Seducing My Best Friend (Alphalicious Billionaires Book 4) Read online

  Maybe it was just that she didn’t really drink anymore. Other than a glass of wine here and there, mostly so that she could stomach the terrible dates she went on, she didn’t touch anything more than tea.

  Her best friend, Jasmine, rolled up to her apartment at eight the night before. Sydney remembered that much. She’d brought an entire army of their friends with her. Or at least, they were Jasmine’s friends, so that was close enough.

  She couldn’t let her wallow in self-pity on her birthday. It had been all of a few months since she’d found out that her boyfriend was cheating on her. For like, the entire six months that they’d gone out. She’d gone over to his place to surprise him. There wasn’t anyone there with him, but by the time she hit the bed with Blane, the lights were still on and she’d found some sketchy red hairs in the bed that clearly didn’t belong to either of them.

  The whole thing came spilling out, how he just couldn’t help himself. How he was bored and thought their relationship was stale, but he didn’t want to lose her. Blah, blah, fucking blah.

  She’d basically kept herself locked in her apartment since it happened, even though she wasn’t that interested in the guy. Or any guy. Or in dating in general. It was just the assholishness and the humiliation of the act that burned her up and made her want to hibernate in her apartment and never come back out.

  Just thinking about it brought a hot wave of bile splashing up Sydney’s throat. She groaned and turned over in the bed, her entire body protesting both the pounding at the door and the movement.

  She balled up the sheet in her hand and called out a savage greeting. “If you have a key, why the heck do you even bothering knocking?”

  The pounding kept right on going and she cursed her mom. Her mom also moved out to San Francisco to be closer to Sydney. Really, it was because she couldn’t deal with trying to make her own way in the real world and needed the help, but maybe that was just semantics.

  Being an only child, her mom was her best friend, when it came right down to it, so Sydney tried not to mind the constant loss of privacy and the many boundaries her mom crossed. She had keys to the apartment and unfortunately, Sydney had come home quite a few times to find her mom there, doing laundry that wasn’t hers, rearranging the fridge and cupboards, doing the dishes… it was completely humiliating.

  “God, I’m coming!” Sydney shoved off the bed in one harsh movement that brought on a volley of stars at the edges of her darkened vision.

  She mumbled curses, mostly at herself and Jasmine, under her breath as she made her way to the door. She flung it open without thinking, so sure that it was going to be her mom standing there that she hadn’t even bothered to change out of her rumpled pink pajama shorts and matching tank.

  On her way to the buzzer to let her mom up, since she obviously must have forgotten her keys, she realized how dank the apartment smelled. Like she really was an animal hibernating in there. Yuk.

  She hurried over across her small living room to crack open the large window that stood above the couch. A rush of cool summer morning air rushed up to greet her, pebbling her skin and, unfortunately, her nipples as well.

  She stalked over to the intercom, stubbing her toe on the couch in the process. She tried not to curse as she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and blinked back tears at the pain tearing all the way up her leg. She slammed down the button and waited.

  Not more than a minute later, a knock sounded at her door. Sydney walked over, muttering things about her mom being forgetful and making up extra keys just so she could glue them to her forehead. She ripped open the door and let out a shriek of surprise at finding a man standing there, a tall, middle-aged man with greying hair and an immaculate black suit. She quickly slammed her arm up over her breasts, since even she could tell that her nipples were hard as rocks from the open window blowing in cool air. It didn’t help that the old dude’s eyes went straight to her chest. When she looked back up at his face, there was a flush riding high on his cheeks, which made her want to die on the spot.

  “Jesus,” she muttered. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m pretty sure you have the wrong place.”

  The guy actually pulled a sleek looking cell out of his pocket and double checked it. “Nope. I have the right address. Miss Underhill?”

  “Er- no…” Sydney went to slam the door on his face, but he stuck a polished shoe out, blocking her way. He flipped the phone around in one wrinkled hand that was surprisingly tanned, to reveal a picture that was unmistakably her.

