Chapter 3

“But living with her?” Beverly Wyse tsked with the kind of long-suffering sigh only a mother could muster. She offered her flawlessly smooth cheek for her husband’s kiss as he pressed a glass of wine into her hand and then claimed the wingback chair beside her in their Wyse apartment a few floors up from where Sean’s place was being worked on. There hadn’t been mention of the “embarrassment” since his father “handled it,” and the ease with which his parents had slid so seamlessly back into their roles of perfect parents and doting spouses was freaky. But nothing compared to the discovery that, after a lifetime of wishing for siblings to help fill the empty apartments his parents would leave him in on rotation around the country and world, he had two brothers. Frank Lemoy, born five years after Sean, and Derek Greggory, born two months before.

“Darling, you know we adore Molly. She’s like family. But you have to think about what it looks like.”

Sean grimaced, forcing himself not to shift on the stiff love seat. Even after everything that had happened, he didn’t like seeing disapproval in his parents’ eyes. But where did they get off, judging anything he did? Especially when it came to Molly.

“It’s temporary. A month. Two at the most,” he assured them smoothly. “And it’s not like I’m on anyone’s radar these days.”

He had Derek to thank for that. His older brother had been the one to come to Sean about Frank. And what a fucking shit show that had been. The asshole from boarding school who’d made Sean’s life a living hell for four years showing up at his office a few months back with not just the news they were actually brothers, but that they had another brother, and Frank had been about to come after their dad with a blackmail scheme. So yeah, Derek had really come through. Which had been about as easy for Sean to swallow as a pint of nails, but at least it meant Sean was only making the papers when he worked the society circuit.

“Don’t be naive, Sean,” his father stated flatly. “You’re always on someone’s radar.”

Pursing her lips, his mother agreed with a regal nod. “Think about Valerie. I know you haven’t made your mind up on that front, but she deserves your respect and discretion.” Her stare hardened. “You will not embarrass her, or us.”

The warning rubbed.

He and Valerie were compatible in many ways, and Sean knew both families were expecting a union. But there was something missing. They’d gone out several times over the past couple of years—they got along, and he’d even go so far as to say they were friends—but it had been all too easy to let their relationship slide. As things stood, he and Valerie were very much on hold and had been for some time. Both were in agreement that if they found someone else, wonderful. If not, perhaps they would revisit the subject at a later date.

Not exactly the stuff of fairy tales.

“What if I cut ties with Valerie?” he asked, more curious how his parents would respond than anything.

Lips pursed, his mother studied the crystal glass in her hand as she addressed him. “That would be disappointing, to say the least. Honestly, I expect better judgment from you, Sean. Valerie is such a lovely girl, and her connections…” She sighed almost wistfully. “She would be such an asset to you if you would just let her.”

“We’ve seen you together,” his father added gruffly. “You get on well, that’s clear enough. But that said, if you truly object to Valerie, we’ll simply find another suitable match.” Then after a pause. “Perhaps Gretchen and Miles’s girl?”

The words shouldn’t have surprised Sean, but actually hearing them made him bristle.

“Jesus, do I even have a choice?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” his mother chided. “Of course you have a choice. It’s not as if we’d force you to marry someone you didn’t find agreeable. We want you to be happy, Sean. And part of being happy means finding a partner equipped to handle the position and responsibilities of being your wife. Of being a Wyse.”

Being a Wyse. He wasn’t even sure what that meant anymore. Knowing how to hide who you truly were, even from those you were supposed to trust most? Using the business as a justification for living a lie?

It didn’t feel right to him.

His father cleared his throat. “You understand as well as anyone the importance of finding someone suitable…appropriate, if you will.”

His parents weren’t saying anything new, but Sean’s body and mind rebelled at the words.

“What if that wasn’t the way it turned out?” he challenged.

The temperature in the room dropped, and both his parents grew eerily still. Then his father asked, “What are you suggesting?”

