Best Friend’s Sister

by Banks, R. R.

  I let out a long breath. “My gut is telling me that, yeah, he’s going to be a problem. A problem that gets worse before it gets better.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “The bright side is that based on the ass shredding your sister gave me, I have a feeling she can handle a little punk like that guy.”

  Peter grins. “She’s got a pretty impressive bark, alright,” he chuckles. “She just doesn’t have much of a bite.”

  “Don’t underestimate your sister, man. That woman has some serious fire and takes zero shit from anybody.”

  “You’re telling me,” he chuckles. “But still – I would prefer it to not come down to my sister having to go toe to toe with this asshole.”

  “I hear you. But she made it clear that if she saw my face again, she’d kick my nuts up into my throat.”

  He looks up to the ceiling, as if considering his options – of which, there are precious few. Peter’s caught between wanting to protect his sister and having a sister who refuses to be protected. Rock meet hard place.

  “Maybe you need to let her be a grown-up, man,” I offer. “Maybe you need to let her go and trust her enough to handle her business.”

  “So sayeth the only child.”

  I chuckle. “Touché.”

  “I hear what you’re saying, Knox. I do,” he groans. “But she’s my kid sister. She’s always going to be my kid sister. Which means I’m always going to be protective of her.”

  “I get that. But if you want me to watch her back, you better clear it with her, man,” I say. “There is no way I’m going to be able to do my job if I have to worry about creating scenes like what happened last night. If you want me to protect her, I can’t do it from the shadows.”

  He nods. “Yeah, I understand. I’ll just have to find a way to convince her it’s in her best interest. Somehow make her think it’s all her idea or something.”

  I laugh. “Yeah, good luck with that, man. I wish you all the best,” I mock him. “That woman strikes me as one who’s not easily duped or convinced when her mind is made up.”

  Which only furthers my attraction to her – something that could be a problem for me.

  Felicity

  “What were you thinking, Peter?”

  “I was thinking about your safety.”

  It’s been a couple of days since the debacle at the book signing, and we’re sitting at a small outdoor café having lunch. It took me a while to calm down enough to return his calls, but even now, I still feel that slow simmer of anger churning my insides.

  I turn my face up to the sun and soak in its warming rays. We don’t get many days of sunshine and warmth here in Seattle, so it’s wise to take advantage of them when you can – which is why the outdoor patio here is packed. Everybody wants to bask in the warmth that signals winter is finally loosening its grip on us and that spring is on its way.

  “I’m not a child anymore, Peter. I don’t need you to hold my hand all the time.”

  “I know you’re not a child. But you’re always going to be my kid sister,” he pleads. “It’s kind of my job to keep you safe.”

  There is a warm sincerity in his eyes that makes it difficult to continue being pissed off – but I’m giving it my best shot. While I appreciate the intent behind what he did, the execution was severely lacking. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if the guy my brother had secretly hired hadn’t pulled the stunt he did. I never would have even known he was there, and we wouldn’t be sitting here as a result. Ignorance would have been bliss and all that.

  But that meathead had pulled that stupid stunt and – well – here we are.

  “Keeping me safe doesn’t include sending in one of your meathead friends to destroy my event.”

  Peter bites off his reply and closes his mouth as the waitress comes by and drops off our drinks. He gives her a small smile and waits until she leaves before turning back to me.

  “Obviously, that’s not what I intended to have happen,” he starts. “But –”

  “No Peter, there are no buts here,” I hiss. “You went behind my back and hired this goon to wreck my event.”

  His lips compress into a tight line – about one of the only outward signs Peter ever gives that he’s upset or frustrated. He very rarely displays negative emotions. I guess it’s a byproduct of his job.

  “I didn’t hire him to wreck your event, Felicity,” he grouses. “That wasn’t meant to happen.”

  “But it did happen, and I can’t pretend it didn’t,” I snap. “You made me look like an idiot.”

  I know Peter is sorry for what happened. I know he feels terrible about it. But I am not going to let him off the hook that easy. Continuing to pour salt in the wounds is about the only way I’m going to ensure he doesn’t pull something like this again.

  “I mean seriously, Peter,” I push on. “What in the hell were you thinking?”

  He takes a sip of his iced tea then sits back in his seat. “I could tell you were scared, sis,” he says. “By the way you stormed into my office when that guy was chasing you –”

  “I also told you I thought I might be overreacting after I calmed down.”

  Peter shrugs. “I’m not willing to take that chance.”

  “It’s not your chance to take, Peter.”

  “You’re my sister. We’re all we’ve got left in this world, Felicity.” His voice carries some heat and emotion. He’s usually so calm and collected, that hearing the emotion breaking through his voice is getting to me. “And I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit on my hands when you’re possibly in danger.”

  We fall silent again as the waitress comes to the table. As if sensing the tension in the air between me and Peter, she quickly sets our plates down and gives us a stiff smile before walking away briskly. Not very hungry anymore, I pick at the fries on my plate. Peter digs into his burger as if this disagreement hasn’t affected him at all.