  “I believe this is you? No?”

  “No,” she ground out.

  She tried even harder to shut the door, actually moved it back an inch and slammed it forward, but the guy’s foot didn’t budge. Something inside of her nearly snapped and fear pulsed through her already pounding brain. What if the guy had ties to the mafia or something? Had she done something to piss off someone from the underworld?

  Holy fucking shit. The night before was pretty much a complete blackout after the first few drinks. What the hell had she done? Seeing as she’d woken up, aching all over and cursing herself, in her own bed, she was pretty sure that nothing crazy went down and her friends carried her limp ass body straight into her condo and put her to bed.

  “I’m pretty sure this is you.”

  “Nope. I have a twin sister. That’s her. You’ll want to go to her place. This is just a big mistake, really…”

  “I’m also sure that you’re an only child.”

  “How the hell would you know that?” Sydney thought briefly about running, locking herself in the bathroom, and calling the cops, but something about the way the guy was looking at her, with burning deep green eyes and a kindly, far too amused smile, kept her rooted to the spot.

  There was also the fact that she couldn’t move faster than the pace of a snail without wanting to bend over double and retch up everything she’d eaten for a week.

  God, I am never drinking again.

  “I have a very specific set of instructions.”

  The man stuck out one of those weathered hands. It looked non-threatening, with the blunt fingers and the square nails. The guy was shorter than she was, around five foot eight probably, and likely weighed no more than a buck forty. She figured she could take him down, if things ended up getting dicey.

  Her hand slowly closed around his. Her curiosity had always been her downfall. Years ago, she’d made the fatal mistake of wondering what it would be like to sleep with a guy who was pretty much her best friend since childhood. That went to hell in a damn handbasket in like, two and a half seconds. She’d moved to San Francisco because she wanted to see if she could make it on her own. Her sense of adventure drove her from home, drove her to try and make something of herself. Which she’d failed pretty miserably at too.

  Every single guy she’d ever dated was all wrong. They were mysterious though, handsome. They’d find her at the grocery store, in the park, jogging, when she was out with her friends, when she was volunteering, on public transit. They’d corner her with that mischievous glint in their eye and a wicked smile on their face and she was done. Hook line and sinker because she couldn’t help herself. She just kept thinking that she couldn’t pass up the chance at finding out if it could work, if there was still a single decent guy left in the world.

  Unfortunately, she’d found out the hard way there wasn’t and after her latest dating disaster, she’d drunk herself under the table in the most epic of ways. Okay, pretty much the only way one could do that. Likely literally, though she couldn’t remember if her friends had literally fished her out from under the grimy, gum infested underside of a table off sticky floor tiles, thank god.

  She arched a brow as her hand curled over his. He had a surprisingly strong grip, for a guy that was likely pushing sixty.

  “Francis, right?”

  “Excuse me?” He pumped her hand once, then let his fall back to his side. “Your name. It’s Francis.”

  “Martin, actually.”
<
br />   “Okay, Francis.”

  The guy’s bushy grey eyebrows knit together. “Why do you keep calling me Francis? That’s not my name.”

  “Because you keep calling me Miss Underhill and that’s not my name.”

  “Twin sister or not, your name would still be Underhill.”

  “Ahhh…” she stalled for time, searching her sloshy brain for a way out of the hole she was digging herself in deeper and deeper by the second.

  She still had no idea what she had done and thinking about it only amped her anxiety in a big way. It did nothing for her poor stomach, which twisted violently, threatening to upchuck some of the contents of drinks she couldn’t remember drinking. Maybe there had been a late-night poutine too? She and Jasmine had been known to go out and get some greasy, gravy smothered fries after a night out.

  “Well… you see, I’m afraid that used to be my name, but I’m actually married now. My husband is going to be down here any second and I’m afraid he’s pretty crazy protective of me and having guys show up on our doorstep won’t be appreciated. You get it. Uh- you should probably go. If you don’t want him to come down here and chase you back to your car.”

