Dear Grumpy Boss: A Brother’s Best Friend Office Romance (The Harder They Fall)

THROWING MY HEAD BACK, my laughter echoed off the elevator walls. “I wasn’t in charge of the pasta, so it can’t be my fault it was ruined.”

Weston tugged me into his side. “You were distracting me. Our teacher is going to fail us. Do you know I’ve never failed anything in my life?”

“That’s because you never took cooking lessons.” I nibbled on his proud, scruffy chin as we ascended to the penthouse. “I’m not surprised you’ve never failed, you overachiever.”

He clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Taken down by gummy pasta.”

I grasped the lapels of his jacket. “We’re awful cooks, but we had fun, didn’t we?”

He took my face in his hands and slowly looked me over. The corners of his mouth hitched, and so did my breath.

“I can’t think of anything more fun—outside the bedroom—than destroying every single dinner we’ve attempted to make in Chef Sandra’s class.”

“Love you,” I whispered.

“Love you too, baby.”

It’d been almost two weeks since the gala. Weston had been making a concerted effort to be an attentive boyfriend, even in the midst of dealing with supplier issues in California. There had been a couple days I’d barely seen him, but he’d let me know I was on his mind through emails and texts and then curling his long body around mine in bed at the end of the day.

We’d just finished our final cooking lesson, and although we hadn’t learned a thing, I wanted to sign up for another. Weston was so very capable in every aspect of his life except this one. Aside from the three meals he’d perfected, he was a terrible cook.

So was I.

But damn, did we have fun trying and failing.

It was also a relief to know Weston wasn’t perfect at everything. A relief for me, not him. He really, really didn’t like not being able to master something.

Our mouths were latched as we stumbled into Weston’s apartment. He dug his fingers into my hair, keeping me in place so he could devour my lips with his. He always kissed me like it was our last.

I tugged his shirt from his pants and glided my palms over his taut abs, sighing into his mouth. His abs flexed, and I circled my arms around his waist, stroking the line of muscle along his spine. He made me dizzy with desire, and it hadn’t lessened over time. If anything, it had only gotten stronger.

A throat cleared. “Now might be the time to let you know I’m here.”

Weston immediately pushed me behind him, and I peeked around to see the intruder. Miles was kicked back in the living room, his legs stretched out in front of him, ankles crossed, a bottle of water in one hand, a paperback in the other.

He put the book down and wiggled his fingers. “Surprise.”

Weston folded his arms over his chest. “You’re not welcome here.”

Since the threat of danger was gone, I ducked around Weston. “I think what Weston means is we didn’t know you’d be here tonight.”

“I meant what I said,” Weston intoned.

Miles flinched, and his pained expression wound its way around my gut. He and Weston had never been besties, but the distance between them was lined with spikes and guarded by bloodthirsty crocodiles. It seemed almost impossible to bridge.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Miles scooted to the edge of the couch. “I texted, but by your arctic welcome, I’m assuming it wasn’t read.” When Weston didn’t respond, he went on. “Look, I’ve been staying with Mom and Dad while my place is being renovated—”

Weston went rigid behind me. “What place?”

Miles cocked his head. “Uh, the townhouse I bought a year ago. I emailed you the listing. You even replied, ‘looks good.’ It needed a top-to-bottom reno, so it obviously didn’t look good, but I assumed you were saying you saw the potential.” His brow pinched. “You don’t remember?”

I glanced back at Weston. His nostrils flared as he glared at his brother. Then he shook his head once.

“Ah, okay.” Miles nodded, his jaw rippling. “I sort of wondered why you never mentioned it again.”

I was torn, which was strange. I should have been on Weston’s side, not just because I adored him, but because of my history with Miles, but Miles’s turmoil and need to be seen by his big brother was palpable.

“None of that explains what you’re doing in my home.” Weston’s tone was dry and impatient.

