Loving My Best Friend Read online

  One time in college, my sister Mel asked why I never tried to date Eva. I proudly explained my foolproof system for preserving our friendship—whenever I catch myself thinking about how beautiful Eva is, I know it’s time to get out there and start dating again. Or, at the very least, hooking up again.

  Mel called me a fucking idiot and threw a muffin at my head. I’m pretty sure Mel went into city politics because it lets her spend most of her time calling men idiots and throwing metaphorical muffins at their heads.

  Eva turns back to look at me, her deep brown chignon as flawless as her make-up. Her honey-brown eyes are as sharp as ever. She’s a million miles away from the exhausted, broken-down woman in the bar last Friday. This Eva is back on the horse, ready to take on the world.

  Which would be a lot more reassuring if I hadn’t just invited her into my world.

  “I don’t need you to change anything,” I remind her belatedly. “Just keep the ship steady until Makeda comes back from maternity leave.”

  Eva bites back whatever reply just sprang to mind. She almost succeeds. Almost.

  “But what if keeping the ship steady requires just a tiny, teeny, itsy bit of change?”

  “The ship is a billion-dollar international hotel chain. There is no such thing as a tiny change.”

  “But—”

  “Let’s meet your team!” I say brightly, clapping my hands, and Eva sighs heavily.

  It’s a sigh that preceded every major grade school and high school rebellion. The chocolate milk strike in third grade. The great PE uprising of eighth grade. Every high school assignment she somehow managed to flip on its head just because she wanted to annoy one particularly obnoxious teacher.

  Eva Price can argue anyone into anything.

  “No changes,” I say sternly as I hold the door open to show her to her office.

  “Whatever you say, boss,” Eva says sweetly, passing close enough that I can smell her perfume.

  I really, really need to start dating again. I’m not ruining three decades of friendship just because I’m going to be seeing Eva practically every day for the first time since high school.

  No changes, I promise myself and lead Eva to her office.

  * * *

  Okay, there is one change I enjoy. Since she’s working for me, I get to boss her into taking a break from reviewing our advertising metrics and joining me downstairs to sample the restaurant she’ll be marketing.

  Also, since it’s a work lunch, I get to pay.

  Normally, I take a discreet back table where I can monitor guests and staff, but this time, I ask for the center window table, where we can have the sky and the park on one side and the drama of my airy, modern, gilded restaurant on the other.

  Okay, fine, I want to show off for Eva.

  Eva has this theory that the third generation was the tipping point for family-run companies. Either they sell out, and the company survives while the family steps back, or they get entitled and overconfident in their business acumen and tank the company.

  She normally brought it up after one of the other rich kids was being a jerk, but let me tell you, that shit’s enough to keep you up at night when you’re fourteen-years-old and the third generation of a successful family business.

  Which is where the restaurants come in. When I graduated from Columbia, I decided we needed an edge to stay competitive in the era of Airbnb, so over the past eight years, I’ve upgraded the restaurant at every one of our flagship hotels. I saved on the redesign by hiring new design firms with something to prove and then used the savings on huge contracts—and the promise of creative control—to land some of the hottest chefs in the business. It turns out, the most seductive words in the restaurant business are, “You don’t have to cook anything you don’t want to.”

  It pissed off a few of our regulars when their favorite item disappeared from the menu—my mom, for example—but the food is amazing and interesting, and we’ve become a New York dining attraction in our own right.

  Take that, third-generation theory.

  Eva slides into her chair, elegantly as a queen. You’d never guess she freaked out before the first fancy event she attended with me in high school because she didn’t know which fork to use.

  She takes the menu and raises an eyebrow as she realizes there’s not a single safe, easy dish on there. “Bold.”

  “You’re surprised,” I say.

  “You said no change,” Eva says.

  “I can make changes to my company. You can’t.”

  “Control freak.” She smirks at me, and I can’t help smiling back.

  But this isn’t over. I want her to be impressed.

  When the waiter comes, we order, and then I add, “Ms. Price would like to meet Chef Besset.”

  The waiter’s eyes widen slightly. Besset’s got a sharp tongue—one of the reasons I like him—but it means he’s not the sort of chef you bring out to impress a client. Not unless the client is impressed by having their French corrected, anyway.

  “What’s that about?” Eva asks when the waiter leaves.

  “Just wanted you to meet the team,” I say blandly.

  Eva gives me a look but lets it go.

