Never Marry Your Brother's Best Friend (Never Say Never, #1)

There was a time that being invited to my father’s office felt like a privilege. I was eager to learn or to show off. But somewhere along the way, it morphed into a summons to my doom. Dramatic, but it’s one of the few things that makes me grit my teeth instantly because there’s no winning in Dad’s office.

It’s his domain, his den, his realm of complete authority. And while he means well, without the balance my mother provides, I always feel as though I’m being called to the principal’s office after sending my underwear up the flagpole. Not that I did that. That was my brother Cole. But we all learned from that disaster exactly how fast the vein in Dad’s forehead can pump.

I tilt my head left and right, popping my neck, and prepare to enter his inner sanctum. From her desk, his secretary smiles blandly. “He’s waiting for you.”

“Scale of one to ten?”

“Mm, three. You’re good to go.”

I appreciate her comment and give her a small smile to let her know. The assessment lets me know that I’m not walking into an ambush.

I open the door and realize I asked the wrong question, or not the follow-up I should’ve . . . is he alone?

My dad is sitting behind his desk, which is one of those old-school, oversized, dark walnut numbers, in a tufted, dark green leather chair. He’s the epitome of a powerful CEO, practically ready for a Forbes photographer at any moment, and exactly what I expected. However, sitting across from him is my brother, Cameron, whose eyes are stone-hard as they meet mine.

Damn, what’s his issue? You’d think he’d be a little grateful that I took care of Grace on the fly when he was out doing God knows what. I’ll never resent Grace for needing me anytime or for anything, but Cameron? Another issue altogether. We give each other shit freely and easily, competing against each other while simultaneously being willing to kill for one another.

Shutting the door behind me, I take my time striding to the other chair in front of the desk, reading their faces. “Hey, Dad, Cameron.”

“Have a seat.” Dad holds out a hand like I don’t know where I’m supposed to sit, like we haven’t had a hundred meetings with the three of us in this triangle of a power dynamic.

Appearances are key, so I lean back in the chair, resting an ankle on the opposite knee. Outwardly, I’m unconcerned, chill as a Choco Taco in a January blizzard. “What’s up?”

Dad’s eyes flick to Cameron and then back to me. They’ve been talking about me, that much is clear.

“Dad wants us to work together on my venture capital deal,” Cameron says flatly, obviously not on board with that plan in the slightest.

“The restaurant one?” Now I’m the one looking between my brother and dad. “Why?”

This is where Dad steps in. “It’s a big investment that needs close monitoring. I thought having two Harringtons involved would make that more manageable.”

I lean over to Cameron, talking as though Dad can’t hear us. It’s a trick we’ve done since we were kids that lets us say things out loud that we would never say directly to Dad. “Does he think you can’t handle it? Your plan was spot-on.”

Cameron leans in too, the trademark Harrington grin on his face. “You read my plan?”

I lift a wry brow in answer. He knows I obsessively scoured the damn thing after the meeting. He would’ve done the same thing if I dropped a surprise investment opportunity with zero notice. Actually, maybe I should do that with Elena’s deal? That’d show them I can bring value to the table.

His grin grows with my lack of admission.

“I’m good, though I’d never turn down some help. But I think this one is about you, man.” He jerks his head toward Dad.

Me? Why?

Choosing the direct route instead, I ask Dad, “What’s the deal? It sounds like Cameron’s got the restaurant under control.”

Dad’s shrug is noncommittal. “Like I said, it’s a big job, and you don’t have anything specific on your plate right now, so I thought you could help out. You always push each other to do better.”

This is one of the ways Cameron and I started our perpetual competition with one another. As the second oldest, I wanted to do everything my big brother did when we were kids, and as the oldest, he wanted me to leave him alone. Our parents cultivated our relationship as brothers by encouraging us to play together, whether in the yard or on a baseball diamond, and later, to play against each other in school, in business, and in life. The result is a rivalry built on shared experiences and a love that we show by giving each other massive amounts of shit whenever possible.

“Putting one and one together, I take it you think I need Cameron to push me right now?” I summarize bluntly. Because I don’t have time for games and double-speak right now. I’m too busy with my notes and follow-up from dinner at Elena’s.

Not that Dad knows that.

Dad chuckles. “You don’t have to make it sound like a bad thing.”

“Seriously? You’re basically forcing Cameron to let me tag along on his big deal like some pitiful puppy no one wants.”

“Woof, woof.” Cameron’s sound effects are not needed, and I shoot him a warning glance that he thankfully accepts.

“If you don’t have anything going on, help Cameron.” Dad’s declaration is final, or at least in his mind, it is.

“And if I have something going on?” I challenge. I’m playing with fire because I don’t want to spill my guts about the possibility of the Cartwright deal, not yet, but I can’t work with Cameron and give Elena the time she deserves.

Cameron clears his throat, but it doesn’t cover his scoff and I glare at him openly now. Shut the fuck up, Cam.

“Yeah, Gracie said you had something going on.” He backhands my arm like we’re frat bros, which we definitely are not. “By the way, next time she’s hanging out with you, could you not take her to your latest’s house for an overnight? All I heard was Elena-this and Elena-that. If Gracie doesn’t know about my dating life, I definitely don’t need her knowing about yours.”

Shit, there’s a lot to unpack there, but I start with . . .

“Your dating life? I thought you’d taken a vow of celibacy.”

It’s borderline and I know it, but it’s been a long time since the accident that took Cameron’s wife, and to be honest, even though we argue and compete with one another, I worry about him. He buries himself in work, not because he loves it but because it’s a distraction from the loss I’m sure he still feels acutely. As an unspoken rule, we don’t discuss the accident, never mention his wife’s name, or note that Grace is the spitting image of the mother she doesn’t remember. His mentioning a dating life, even as a joke, is . . . progress? At least in a twisted way.