Miles stood and kicked the duffel bag beside the couch. “I was hoping I could crash here. Like I said, I’ve been staying with Mom and Dad, but I can’t do it anymore. Dad’s been around a lot more than normal and all they do is fight.”

“That’s nothing new.” Weston was unimpressed.

“No, I know.” Miles cupped the back of his neck, glancing between the two of us. “Dad’s been bringing his girlfriend to the house. So that’s new.”

If Weston had been rigid before, he was solid now.

“What the fuck?” he uttered.

Miles nodded. “It’s like World War III in that house. I’ve had a lifetime of ignoring their fighting, but even I can’t disassociate my way out of our mother pounding on Dad’s bedroom door with a fireplace poker.”

“Christ. Did you try to stop her?”

Miles grimaced. “Nah. I learned when I was thirteen not to put myself between them.” He dragged his finger along the scar in his eyebrow. “That’s from me taking a hit from the wineglass meant for Dad.”

Weston made a strangled sound. “You never told me that,” he accused. “She threw a wineglass at him? How did I not know about this?”

The corner of Miles’s mouth hitched into a sardonic half smile. “You had the Levys, I had the Aldriches.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means you were able to escape the chaos that is our parents’ marriage, but I was left behind with them.” Miles toed his bag again. “They haven’t calmed down in their old age. If anything, they’ve lost the inhibitions of their youth. I won’t be surprised if they kill each other one of these days. It’ll be very War of the Roses. In the end, they’ll be lying in a pile of rubble, their hands around each other’s throats.”

Weston’s arms slipped around my shoulders, and he pulled my back to his chest. His body vibrated with tension. I wished I could take it away, but he and Miles needed to have this conversation. If Weston wanted me here as a buffer, I’d be that for him, but this had to be between the two of them.

“You should have told me about the glass,” Weston admonished. “How was I supposed to help you if I didn’t know?”

Miles gave him a steady glare. “I had four stitches and you didn’t ask what happened. Should I have given you a written account of the events? Is that what would have made you care?”

“I cared.”

Miles scoffed. “You showed it by disappearing.” He bent down and picked up his bag. “Whatever. I get that I’m in the way here. I’ll grab a hotel room.”

My heart ached for him. I had known they hadn’t come from a warm and fuzzy home, but it had never occurred to me Miles had been left behind to endure the very things Weston had been escaping. Had it occurred to Weston? It didn’t seem like it.

“Miles,” Weston gruffed. “You opened this Pandora’s Box, you get to stick around and sort through it with me. Put your bag down.”

Miles’s expression slipped from disgruntled to hopeful puppy. “I can stay?”

“We’ll see.” Weston squeezed me before letting me go to take my hand in his. All of us sat down on the sectional sofa, Miles on one side, Weston and me on the other, that chasm roiling between them.

Miles started talking, releasing a deluge of two decades of his parents’ drama. He’d been stuck in the middle, defending their mom while also stopping her from maiming their father, who’d spent the majority of his time cheating, drinking, and spending his massive trust funds. Their mother would baby Miles, take him on lavish trips, pull him from school in the middle of the day for adventures so he would be on her side. Their father vacillated between threatening and completely forgetting Miles existed.

“You left me with them,” Miles accused.

Weston rubbed the center of his forehead. “Mom doted on you. She still does. I didn’t think—”

Miles shrugged. “You were a kid too, and you were selfish. I get that.”

My lip was being chewed to death, and my hand was being crushed between Weston’s. The worst ache was my chest, though. Elliot and I were so close. We’d been there for every one of each other’s milestones. Neither Miles nor Weston had that. Weston had run while Miles had stayed, growing resentful over each passing year.

“And I get you were angry at me for being selfish.” Weston leaned forward, a crevice between his brows. “I don’t think I can forgive you for taking that anger and directing it at Elise. That was for me, not her. She never did anything to you and you fucking—”

“I know.” Miles’s shoulders drooped. “It’s not something I’m proud of, especially now that we’ve gotten to know each other and we’re friends.” His eyes flicked to mine. “We are, right?”