“I’m just asking… What if I fell in love? Hypothetically, of course, what if I fell in love with someone like Molly…and I wanted to marry her?”

It wouldn’t happen. That’s not how it was between them. But if it was… Molly was beautiful, intelligent, funny, and driven, and she respected hard work. She was his best friend, and suddenly he wanted to know how his parents would handle it. Because it was one thing to settle for a mutually advantageous marriage when he’d never been in love. When it seemed a practical solution at no emotional cost.

But what if things were different with him?

How would his parents react if he was lucky enough to find that elusive connection he’d only witnessed in his friends’ lives?

“Sean, you’re being difficult,” his mother said dismissively as she checked her jewelry.

He’d been serious, but the warning look in his father’s eyes told him he’d pushed far enough. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he’d asked at all.

* * *

“Thanks, Carson,” Sean offered, stepping aside as his assistant for the past three years wheeled in a gleaming luggage cart laden with the bags Sean had taken to Molly’s place Saturday.

“She dropped them with the concierge this afternoon. Said you’d be expecting them.”

Sean grinned. He’d been expecting something.

Hell, Sean had never known a woman to get her back up more over unsolicited rescues. And yeah, he had a pretty good idea where that chronic case of independence had originated. No one could grow up the way Molly had without it leaving a mark. But her shitty upbringing was only part of the problem. There’d also been those years when they’d lived together at school.

She’d been young, and even when she wasn’t young anymore, she’d been younger than they were. He and Max might have been a smidge overprotective, which apparently Molly hadn’t entirely appreciated. So he got it. These days, she preferred him to stay out of her business…and he hadn’t.

“Appreciate you seeing to this stuff.”

“Not a problem. And if you’re good, I’ll take off for the night.”

“Thanks, Carson. See you tomorrow.”

Standing at his desk, his back to the floor-to-ceiling view of Lake Shore Drive and the lakefront, Sean dug through one of the bags. Molly had collected the clothing and toiletries he’d brought to her place, packed them as neat as a pin, and tucked a note scrawled on Wyse stationery within.

Looks like you forgot a few things when you left this morning. Wouldn’t want you to miss them tonight at your parents’ place.

Cute. But not a chance.

* * *

Walking up the dark sidewalk from the L, Molly noted the shifting glow from the TV in the windows of her apartment. A smile tugged at her lips. She’d known he’d be back. No way would Sean let her off that easily. And while there was no way she’d be backing down that easily either, a part of her wasn’t complaining about getting to spend a few minutes together before she kicked it for the night. Sean might be driving her nuts right now, but the guy was still her best friend.

Letting herself in through the security door, she started up the stairs. She’d hassle him a little first, just so he didn’t get the wrong idea. And then she’d see if he wanted to split a frozen pizza with her, because cripes, her shift at Belfast had taken it out of her tonight. But at the top of the stairs, she realized it was close to two in the morning, and Sean had been up since five.

Forget pizza. The guy had probably fallen asleep on her couch after working one of his fourteen-hour days.

As quietly as she could, she eased the key into the lock and slipped into the dimly lit apartment. Closing the door with a quiet snick, she turned toward the couch and cocked her head at the sight of him sprawled across the cushions. Wearing the clothes she’d packed that afternoon.

Her eyes narrowed. Maybe quiet was the wrong approach.

With a flick of the lights, she bellowed her greeting, “Hey, did I wake you?”

“What the…?” Sean jerked upright, his usually perfect hair sticking in every direction at once.

One chunky motorcycle boot hit the wall with a satisfying thud and then the other. “Wow, long night at Belfast,” she said, strolling over to the couch where she allowed herself a single tousle of Sean’s hair before bouncing onto the cushion beside him. “Somehow, one of our cases of Ketel One got stocked in the wrong area, and I ended up having to go through the whole last delivery to double-check our inventory. Two waitresses called in last minute, a bartender cut his hand open, and Brody was off at some dinner meeting with one of his vendors. One of the pretty ones, so I didn’t want to call him, no matter how late it got. How was your day?”

