Dean marches down the hallway so fast I struggle to follow behind him. I can’t help but notice his tense, angry shoulders. He stops before the row of elevator and jabs at the down button.

I chance a glance at his face. He’s glaring at the closed elevator doors as if they’ve done some unforgivable sin against him.

Is he angry at me? At Brock? At both of us?

I remember Dean’s phone call when I was in my New York hotel room, right after I kicked Brock out. He warned me about Brock. He told me to stay away, and I didn’t. He’s probably disappointed in me.

But he doesn’t know all the facts. Maybe if I can somehow make him understand that this is a real relationship, that Brock and I genuinely care about each other . . .

“Dean, I—”

“Not now.” Dean holds a hand up, cutting me off. Obviously, he’s not in the mood to talk.

The elevator doors open, and he steps inside, still stewing. I can practically see the angry steam rising from the top of his head.

We make our way to the Italian restaurant in the building and take our seats in silence. After we place our orders, I’ve had it with the silence. I can’t bottle everything up anymore.

“Dean, I can explain,” I tell him as the waiter walks away.

He shoots me a glare. “Fine. Try me.”

Okay, so obviously he’s angry at me too. Not just at Brock.

I swallow my nerves. “It’s not what you think. We’re not just—”

“‘It’s not what you think?’ Really? That’s how you want to start? With that cliché?” Dean asks. “I saw what happened with my own eyes, Nina, and it didn’t look good.”

“I know. I know how it looked, and—”

“Do you? Do you know anybody in the office could’ve walked in and seen you doing—” he squirms in discomfort “—whatever it is you were doing with Brock? Do you know what that could’ve done to your reputation? Do you care at all?”

“Dean, please let me talk, and I’ll answer everything, every question you have,” I say, putting my palms together.

“Okay. I’m listening.” He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. He challenges me with his eyes—they’re the same dark brown color as our late dad’s.

Dean has always played the parental role for me, which makes it difficult sometimes for me to remember that he’s my brother, and he’s only five years older than me.

The dynamics of our relationship worked well when we were younger, but I’m a grown-up now, and I’m free to make my own decisions. I don’t even have to explain anything to Dean.

For a split second, I consider just walking away. I hate conflicts.

But no. No, I can’t walk away from this one.

This is important to me. Brock is important to me, and I need Dean to accept our relationship.

“Okay, I know what you want to say,” I start. “You want to tell me Brock is a player, and I should stay away from him, especially now that he’s my boss.”

“And I know what you want to say,” Dean replies. “You want to tell me you’re an adult, and you can do whatever you like.”

My brother does know me. But that’s not all I have to say.

“I am, and I can,” I say. “But Dean, nothing would’ve happened between Brock and me if it didn’t mean anything. Brock and I, we care about each other. We really have something here.”

Dean groans. A storm rages in his eyes. “That’s the worst thing you can say, Nina.”

“I don’t think you understand. We just click. We’re like puzzle pieces fitting together. He makes me so happy.”

“Which means he’s going to make you miserable when he walks away.” Dean’s tone is angry, but concern is etched into his features.

“Look, I get that you’re worried. But what makes you think he’s going to do that?”

“Jesus, Nina. It was cute when you were a teenager and you had crush on him, but now it’s just wrong. You’re old enough to know better.”

“Why can’t you even entertain the idea that this might actually work out?” I ask, anger spreading heat across my chest.

“Because I know Brock, okay?” Dean raises his voice. The waiter, who’s back to bring us our food, is so startled he almost drops a plate. My brother gives the waiter an apologetic look and waits for him to leave our table. In a calmer tone, Dean says, “I know exactly what Brock’s like, and I know exactly what you’re like. He’s only going to hurt you.”

“You don’t know that. You could be wrong.”

“I could say the same thing about you, little sister. You were wrong about Peter. What makes you think you couldn’t be wrong this time?”

I pick up my fork and stab a piece of ravioli, avoiding Dean’s gaze. I hate that he’s bringing Peter up when we’re supposed to be talking about Brock.

“Sorry,” Dean says softly, sensing the change in my mood. He places a gentle hand on my cheek. “I just don’t want to see my little sister get hurt.”

“I don’t think Brock is going to hurt me.”

Dean takes a deep breath. “I know that’s what you really believe, Nina. But this is what Brock does. This is what Brock has been doing for years. He sleeps with any woman he finds attractive, he makes them fall head over heels for him, and then he leaves.”

“I know. You told me. But I don’t think he’s going to do that to me.” I rest my fork on the plate. I don’t feel like eating.

“I didn’t think he was going to do anything to you,” Dean says. “You’re my little sister, and I thought that would’ve been enough to stop him from trying anything with you. But apparently not.”

“See? You’ve been wrong before.”

“Yeah,” he admits. “And I really hope I’m wrong now, but that’s not likely.”

“Whatever you think it’s like between Brock and me, you’re wrong,” I tell him. “We make each other happy, Dean. I can tell he really cares about me.”

“I hope you’re right, Nina. I really hope you are. But I know Brock, and I want you to be careful. You’re a big girl now, and I can’t make you leave him if that’s not what you want to do . . .” Dean pauses, raising an eyebrow and giving me an expectant look, probably hoping I’ll suddenly change my mind.

I shake my head. “I’m not going to leave him.”

Dean lets out a big sigh. “I know Brock better than you do, Nina. I like the guy. I really do. And I can see why girls flock to him. He’s a great guy, but—”

“Can’t you just stop there? Just . . . Brock’s a great guy. That’s it. And you’re happy for us,” I suggest.

“I can’t. If this were to have happened, I don’t know, five years ago, I would’ve been happy for you. He would’ve made great boyfriend material then—for anyone. He was great to his ex, and he treated her really well. But she changed him.”

“Rosa,” I blurt out.

“You know about her?” Dean sounds surprised.

“He told me.” I leave out the part about how I actually saw her at her own wedding, when I went, not just as any guest but as Brock’s fiancée.

“He doesn’t like to talk about her,” Dean says.

“See? He’s not trying to hide anything from me.”

“Well, that girl really did a number on him,” Dean continues. “Brock told me himself he didn’t think he was capable trusting another woman. The way he reacted when he heard about Rosa getting married, I was sure he was still hung up on her.”

“It’s been a long time since then, Dean. Things change.”

“I hope you’re right.” Dean gives me a weak smile. “But you know what I always say. When someone tells you who they really are, listen.”

I nod.

“I’ve seen Brock go from one girl to the next, oblivious to the destruction he leaves in his path,” Dean says. “I don’t want you to be one of those girls.”

“I won’t be,” I say with confidence.

The way Brock and I are together, the way our conversation just flows, the way we make each other laugh . . . I’m sure we have a real connection, a rare one, the kind most people never even experience in their entire lifetime.

“I really hope you’re right, little sister,” Dean says. “But you should be careful. And if I were you, I’d start looking for another job. In any case, it’s not a good idea to work with someone you’re dating.”

“You have a point,” I agree. It’s probably not the most professional thing in the world to sneak into supply closets at work with my boss. I should take my job more seriously and keep my personal life separate.

“Of course I do,” Dean says, grinning. “Now eat your pasta. It’s getting cold.”