  The guy, Francis, Martin- whatever… crossed his arms over his chest. A chest that was still surprisingly fit for an older dude. He actually made that black suit uniform looking thing look pretty good. All that he was missing was one of those conductor chauffer style cap things.

  “You’re not married.”

  “No? How the heck would you know?” This time it was her turn to cross her arms. She wished she could slam the door in his face, but his foot was still there.

  She was growing steadily annoyed, and more positive by the second, that this guy didn’t have underworld ties. He wasn’t an undercover cop either, so she couldn’t have done anything illegal the night before. Which left the fact that he was some creepy dude looking for her for unknown reasons. That both infuriated and terrified her, and all she could do was produce a mental count in her hung-over, cotton thick brain and focus on breathing like a calm, rational person who had nothing to fear would do.

  “I have it on good authority. Now. I want you to get dressed, pack whatever you need, and come with me.”

  Sydney couldn’t keep her mouth from falling open. “Ex-excuse me? Who the heck do you think you are, just showing up at my house and demanding that I come with you? Does that work on other women? Are you secretly a serial killer who is going to bag me and tag me and uh- stuff me in your trunk? Does that actually work with the ladies, Francis?”

  The guy took a step forward and muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, heaven save me from idiots. “Look, Miss. I have my instructions. They were to come to your house, which I know is registered to you because my firm never makes mistakes. I was given a list of places to take you to prepare you and then I’m to drive you to the airport where you will be put on a private jet and flown to Philadelphia.”

  “What?” Sydney’s head already felt like a soupy mess, and this guy’s strange statement and freaky familiar confidence wasn’t helping. The fact that he was now standing inside her house was absolutely terrifying.

  “I’m- I’m going to give you, like, ten seconds to get out of here before I call the cops,” Sydney said. She tried to force her voice to come out hard and commanding, but it shook like she was a scared little girl. Okay, so she was a scared not so little girl.

  Francis not Francis rolled his eyes again. He muttered a few more choice words under his breath before he pulled out his phone again. He flipped to the camera roll and turned it around. He held it proffered there, outstretched between them like a gift. A gift of a rattlesnake that would strike, no doubt.

  Still, Sydney couldn’t help herself. She’d never been able to help herself. Her mom always said that her wild spirit would lead her straight to hell one day. Or more like it would get her into trouble. That’s what her mom said, but at the moment, Sydney felt like she was going straight to hell.

  Because there, on the guy’s phone, was a screenshot of her social media status, made sometime in the blacked-out hours, straight from a soul that was filled with regrets, pounded out by nimble fingertips known to make bad decisions from time to blacked-out time. That status was straight from the movie h-e- double hockey sticks.

  It’s been ten years. You made me a promise. If the offer still stands, I’d like to take you up on it.

  Sydney’s stomach sank straight to the bottom of her toes and she was pretty sure it was going to be a bloody miracle if she didn’t throw up all over the guy’s fancy, shiny black shoes and pressed dress pants.

  Holy freakin’ guacamole, Francis not Francis was there to drag her off to get hitched.

  CHAPTER 3

  Jesse

  “You’re whating what? Getting what? Married?”

  Jesse winced as his mother swept into his office without bothering to knock. Of course, since she was his mom and his secretary, Crystal, a twenty-two-year-old who’d just graduated college and was thrilled to get a decent job with a decent company, was easily swayed with bribes of chocolate chip cookies, angel food cake, and cherry tarts. No matter how many times he told her not to let anyone back into his office without calling him first, she didn’t seem to understand that his mom was included in that category.

  Even though he’d just had a conversation with her a few days before and specifically told her.