  My brother and I rarely ever fight. We’ve always been incredibly close and in a lot of ways, I look up to him. Peter has been my role model in life, and whenever I come to a crossroads, I usually find myself asking what he would do in that situation.

  That doesn’t mean he’s perfect, or that we never argue, but he’s always very respectful and he never crosses a line. Until now, anyway. Him having planted a goon in the audience without me knowing, makes me feel like he’s violated my privacy. Worse than that, what he did had a very real impact on my work. And for me, that crosses a big, red, flashing neon line.

  Knowing I’m not being entirely fair, I try to put myself in his shoes. I let myself wonder what I would do if he’d come to me, told me he had some woman showing up out of nowhere and following him around. I have a really hard time picturing it, simply because he’s such a big guy and still has his former football size. I just can’t see it happening to him.

  Which is where my pondering all falls apart. I just can’t get into his shoes, because what happened to me is very unlikely to ever happen to him.

  “Look, I should have told you,” he finally says.

  “Damn right you should have.”

  “But I knew you’d flat out say no.”

  A small grin touches the corners of my mouth. “Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, huh?”

  He shrugs. “Basically.”

  I let out a long breath and pop a fry into my mouth, chewing on it thoughtfully for a minute. I know I can be difficult. I know I can be stubborn. I know that sometimes, when I get my mind set on something, it’s next to impossible to change it. In a lot of ways these are good traits for me to have. It keeps people from walking all over or taking advantage of me. I stand up for myself. I am unapologetically me. I don’t take crap from anybody.

  But the other side of that coin is that I sometimes think I can do too much on my own. Or that letting people help me or act in my own best interests somehow makes me look weak. And if there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s people thinking I’m weak. I am a strong, independent, and se
lf-made woman. I didn’t come from wealth, and I’ve earned everything I have. That’s something nobody will ever take away from me. Mostly because I refuse to let them.

  Which is why Peter going behind my back the way he did bothers me so much. Why it hurts. I know it wasn’t intentional, but I feel like he stripped me of some of my power. I’ve taken some self-defense classes and can handle myself reasonably well in a confrontation. I really doubt that was going to happen at the signing – his meathead friend is the one who escalated that situation. But I feel that having somebody there to babysit me – without my knowing – just makes me look weak.

  I explain it all to my brother, and though he understands it on an intellectual level, I don’t think he truly gets it. And he never will. Not really. He’s not a sexist – he just can’t relate. What my brother doesn’t really grasp is the fact that women have to work twice as hard as men to be taken seriously and earn their credibility. We have to work twice as hard to create and maintain our images. And they can be taken away just like that.

  The fact that he hired somebody to muscle up on a guy I perceived as a threat chips away at both my credibility and my image – things I’ve worked so hard to build. Since I now apparently have men who will do my fighting for me, I fear that people will see me as being far less independent and fierce as I make myself out to be – as I am.

  “Listen, I know your heart was in the right place,” I tell my brother. “I know you didn’t intentionally set out to do something that would turn out so bad.”

  “No, I didn’t. I never would.”

  “I know that. I’m just upset you did this knowing I would say no,” I explain. “It feels like a broken trust, Peter.”

  “I understand that. I really do,” he counters. “But I’d rather have you upset at me for breaking your trust than have you hurt. Or worse.”

  I take a sip of my soda, then set the glass back down and look at my brother. “And what makes you think I can’t handle this guy myself?”

  “Nothing. I’m sure you can. It’s not a question of your strength or toughness, Felicity. I think you’re more than capable of handling yourself,” he replies. “It’s just about you putting yourself into dangerous situations. I mean, for all we know, this guy had a knife or a gun. I worry about you.”

  He says the right things, of course. My brother is never at a loss for the right words – words he knows people want to hear. I don’t think he actually believes them, though. Not when it comes to me. I don’t think he believes I’m truly capable of handling myself. I think, no matter what, he’s always going to see me as his kid sister, the one he needs to watch over and protect, rather than the fierce, independent, and capable woman I’ve become.

  While the sentiment is sweet in some ways, it’s annoying as hell in so many others.

  One thing he said does strike a chord within me, though. It’s true, I had no idea if the guy had a weapon of some kind. I might be able to get by in a hand-to-hand fight thanks to my self-defense training, but if he’d pulled a gun or a knife, I would have been pretty screwed. Not that I think he would have done that in the middle of a crowded room. But that day out on the street outside the coffee house? He could have. I wouldn’t have had the first clue what to do about it. I pull hard on the ends of my hair – a nervous habit of mine – as I try to sort through all of this crap in my head.

  “Your meathead buddy,” I start. “What does he think?”

  “He thinks you need protection.”

  “Convenient,” I snort. “And I bet he just so happens to know a good company that can provide said protection?”

  Peter grins. “Knox is not what you think he is.”

  “No, he’s worse. A lot worse. I’ve known guys like him – they were the football players in high school who got off by torturing weaker kids in the locker room,” I grumble. “He’s the kind of guy who uses his muscles over his brain, who’s arrogant as hell, thinks he walks on water, and believes he’s good-looking enough that women should be throwing their panties at him on command.”

