Craving My Brother’s Friend

Lies Between The Lines

Amira POV

The lie comes easily.

"We were just talking," I say, smoothing down my hair while my heart hammers against my ribs. "About old times."

Zayne's eyes narrow, scanning the space between Khalil and me. The wine cellar suddenly feels microscopic, every breath too loud, every heartbeat a betrayal.

"Talking," he repeats slowly.

"Yes." I force my voice to stay steady. "He was telling me about his business ventures."

Khalil's jaw ticks, but he says nothing. Smart man.

"Right." Zayne steps closer, his protective instincts on high alert. "And you needed to discuss business down here because..."

"Because the party was too loud," Khalil answers smoothly. "And your sister has always been curious about the tech industry."

I want to roll my eyes at how easily he spins the story, but I'm too busy trying to ignore the way my lips still tingle from his kiss.

Zayne looks between us one more time, then shrugs. "Fine. But the party's upstairs, not in the wine cellar. Mom's looking for you, Amira."

I nod quickly, eager to escape. "I'll go find her."

As I brush past my brother, he catches my arm. "Khalil. A word."

My stomach drops, but I keep walking. I can't look back. Can't let either of them see the guilt written all over my face.

"Stay away from her."

Zayne's voice carries up the stairs, low and warning. I pause at the top, hidden behind the door.

"She's my sister. Not your toy."

"I know what she is to you," Khalil replies, his voice equally quiet but razor-sharp.

"Do you? Because five years ago, you looked at her like she was dessert and you were starving. I'm not blind, Blake."

A long silence stretches between them. Then Khalil's voice, carefully controlled: "That was a long time ago."

"Not long enough. She's twenty-one, brilliant, and way too good for whatever darkness you've brought back from your disappearing act. So I'll say it again, stay away from her."

"Understood."

The word hits me like a slap. He agrees so easily, so quickly. Like kissing me meant nothing. Like I mean nothing.

I slip away before they can catch me eavesdropping, but his voice echoes in my head for the rest of the night. *Understood.*

Three weeks later, I'm staring at an email that makes my blood run cold.

‘Congratulations! You've been selected for the Blake Industries legal internship program. Please report to the 47th floor of Blake Tower on Monday at 9 AM.’

"You've got to be kidding me," I mutter, reading it again.

My phone buzzes. Zayne.

*Surprise! Called in a favor with K to get you the internship. You're going to kill it.*

I stare at the text, torn between laughing and screaming. Fate has a twisted sense of humor.

Monday morning arrives too quickly. Blake Tower pierces the Manhattan skyline like a glass dagger, all sharp angles and intimidating height. I stand on the sidewalk, looking up at the building where I'll be working under the man who kissed me like he was drowning and I was air.

The elevator ride to the 47th floor feels eternal. When the doors open, I'm greeted by a reception area that screams money and power. Everything is black marble and chrome, designed to make visitors feel small.

"Miss Romano?" A woman in a crisp suit approaches. "I'm Sarah Chen, Mr. Blake's assistant. He's waiting for you in his office."

Of course he is.

The walk down the hallway feels like a death march. Each step brings me closer to the man I've been trying to forget for three weeks. The man whose taste still lingers on my lips when I let my guard down.

Sarah knocks on a door marked *K. Blake, CEO* and opens it without waiting for a response.

"Sir, Miss Romano is here."

"Send her in."

His voice hasn't changed. Still rough velvet that makes my skin prickle with awareness.

I step into his office and nearly stumble. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the city, but that's not what stops me cold. It's him.

Khalil stands behind his desk, perfectly pressed in a charcoal suit that probably costs more than my car. His hair is styled immaculately, not a strand out of place. He looks like he stepped off the cover of Forbes.

He also looks like he hasn't slept in weeks.

"Amira." He doesn't move from behind his desk. Smart man, maintaining distance.

"Mr. Blake." I inject as much professionalism into my voice as possible.

"Please, sit."

I take the chair across from his desk, hyperaware of every movement. He sits too, creating a barrier of mahogany between us.

