the small of her back again, but she slapped it off. “Of course not, pet. I meant it rhetorically.”

  No response. She stared resolutely forward as we waited for the lift, tapping her toe against the polished floor of the lobby.

  I stepped close behind her and set my chin on her shoulder. “What I meant was, I’m pissed they were staring at your gorgeous backside. They’re dirty bastards, and if they do it again, I’ll fire them.”

  Elodie gave me side-eye as the door opened. “That’s more like it.” Then she powerwalked into the lift, nearly leaving me behind. I hopped in, stepping quickly to the back since plenty more bodies would pile on, given the time of day.

  A few more floors and we were crammed with people. I was forced to stand shoulder to shoulder with Elodie, her floral scent washing over me and torturing my body. I peered at her profile. Full pink lips, dark lashes. Her normally wild curls were tamed to a severe chignon at the base of her neck, with only a few errant corkscrews popping out after a long day. I fought the impulse to yank out each pin and tangle my fingers in those silky spirals.

  I hooked my pinkie with hers and watched her breath hitch.

  “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  She glanced over at me sharply. Then her eyes returned to staring ahead. “We have dinner together every night.”

  I sighed. “Well, I want to have real conversation while we have dinner tonight, and that does not include bickering about mathematical methods deployed by our analytics team.”

  Still staring straight ahead. “You just don’t like that I’m better at the maths than you.”

  I actually found it wildly arousing that she could do advanced calculus in her head, but I kept that tidbit to myself. Strictly friends, and all. “I thought we might talk.”

  She finally hazarded me a glance. “Talk, talk?”

  I smirked at her. “And you say you’re not getting the hang of English vernacular.”

  She elbowed me sharply in the ribs and I groaned. “Have you always been this much of an unrepentant arse, Lucas?”

  Someone in the lift stifled a laugh.

  I only nodded, because I’d yet to be able to draw breath again after her assault on my lungs. By the time we reached the ground floor, I managed a gasp of oxygen. The car emptied and we walked out.

  “Fine,” she muttered.

  “Brilliant,” I wheezed. “Look forward to it.”

  Side by side in our power suits, briefcases in arms, we strolled to my car. I couldn’t help but smile at her. Elodie caught my gaze and rolled her eyes.

  “I’m rather getting to like this, you know,” I said.

  She paused as we arrived at my car so I could get the door for her like I always insisted on. “What?”

  I opened her door. “This. You and me. I feel like I’m getting to know you better, Ellie.”

  She paused midway down to her seat and jabbed me in the stomach with a sharp finger. “Don’t call me that. Pierce called me that yesterday and Harry did today, and I set them both straight.”

  She slammed the door shut out of my hand, and I chuckled as I rounded to my side.

  Elodie flicked on the radio and set it to classical. She’d done it every day this week, and I’d come to find it surprisingly helpful for mentally unwinding from the stress of the day. But for the first time, I noticed something as I started the engine.

  Her fingers, dancing over her lap.

  “That’s right,” I said. “You play, don’t you?”

  Her hands froze. Slowly, she looked up at me. “A little.”

  Mum and Dad had forced lessons on all of us through primary school. I’d kept on with them longer since playing relaxed me, and I’d become a decent pianist, good enough to know we were listening to Mozart’s Piano Sonata No. 16 in C Major. The piece was absurdly involved and fast. There was nothing bloody easy about that piece. You didn’t play “a little” and play something like this.

  A baby grand took up the back half of my sitting room, and she’d not once looked at it. I’d been too distracted by her living with me to have done my usual evening routine of nursing a gin and tonic while playing through my repertoire.

  “Why haven’t you played at home?” I asked.

  Home. As if it were ours.

  Elodie shrugged and glanced out the window. “I don’t know.” Her hands went to her stomach and pressed firmly.

  It was probably not exactly right that I had a ballpark awareness of Elodie’s cycle, but I did. I also knew she had horrible cramps. When she’d visited London shortly before Nairne had Jamie this spring, she’d been nearly incapacitated with them on the sofa. I’d forced the truth out of her one eve
ning because she was driving me mad with worry. When she owned up, I warmed the hot water bottle and served her lemon tea and ginger biscuits. Since then it wasn’t hard to keep track.

  She winced and pressed her stomach harder. “Do you have a bath, Lucas?”

  “Yes, Elodie, off my room. You’re always welcome to it. You want one before dinner?”

  She exhaled slowly and shut her eyes. “Yes.”

  I could tell she was hurting. It also fit in nicely with how tetchy and distant she’d been the past few days. I had plenty of experience with PMS thanks to my sister.

  “We’ll stay in,” I said. “I’ll whip up something. Café Lucas.”

  She looked over at me with an enigmatic look on her face. “Well…if you don’t mind?”

  “Course not.” I ran a hand gently along her neck, massaging her muscles. “Italian? Spanish? What does the lady fancy?”

  “Mmm,” she moaned quietly, and it went straight to my poor cock. “Italian. A glass of red and a heaping bowl of pasta.”

  I loved that Elodie ate. She ran and lifted weights and ate and had an abundant arse and thighs and tits that drove me mad.

  “Italian it is. I think I still have some of Zed’s homemade pasta and I’ll make arrabiata sauce.”

  “Oh God, Zed’s pasta…” She wet her lips and I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

  “Now, let’s not expound too much on Zed’s abilities in any realm. I’m a territorial bloke with a fragile ego, you know.”

  She laughed softly. “Zed drives me insane. The man can cook, and he’s a good husband to Nairne, but I don’t really know how she doesn’t bash him on the head daily.”

  “Oh, I think she has her ways. Many subtle maneuvers for handling Zeddy,” I said.

  The rest of the drive was in silence. Elodie dozed, and I stared at her more than was necessarily advisable while driving in stop-and-go traffic.

  Once home, I set the car in park, which jarred Elodie awake. Stepping out quickly, I opened her door. “Now, let’s draw you that bath, and I’ll try much too hard in the kitchen as I attempt to compensate for not being nearly as good a cook as Zeddy.”