  Peter leans forward, a light of amusement in his eyes and a grin curling his lips upward. He’s stifling a laugh and is doing his best to keep it from bubbling out – and is only marginally successful at it.

  “What?” I demand.

  “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you have a crush on him.”

  “Are you high?” I snap. “Have you not heard a word I said? I’m repulsed by him. I hate him.”

  “You don’t even know him.”

  “After the other night, I know enough about him to know he’s a repugnant human being,” I spit. “I wouldn’t date him if he was the last man on the planet. I wouldn’t spit on him if he were on fire.”

  “Methinks the lady doth protest too much.”

  I can’t stop the laugh that erupts from my throat. So instead, I pick up a fry and throw it at him. He dodges it, and the little strip of potato goes sailing across the patio, landing harmlessly on the ground next to a server’s station.

  “That’s such bullshit,” I whisper aggressively at him. “I am so not into that conceited asshole.”

  “If you say so.”

  He’s busy chewing on a piece of his burger, the light of amusement in his eyes still not dimming. I think Knox is an attractive man, but that doesn’t mean I’m attracted to him. In fact, like I said, I’m downright repulsed by him.

  “I do say so,” I growl. “The man is an insufferable, narcissistic, egotistical jackass.”

  Peter laughs. “Is that your official diagnosis, doctor?”

  “Yeah, I think that about covers it.”

  “I’ve known Knox a long time and, yeah, he can be those things. Not going to deny it,” he tells me. “But he’s also a good man. One of the best I know. He’s got a good heart, is intelligent as hell, and he’s loyal to the end.”

  I sit back and look at my brother, doing my best to not laugh. “Are we talking about the same guy here?”

  “We definitely are. Knox puts up a big front but he’s a good man underneath it all.”

  I throw another fry into my mouth and chew. “Yeah, way, way, way, way down deep underneath it all, I guess.”

  “Be that as it may, when I spoke to him, he truly did have your safety at heart,” Peter continues. “He did what he thought was in the best interest of keeping you safe.”

  “By attacking an unarmed guy who’s like half his size?”

  Peter’s face darkens and he looks away. I can tell there’s something troubling him all of the sudden – but he’s hesitant to tell me.

  “What is it, Peter?”

  He lets out a slow breath. “Knox was a Marine. Saw some action in Afghanistan. Saw some terrible, terrible things,” he says. “The reason why he did what he did the other night was because he didn’t act soon enough once and he paid a price for it. He perceived a threat and put himself in harm’s way to protect you, Felicity.”

  “I didn’t ask –”

  “No, I did.”

  I’m surprised by the heat in Peter’s voice. I know he’s loyal to his friends and can be protective of them as well. But this is even beyond that. The defensiveness in his voice on behalf of Knox makes me curious. To say the least.

  “I asked him to look out for you. And he did,” Peter continues. “He wouldn’t have acted on the guy if there wasn’t a threat. He can be all of those things you said and more, but he’s a professional, and he’s very good at what he does.”

  “Peter listen, I –”

  “All I’m saying is that neither one of us can ever know what he’s been through. What he’s seen and done. We can never really understand or relate to it. But he was still willing to put himself in harm’s way. For you,” Peter lowers his voice. “So maybe before you judge him too harshly, you should think about that. Take it into consideration.”

  I pull on the ends of my hair again, absorbing everything he’s saying. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’ve pushed my brother a little too far. Th
e heat in his voice, combined with the upset, angry expression on his face tells me that he doesn’t appreciate what I had to say about his friend.

  At the same time though, I start to question what it is I think I know about this man – this Knox Vaughn. And I know nothing other than that he’s an arrogant jackass who makes an absolutely lousy first impression. The fact that he’s a combat vet is impressive and adds something to his depth and character in my mind.

  It doesn’t alter the fact that he’s a smug asshole, though.

  But still, as a combat vet, I suppose I have to respect his opinion when it comes to threat assessment. To make it out of a place like Afghanistan alive and intact, he had to be at least halfway decent at assessing threats and guarding against them. Which means if he saw a threat the other night, not even knowing who the guy is, maybe my problem is a little bigger than I initially thought. Maybe.

  “So, what’s his take on the whole situation then?” I muse out loud.

  “He thinks it’s only just beginning,” Peter confirms. “He thinks this guy is going to keep being a problem.”

  “And his solution?”

  “For starters, he thinks you need a security detail.”

  A frustrated sigh escapes my throat and I shake my head. “We’ve been through this, Peter. I don’t want –”

  He holds up a hand to cut me off. “How about this? You meet with him and hear his full assessment before you pass judgement,” he implores me. “If you’re not convinced that the problem is either that real or that serious afterward, we’ll leave it at that.”

  “I don’t know, Peter.”

  “Come on. What do you have to lose?” he prods me. “It’s an hour out of your day. At least do that. If you do, I’ll get off your back about it. I promise.”

  I purse my lips and look at him. An hour isn’t too much to sacrifice. Especially if sitting through it will get Peter off my back and convince him that I’m fine and don’t need a protection detail.

  I hate the message it will send, not to mention the hit my image might take because of it. On the other hand, I kind of hate the idea of being dead even more.