The fog was clearing from Sean’s eyes as he rubbed a palm over the golden stubble of his jaw. “Mine?” He shook his head again and looked at her, that bleary look almost gone.

“Yeah.” She grinned, bouncing again and giving him a jostling shoulder bump. “What did you do today?”

With a shake of his head, he cleared his throat and met her cranked-up grin with one of those half smiles responsible for panties dropping around the world. “Meetings. A shit ton of them. We’ve got second-quarter numbers back for the Midwest territory, my dad was traveling so I had to handle the teleconference with Milan—”

“Busy,” she agreed, then cocked her head and asked, “Hey, you don’t still have that thing where you can’t go back to sleep if you wake up in the middle of the night, do you?”

The sleepy smile dropped off Sean’s face. “What time is it?”

Yawning into her hand, she stood. “’Bout two thirty. Which reminds me… I’m whipped.” He was still scowling at the empty space in front of him when she paused at the door to her room. “Kind of fun having you here to chat with for a few minutes when I got home. I could get used to this. Night, roomie.”

With her threat left hanging in the air, she slipped into her room.

Suck on that, Wyse.

* * *

Four hours later, Molly woke to the ringing of her phone. No one called her this early unless it was an emergency. Fumbling the phone in a haze of confusion, she managed to answer. “Hello?”

“Oh, darn it. Did I wake you?” Sean asked, his voice pouring through the line like sugar-free syrup. “Sorry, Moll. Just wanted to tell you I really enjoyed our chat last night too. And it means a lot to know that we’re the kind of good friends who aren’t afraid to wake each other up from time to time.”

Eyes closed, she flopped back on the bed and pictured the cocky Eastwood-esque smile on the other end of the line. He wasn’t giving up. Yet.

“Me too, Sean.” Neither was she. “See you tonight.” After she closed Belfast again.

“Can’t wait.”

Yeah, she just bet he couldn’t. Returning the phone to her nightstand, she curled into her light comforter. Good thing she didn’t have Sean’s problem and could fall back to sleep on a dime.

* * *

Molly shocked awake, her limbs quaking as a series of hard knocks ripped her from the sleep she’d returned to—she glanced at the clock—not even thirty minutes ago. Which meant she only had ninety minutes left to sleep before she had to get moving for her 9:00 a.m. Tuesday gig, cleaning the Stratton condo. Too soon. Following the persistent thuds, she stumbled through the apartment and opened the door to a bouquet of flowers.

“Delivery for Ms. Brandt.”

“I didn’t think you delivered this early,” Molly said, yawning.

“Special request.”

Yeah, she bet.

It was one of those artfully decorated vases with the flowers arranged in a perfect tight ball. Gorgeous. Accepting the bouquet, she walked it over to the butcher-block table. The card was from Sean, written in his neat handwriting.

Sorry to wake you earlier. Sleep tight.

Sean

She wanted to be pissed, but she had to give the guy credit. He was good. Really good. Pulling out her phone, she snapped a picture and texted it over.

Molly: Nicely played.

A minute later, she had his response.

Sean: You didn’t really think I was going to let you run me out without a fight.

No, she knew him too well to think he wouldn’t take this as a challenge.

Molly: Doesn’t matter. You’re still going.

Sean: Sure. When you find a new roommate.

Ass. Grinning, she headed for the shower. No way she’d get any more sleep today, but she could use the extra hour to work on the Dawson website. She was on track to meet her projected delivery date, but getting ahead was always a good thing.

* * *

“Okay, you know I like to win,” Emily Foster said, sighing after Sean dropped back onto his stool at their table for their regular Wednesday night game. She slapped her darts on the polished high top and glowered first at him and then at Molly. “But throwing the game? Come on.”

Elbows resting on the table, fatigue sitting heavy on his shoulders, Sean raised a staying hand. “We’re not throwing the game.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “You missed the board. And Molly here has zero points for the game so far. What’s going on? Is it me? Do you just not want to play with me anymore because I keep mopping the floor with you?”