  There his mom stood, in front of his desk, her hands at her hips. His mom was one of those cute old lady types, about five feet tall. She was a little on the rounder side, something she was always complaining about, but to him, she was cute. She was his mom. She was always perfect, no matter what. She had the kindest face, cheeks that were always flushed with life, brown eyes that always sparkled, dark hair she dyed each month, done in a chin length bob that was oddly fashionable. She hadn’t given up her favorite jeans and those mom type tops with the faded flowers on the front, even though when the company took off, he’d bought them a new house and gifted them a bank account to take care of it.

  Sylvia Samson never failed to have a perpetual smile on her face, so it was more than a little comical to see her standing there, trying to be stern. Her lips pursed and she gave him one of her toughest mom looks, a look that hadn’t worked on him since he was six years old.

  Even when she threatened spankings, she was too much of a softie to really follow through with more than a slight tap or a swat.

  “I see that Sam managed to keep his mouth shut for all of five minutes.”

  “You told your brother not to tell us?” His mom’s mouth dropped open and hurt filled her eyes. Her lips wavered and those big eyes started to get shiny. He was pretty sure that at that point, she wasn’t going to be leaking tears of joy, no matter how close she was getting to marrying one of her kids off. It was only her lifetime goal. Those tears, if he let them fall, wouldn’t be tears of joy.

  “Oh, no, mom, come on.” Jesse shoved back from his desk. “Please don’t do that.” He stalked over and took her warm hand in his. “I just- this isn’t… I have a lot of explaining to do and I actually wanted to talk to the bride first, before I said anything to you and dad. Sam worked me up to it last night and it just slipped out.”

  Some of the hurt faded from his mom’s eyes, replaced with hope that was just about as hard to take. “But you’re… are you serious? You managed to keep this whole thing a secret?”

  “Mom, it’s not what you think.” Jesse guided his mother over to his desk, where he pulled out one of the modern metal chairs in front and eased her into it.

  He sat down on the edge of his desk in an undignified position hardly fitting the boss. He actually had lectured a few of his employees to treat their desks like desks and not like chairs in the past, so he hoped no one was heading towards his office or walking down the hall for the next few minutes to see him winning the Hypocrite Boss of the Year Award.

  “I don’t know what I think,” his mom sniffe
d. “Your brother came up for waffles this morning. I said that I was going to call you to come over for some and he said not to bother, that you’d be busy. I asked busy with what, and he said busy planning your wedding.”

  “For Christ’s sakes,” Jesse muttered under his breath. Thanks a lot Sam.

  The thought of throttling his brother almost made up for the bastard giving away all of his secrets after he’d promised not to. Turns out all it took was the promise of home cooked waffles.

  “Maybe I should move back home so you can cook me breakfast every single morning, clean up after me, and wipe my ass too.”

  “Jesse!” His mom chided. “No need to be crass about it.”

  “Sam is my older brother. You shouldn’t have to take care of him like he’s five. He’s capable of looking after himself.”

  His mom leaned forward like she was ready to let him in on a secret, but he already knew what she was going to say. “Between you and me, he’s not really.”

  He rolled his eyes. “I know that, mom. Seriously. It’s not just between you and me. I think everyone who knows Sam knows it.”

  “He’ll grow out of it. You’ll see.”

  “He’s thirty-four!”

  “Well, plenty of time. Everyone says forty is the new twenty, so I guess he’s more like a teenager still.”

  “That’s not how that saying is used, mom.”

  His mom blinked her long eyelashes. She had those doe kind of eyes that could turn even the hardest of hearts into a sopping mess. She’d done it to him over the years. The thing he hated most about screwing up when he was a teenager still living at home was the disappointing way his mom used to look at him. He hated seeing her look like that. Kind of how she was looking at him now.

  “Mom…”

  “Jesse.” His mom placed her hand above her heart. “I’m just sad that you didn’t think you could tell us. You kept this girl a secret. Your whole relationship a secret? From everyone. I mean, I can see that you’d want to keep it private, out of the media and what not, because I know how much you hate when people dig into your business and put you into the papers and magazines and online and all that, but your own family? You couldn’t even tell us?”