Page 31 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

He studies me for a beat. Then he nods. “You may be right about that. But there was no excuse for how he treated you.”

I push up from the floor, my knees popping in protest. “I swear I’m not eighty,” I say, brushing off the back of my leggings. “That was just the sound of defeat leaving my joints.”

Miles doesn’t laugh, but the corner of his mouth lifts. I drop into the chair with a sigh and open the laptop. “Alright, time to pretend I’m a functioning adult who has my life together.”

“You fake it well,” he says, getting up and standing next to me.

“I’ve had years of practice.”

The computer screen loads slower than usual, which feels on brand for this day. I log into the studio admin system, pull up my client notes, and try to update a file. The wheel spins.

And spins.

And spins.

I let out a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a snarl, then shove the laptop back. “Why does this machine hate me today?”

Miles steps forward and rests his coffee on the desk. “Want me to take a look?”

“Be my guest,” I say, gesturing at the stupid machine. “But she’s temperamental. So don’t take it personally if she bursts into flames.”

He crouches beside the desk, fingers already moving across the keyboard. I watch him out of the corner of my eye, pretending not to, but failing pretty miserably. The fabric of his plain black tee stretches across his broad chest. There’s a cute little furrow between his brows as he pulls them together in concentration. He chews on the inside of his mouth making his lips a little pouty.

It’s unfair how good he looks solving my problems.

He’s tall and built and his facial bone structure is crazy good. Those thick-rimmed glasses he wears totally work for him. I don’t think I ever noticed how long his lashes were before. It feels a little bit unfair that they’re wasted on someone who doesn’t even own mascara.

His arms flex a little as he types, and his forearms are tan like he’s spent exactly the right amount of time in the sun. This is hilarious, because I think he rarely sits in the sun with the intention of getting tan. That’s just not his vibe.

He hasn’t looked at me once, but I swear he knows I’m staring. I force my gaze to the coffee in my hand.

I’ve always had a thing for Miles. He’s smart, kind, and ridiculously attractive—without the smugness that usually comes along with it. But he's never given me so much as a hint that he saw me as anything more than his best friend’s little sister.

So, why is he here?

Chapter 9

Jude

Ithink about her more than I should. Way more.

It’s constant. I mean full-blown, hijacked-my-headspace, orbiting-my-brain like a moon locked in place by gravity. She’s just…there. In my head. All the time.

Sometimes I’ll be folding towels at the spa and wondering what she’s doing. Then I find myself checking the appointment app just to see if maybe, by some cosmic fluke, she booked another session. But she hasn’t.

She caught my attention from the very first moment and she’s held it ever since.

I noticed her the second she checked in at the front desk. It wasn’t because she was pretty—though she is. Her smile hits like sunlight, but that wasn’t what caught me. It was her energy.

Most clients come in carrying stress. But hers felt heavier than most. She walked in looking like she hadn’t caught a break in weeks. Tired isn’t a strong enough word.

She was scheduled to be with Maria, but I knew Maria had been overbooked today and would be happy to leave early. So, I asked and Maria was happy to give her to me.

I tend to request all the pretty, young women—and I’m not ashamed of it. But Lola? I would’ve picked her no matter what she looked like. There was just something about her.

When I got her on the table, I started to work my magic. Most clients relax in stages. Shoulders ease, breath slows, tension releases in little waves. But Lola didn’t release—she braced.

And then…she cracked. Or rather,cameapart under my hands.