My Brother's Billionaire Best Friend - Max Monroe Page 0,2

to live the rest of my life as some virginal literary spinster with more cats than chairs in my house? Maybe.

See what I mean?

“Maybe!” My dad’s voice fills my ears again. “Where are you?”

With the way he shouts, you’d think the shop was a ginormous warehouse, but it’s barely 1500 square feet.

“I’ll be there in a sec!” I call back, but he doesn’t wait. He never waits. Waiting is nowhere in Bruce’s vocabulary.

“Okay! But I need to know one thing! Did Phil follow up on the Carmichael wedding?”

“Yes!” I shout back and add my resume to the email in progress.

“And what’s the status?”

“The bride is still convinced she wants tiger lilies and cascading orchids in her bouquet!”

My dad’s Dr. Evil-inspired chuckles echo off the walls of the shop. “Sounds like that bride is about to take her dear old dad for an expensive ride!”

Oh my God, get me out of here.

I hit send on my email and cross my fingers that this publishing house—Windstone Press—will actually call me for an interview. Once the little whooshing sound that signifies my message was sent fills my ears, I shut my laptop, step back out into the main shop, and prepare to face the Bruce-themed music.

“Where in the hemp oil have ya been?” he asks, crossing his beefy arms over his chest. “I thought you were going to man the front.”

“I had a few resumes I needed to send out.”

“To who?”

“Publishing houses.”

“Which ones?”

I sigh. “New York ones, Dad.”

“Pretty sure I had that one figured out.” He grins at my sarcasm. “So, that’s what you do with a degree in books? You work in publishing?”

A degree in books. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

I majored in English Literature and got my master’s degree at Stanford University, one of the most prestigious English Lit programs in the country. With the way he talks, you’d think I went to some back-alley online university and obtained a degree in dog walking, but it’s not worth the explanation. I’ve said all of these things no fewer than a thousand times, and this is still how the conversation always goes.

“Yeah, Dad, that’s what you do when you get a degree in books,” I respond blandly. “You work in publishing, preferably as an editor somewhere.”

“You think you’ll be able to find a job in the city?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Not to stress you out, but it’d be a real kick in the gonads if you can’t put that expensive degree to good use. Me and your mom could’a had a tropical love nest somewhere.”

Love nest? Jesus. Now I’m stressed and skeeved.

“I’ve been back home for two weeks, Pops,” I say as much to myself as I do to him. “These things take time.”

“Well…” He pauses and gives me a good hearty pat to my shoulder. “I guess I should just be thankful I get to see your smiling face here at the shop for a little while, huh?”

My chest eases a little, and I’m reminded of why my mom and I haven’t arranged to have him meet an early grave. “I guess so.”

“You certainly brighten the place up,” he adds with a secret smile that reminds me so much of Evan it’s not even funny.

Whereas I am nearly the spitting image of our mom—long brown hair and big brown eyes—my brother could be our father’s twin.

Which, surprisingly, isn’t a bad thing.

With hazel eyes, now salt-and-pepper hair, and a strong jaw, my dad has always been a handsome guy.

“Not to mention,” he adds a little too loudly. “You’re a real nice change of pace from cranky Betty.”

“I can hear you!” my mom chimes in, and my dad chuckles through a big ole, full-teeth smile.

“I know you can!”

“And like you should talk!” she adds. “You’ve been on a rampage since you found out that daisy shipment was running one day behind schedule!”

“Now, listen here, Betty.” Bruce turns away from me to shout in her direction. “It’s the end of May, and everyone and their mother wants fresh bouquets! Which means, unless someone wants trouble, no one should get in the way of a florist man and his godspamming Gerbera daisies!”

My mom cackles. “Yeah, so we’ve all heard!”

My always-bickering, but still somehow in love parents, ladies and gentlemen.

If I added a white horse and shoved my dad in knight’s armor, they might as well be a Disney flick.

“Sheesh.” Bruce just smirks at me. “What’s stuck in her craw today?”

I grin and jerk my chin toward him. “Pretty sure you should recognize a thorn when you see one,