Page 30 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

It’s barely ten in the morning. And I already feel like I’ve run out of fuel.

The door chimes.

I don’t move. Maybe if they don’t know I’m here they’ll just go away.

“Lola?”

Fuck. They’re not leaving.

I groan and lift a hand into the air. “Down here.”

There’s a pause, then a head appears over the edge of the desk. He smiles curiously down at me and my heart jumps.

Miles.

His eyes scan my face, and then the floor. “Rough morning?”

“You could say that.”

He disappears for a second, and I hear the rustle of a paper bag. Then he rounds the desk and crouches beside me, offering me a coffee from my favorite coffee shop down the street.

“I thought you might need this.”

I blink at him. “You brought coffee.”

“And a sweet treat if you’re interested. The bakery a few blocks over had maple bacon donuts. I have a very specific memory of you going on an extremely detailed rant about how they’re the peak of human innovation.”

I blink again, slower this time. “That was forever ago. But I stand by it.”

He sets the bag beside me. “I bought you two, just in case one wasn’t enough.”

I want to devour the donut like the feral raccoon I am, but I sit up slowly and take a cautious sip of the coffee first. Oat milk, cinnamon, a hint of vanilla. It’s my order. My eyebrows lift. I take another sip to be sure. Yep.

“How did you know that this is how I like my coffee?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at him.

“I pay attention.”

He pulls us each a donut out of the bag. I do my best not to snatch it and shove the whole thing into my mouth. Dainty, ladylike bites only.

“Thank you. How did you know I needed this today?”

“Just a sinking suspicion.”

He settles beside me but doesn’t say anything right away. I expect small talk or some sort of awkward lead-in. But instead, he just sits there in silence until I glance over.

“Reid shouldn’t have said what he did last night.”

My jaw tightens. “You don’t need to cover for him.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying he crossed a line.”

I take a sip of coffee to avoid saying something I’ll regret.

“He always crosses lines,” I mutter. “That’s his thing. He hides behind sarcasm and ego and acts like it’s everyone else’s fault when they get upset.”

Miles doesn’t argue.

I shake my head and look down for a moment. “I shouldn’t have said what I said either. But, he’s an asshole, Miles. He’s an asshole and he owns it. He’s almost thirty. At this point, he’s never going to change.”