Jase returned to the table with a fresh beer for his wife and two steaming mugs of coffee. “It’s not you, Em,” he reassured her, pressing a kiss atop her head of strawberry-blond waves before sliding back onto his stool. “Frick and Frack here are roommates again. They’ve probably been staying up half the night watching raunchy movies and trying to out-belch each other. They’re not throwing the game. They just suck because they’re exhausted.” Jase handed Sean one of the mugs, which he took with near-tearful gratitude. “Am I right?”

Not exactly, though Sean had certainly been looking forward to a scenario very similar to what Jase had described when he’d moved in.

“Close enough,” he replied, passing the other mug to Molly, who stared down at it while biting her lip in indecision. Probably afraid it would keep her up, and after two nights of roommate wars, he got why she’d be concerned. They were both barely making it through. “Just drink it. You’ll feel better.”

Big, blue eyes swept up to his, vulnerable and weary. “I’m dying.”

The girl had all but begged for exactly what she’d been getting by staging yet another wee-hours wake-up and then adding insult to injury by locking the coffee maker in her room, but still Sean didn’t like to see her eyes like that. He didn’t like the feeling deep in his gut that came from knowing he was responsible.

“Yeah, me too,” he conceded, certain it would brighten her spirits to know she was giving as good as she got.

“Thanks.” She smiled, but it was small and apparently took too much effort, because then she just dropped her forehead into her hands.

Leaning in so their shoulders touched, he angled his head so his words were only for her. “Look, we’re both beyond wasted. How about we call a truce tonight and catch up on some sleep?” She wasn’t working, so they could just go home and crash.

Peeking out from the cradle of her hands, she looked him over. “You wish.”

He sighed, wondering why he’d even asked. This was Molly, and she was stubborn with a capital S. “Yeah, I kinda do.”

A set of darts tapped an impatient staccato across the table, bringing their attention back to Emily, who was giving Sean a no-nonsense look. “You’re up. Take a hit of the coffee, and snap out of it. This is no fun at all.”

Sean stood, rolled a dart between his fingers, and grimaced. He’d tapped the last of his reserves to stay sharp during the marketing meeting, and now…damn, he had nothing.

A solid hand clapped his shoulder as Jase stepped up beside him and took the darts from his hand. “Friends don’t let friends throw sharp objects dead tired. Take Molly, and get out of here.”

Sean ran a hand through his hair. “Brody hasn’t even made it out of his office yet, and I’m pretty sure he wanted to talk about camping next month.”

“Trust me, he’ll get over it. Besides”—Jase glanced back at Emily—“someone’s got to give my wife a little competition.”

It was an out he couldn’t refuse, and fifteen minutes later, Sean was thanking the Uber driver outside Molly’s place while she quietly snored into his shoulder. With the hard time she’d been giving him, he ought to slam the door and make as much racket as he could, but having her tucked in against him like this… Yeah, he ought to wake her up with an air horn, but instead, he gathered her in his arms as gently as he could and carried her up to her apartment.

Inside, he laid her back on her bed and paused before pulling away to detach her fingers from where they’d hooked between the buttons of his shirt. Grabbing the throw from the overstuffed chair in the corner—the one they’d found together that day it rained so hard, they’d had to run for cover, taking shelter in the cool secondhand shop down in Wicker Park—he pulled it over her and brushed a few strands of corn silk and hot pink from her brow. Those dark-blond lashes fluttered, and then she was looking up at him with eyes that weren’t quite awake and a smile that made him feel—

Knock it off, man.

—a way he didn’t let himself feel around Molly. Shit, he was tired. “Go back to sleep, Moll. You need it.”

“Mmm…you,” she murmured groggily. Her eyes closed again, and her head lolled to the side as she fell back to sleep. He watched her a moment longer, wondering what kind of sweet dream made that hint of a smile flicker across her lips.