Page 13 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

“How?” said David, suspiciously.

“He’s just always so…short,” I said.

“What, like, under 5 feet?”

“No,” I laughed. “I mean, curt. Like, sharp with me. I don’t get it. It’s like I’ve done something wrong. Reminds me of—”

I stopped before I could finish. I’d been about to say that Lucien reminded me a little bit of Conor.

Every day, I walked to Lucien’s house from ours, a little further down the valley. Sometimes, I took the car, but on the whole I preferred to arrive quietly. I started to realize that Lucien could be cranky in the morning. He didn’t seem to sleep much.

“You want coffee?” I asked him, when he snapped at me first-thing about a bunch of documents he needed scanned electronically. Something about a million-dollar deal with a renewable energy company.

“I don’t drink coffee,” he replied. “I drink tea.”

He gestured absentmindedly at the China teacup on his desk. Lucien was so particular that he literally only drank from handcrafted teacups imported from East China. While I barely ever saw him eat, he drank copious amounts of smoky black tea from an elegant ceramic teapot. I almost laughed a few times when I saw him delicately handle his China teacup in his enormous hands. It was like a giant pouring a cup of tea. Something about the way he gently handled the cup filled me with strange thoughts. Conor used to drink tea in enormous mugs. He filled thermos flasks with it in winter that were pint-sized. But in Lucien’s hands, the little China teacup looked like a toy.

Seeing Lucien with his teacups reminded me of Conor and his tea-drinking habits. He’d never had coffee. He was always annoyed at the waitress in the diner where we went on dates because they only made coffee. The place had closed now. But on the rare occasions when I finished my work and went to ask Lucien for more stuff, I pondered about the teacup and thought, with a smile, how he and Conor would have got on.

“What?” he said coldly, when he saw me staring at him as he sipped.

“Nothing,” I said. “You just remind me of someone.”

He gave me an odd look. “Can you book Pat Arkfeld in for a meeting at eight?” he said. “And clean up your desk. We have to stay organized.”

I rolled my eyes and carried on. That was it. Lucien was an ass. And he was—to me and to others. Even though his dark moods and cold temperament were harmless, he was an impossible boss to please. Even if now and then, I did wonder about his past. He had a military bearing and kept his shoulders straight up, even when he’d been working at his desk for hours without stopping. Like he was prepared for war at a moment’s notice.

It was Friday, my fourth day working for Lucien, and I was looking forward to a weekend to myself, to hang out with Kyle. He was starting school on Monday and I was looking forward to seeing him off even if Kyle himself was pessimistic about the idea.

“I guess I’ll see you next week,” I said. “Unless you’re firing me already?”

I felt relaxed about making a joke like that. There was no way Lucien could have fired me. In a matter of days, I’d transformed his office into a neat, clean, glowing hub of productivity. I was finished on time, every day, and I’d shown him that I was more than capable of doing the job.

“Like I said, you’ve got another week,” he grunted. “Besides, we’re going away on Monday.”

“Going away?” I said.

He looked up. “The investor’s conference in Vancouver.”

“What?” I said. I’d seen the appointments—I’d already been in touch with Lucien’s private helicopter, the hotels, the building, to arrange things.

“You’re coming with me, Laura,” he growled, and I saw his hand clench on the desk like he was angry. Like it was stupid of me to assume I wouldn’t be going to Vancouver with him.

“But,” I said, “I can’t.”

“It’s not a question,” he grunted. “It’s an order.”

I sighed. I’d been copied in on more than one irate email from Lucien where he reminded people—his team, his investors, his analysts—that there was no such thing as ‘No’. It was his least favorite word. But I knew that if I brought up Kyle, Lucien would freak. He hated children—he specifically had me book a floor of a building away from the family rooms, to ‘avoid children noises’ during his precious meeting.

“I have to get my car serviced,” I spluttered. “Besides, the work contract says Mondays are off.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow. “The contract also says, The employee needs to take up additional responsibilities when necessary.”

“Wait, you can’t do thi—”

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

I felt so angry that my blood was boiling and I could feel the heat rising to the top of my head. Lucien was dismissive, and arrogant, but that wasn’t why I was so upset. Why now, here in his office, I was fighting back tears.