I nodded. “You annoyed me into acquiescence.”

He smirked. “My superpower.”

Weston turned to me. “I don’t think I’ll ever be able to comprehend your level of evolution. You’re the injured party, yet here you are, laughing with the villain in your story. How can that be?”

Miles flinched, and to be honest, on the inside, I did too. I had to remind myself this was fresh for Weston. I’d had years to come to terms with everything that had happened, Weston hadn’t.

“I can’t stay angry forever, Weston. I’m choosing to move on and let it go. It’s especially easy now that I understand where Miles was coming from and what he was dealing with.”

Weston brought my hand up to his lips, touching it gently. “That’s one of the big differences between you and me—I can absolutely stay angry forever.”

I let out a soft giggle. “I would never try to take your anger from you. I hope you’re hearing what Miles is saying to you, though.”

He switched his attention to Miles. “I’m hearing it. I was a neglectful, shitty brother. I screwed up, and I’m owning that right now. That doesn’t mean I can snap my fingers and get over what he did to you. He knew you were precious to me and purposely sought you out to bully you. You’ll have to forgive me for not being all right with that.”

“No one expects you to,” I told him. “But maybe over time…”

“Maybe.” Weston’s mouth pressed into a hard line. I wasn’t optimistic he would ever soften toward Miles.

Miles’s expression lightened, clearly more optimistic than me. “Maybe isn’t no.”

Weston remained unamused. “You can stay here, but no longer than a week. If you’re annoying or bother Elise, you’re out immediately.”

Miles winked at him. “Got it. You don’t want me staying long enough for squatter’s rights to kick in. That makes sense.”

Weston rose, pulling me with him. “Jokes, huh? Are you sure that’s the route you want to take?”

I pressed on his chest. “Shhh. That’s enough. Nothing has to be resolved in one night.”

Miles flopped against the couch cushions, misery pulling at his features. “Humor has been my fallback for a long time. Sorry.”

Weston grunted. He was obviously finished, which was fair since he’d been far more patient and open than I would have expected. The fact that he hadn’t thrown Miles out at first sight was huge for him.

“Are you good to set yourself up in the guest room?” I asked.

Miles nodded. “Westie’s let me stay here more often than I care to admit.”

“‘Let’ isn’t how I’d put it.” Weston’s fingers flexed on my hip. “One week, Miles.”

He nodded glumly. “Message received.”

Weston and I were in bed, facing each other, his fingers gliding through my hair in long strokes. My lids were heavy, but I fought off sleeping in case he wanted to talk.

And he did.

“I shouldn’t have left him behind,” he murmured.

“You didn’t know.”

His hand stilled, flattening on my cheek. “But I did. Not about the violence, no, but our home wasn’t warm or loving. I found that with your family and never wanted to go back. I should have brought Miles with me.”

“You were a kid.”

“I didn’t even think about him. That’s the raw, ugly truth.”

“And yet, he’s still here. He still wants to be your family.”

He shuddered, his thumb spreading to graze the curve of my bottom lip. “I can’t even look at him right now without wanting to kill him for using you as his whipping boy when he should have been lashing out at me.”

“Then look at me. See me, West. I’m alive and well.”

“I see you,” he whispered. “You’re all I see anymore.”

That made me smile. My grumpy man was capable of being incredibly sweet.

“I love you.”

His forehead rolled over mine, and he released a ragged sigh. “I love you too, Elise. I wish I could give you what you’ve given me. All I have is a dysfunctional family and a company I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into for the last decade. It’s not enough.”

“Good thing I don’t want anything other than you.” I dragged my nails along his scruff. “Keep giving me you the way you have been and I’ll be a happy girl.”

“That’s all I want. You happy.”

He didn’t understand he held the key to that. Diamond necklaces and cooking lessons were beautiful and special, but when it came down to it, Weston’s time and attention were all I would ever need from him.