"I assume you know why you're here."

"My brother arranged this internship."

"He did." His eyes meet mine briefly before looking away. "You'll be working directly under me, reviewing contracts and assisting with legal research."

"Under you." The words come out more breathless than I intended.

Something flickers in his eyes. "With my legal team," he clarifies quickly.

"Of course."

We stare at each other across the desk. The air between us crackles with unspoken tension.

"This is purely professional," he says finally.

"Absolutely."

"Good." He slides a folder across the desk. "Your first assignment. I need you to review these merger documents and flag any potential issues."

I take the folder, careful not to let our fingers touch. "When do you need it?"

"End of the week."

"I'll have it done by Wednesday."

"Eager to impress?"

"Eager to prove I deserve to be here."

His mouth almost curves into a smile. Almost. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't deserve it."

"Because my brother called in a favor?"

"Because you graduated summa c*m laude from Columbia and your legal writing samples were exceptional."

The compliment shouldn't warm me, but it does. "You read my samples?"

"I read everything that crosses my desk."

"Including internship applications?"

"Including yours."

The way he says it, like my application was special, like I was special, makes my cheeks burn.

"I should get started on these." I stand, clutching the folder like a shield.

"Amira."

I pause at the door. "Yes?"

"Welcome to Blake Industries."

"Thank you, Mr. Blake."

I escape to the elevator, my heart racing. This is going to be the longest internship of my life.

The next two weeks fall into a routine. I arrive early, leave late, and pretend my pulse doesn't spike every time I see him in the hallway. He's polite, professional, and completely infuriating.

But I catch him looking sometimes. Quick glances when he thinks I'm not paying attention. His eyes linger on my mouth when I'm explaining legal precedents. His jaw tightens when other male employees talk to me.

The tension builds like pressure in a boiler.

Late Thursday night, I'm alone in the office reviewing acquisition documents when he appears in the doorway.

"You're here late."

I don't look up from my laptop. "So are you."

"I had a conference call with Tokyo."

"And I had three hundred pages of contracts to review."

He steps into my temporary office, and the space immediately feels smaller. "Find anything interesting?"

"Several liability clauses that could be problematic."

"Such as?"

I launch into an explanation of the legal issues I've identified, hyperaware of how he moves closer with each point I make. By the time I finish, he's standing beside my chair, close enough that I can smell his cologne.

"Impressive analysis."

"Thank you."

"You missed something, though."

"What?"

He leans over me to point at a paragraph on my screen. His chest brushes my shoulder, and I stop breathing.

"This clause here. It shifts liability in ways that could be devastating if the acquisition goes south."

He's right. How did I miss that?

"I can't think when you're this close," I admit without thinking.

He goes very still. "Amira."

"I know. Professional boundaries. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize." His voice is rough. "Just... don't tempt me."

I turn in my chair to face him, and suddenly we're inches apart. His eyes are dark, hungry. My breath catches.

"What if I want to?" The words slip out before I can stop them.

His hand moves to my wrist, fingers wrapping around the delicate bones. "You don't know what you're asking."

"Then tell me."

His grip tightens. "I'm trying to be the good guy here."

"Maybe I don't want the good guy."

Something snaps in his control. He pulls me to my feet and backs me against the wall, his body caging me in. His hand braces beside my head, the other still circling my wrist.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he growls.

"Show me."

For a moment, I think he will. His head dips toward mine, his lips barely an inch away. I can feel his breath on my skin, I can see the war raging in his eyes.

Then he steps back abruptly, releasing me like I burned him.

"Don't tempt me, Amira."

My heart pounds as I stare at him. "What if I want to?"

The words hang between us like a challenge. His eyes darken to almost black.

"Want what?"

The voice comes from the doorway, casual and familiar. We both freeze.

Zayne leans against the frame, his expression unreadable as he takes in the scene—me pressed against the wall, Khalil standing too close, both of us looking guilty as sin.

"Want what?" he repeats, his voice deceptively calm.