  “I’m actually glad we’re doing this,” Eva says. “I wanted to talk to you about your sister.”

  “Mel?” I ask. “I didn’t know you were in touch.”

  “Not her personal life. Her professional life. The things she’s pushing for on the city council.”

  “Do you have a problem with supporting hospitality workers?” I say, unable to keep the warning out of my voice. Ever since Mel ran for office, people have been trying to use me to get her under control. I just never imagined one of those people would be Eva.

  “Of course I don’t have a problem with it, but what she’s pushing for is a lot more sweeping than just paying maids and waiters fairly. It’s legislation that could change the industry if it gets implemented.”

  “I’m still not seeing the problem,” I say stubbornly.

  Eva leans across the table. “People want to block it, and those people will put every single one of your hotels under the microscope. If anything that’s happened at Rose Hotels, especially under your watch, will violate the reforms Mel’s pushing for, those people will find it. They’ll spread it everywhere. It will smear your reputation as an industry leader, and it could destroy Mel’s credibility.”

  “Not everything’s a crisis, Eva,” I say, letting my irritation show. “I get it. Your job was fixing scandals. But sometimes there’s no scandal.”

  “You’re saying you never flirted with an employee? Never hired a man over a single mom because you thought she’d be less reliable?”

  “Jesus. No. Dad and Grandpa have been teaching me how to be professional since I was ten. Even if they hadn’t, I’ve had Mel as a sister my whole life. She didn’t suddenly start caring about this stuff when she got a microphone.”

  The waiter arrives, setting down Eva’s lamb chop, with Dijon cream sauce, and my chef’s special between us.

  We stare at each other in silence.

  “Is that really what you think of me?” I ask.

  “I’m not saying you’re a bad person! I’m just saying it’s an international company, and even if you were perfect, you can’t be everywhere.”

  I don’t say anything.

  Eva runs a hand through her hair, messing her perfect chignon. “This is harder to do with a friend,” Eva mutters.

  “What exactly are you trying to do?”

  “Protect you! I get you don’t want me to change anything, fine. But this stuff with Mel … I’m telling you, if there are any skeletons in the corporate closet, it will blow up in your face.” She reaches across the table and takes my hand. Her skin is as soft as her hand is strong.

  “I’m not saying this because I want you to feel bad,” Eva says. “I’m saying this because I want to help you navigate what’s coming. This is what I do. And I do it really well.”

  “I
know it’s what you do,” I say, squeezing her hand. “But I don’t need your protection.”

  I’m here to protect you.

  The thought comes unbidden, and as much as I’ve talked about needing Eva to help me out while Makeda’s on maternity, it’s the truth. I want to protect Eva. I want to protect her from junk lawsuits and shitty exes and worrying about how she’s going to pay her rent. She won’t let me do any of that, though. All she’ll let me do is temporarily give her a job she’s more than qualified for.

  I need to let go of her hand. I’ve been holding it too long. A little too long for friendship, and definitely too long for a professional lunch.

  I let go and sit back, trying to put space between us. “Here’s a thought. Why don’t you treat the next two months as a vacation?”

  “I’m working full-time for you,” Eva points out.

  “I mean a vacation from seeing the worst in people. From planning for disasters. For the next few months, you focus on marketing some cool hotels, which, let’s face it, are pretty easy to market.” I gesture to the restaurant around us, and she rolls her eyes, but she’s listening.

  “I know for a fact Makeda left you a well-oiled team and fully fleshed-out marketing campaigns,” I continue. “You could do this in your sleep.”

  “Your point?” Eva asks, restless.

  “Take it easy for the next few months. Leave work at the office. Then, if you’re ready to jump back into crisis management PR at the end of the two months, go for it. If you realize you’d like a job where you don’t always have to see the worst in people and plan for disaster, maybe consider a new direction.” I shrug.

  “I loved my company,” Eva says.

  “I know.”

  “I only see the worst in people because people show me their worst.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m not wrong about the risks of Mel’s reforms.”

  “Agree to disagree.” I pick up my knife and start cutting into a perfectly seared steak served with some kind of tangy pink sauce and plated next to a riot of colorful vegetables that I can’t actually identify. “I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I’m just saying, the girl at the bar on Friday needed a break. Maybe this can be that for you. Think about it. And eat your lamb.”

  “Says the man who’s not telling me what to do,” Eva says, but she obediently takes a bite, her face flushing with surprised pleasure. “Oh. Oh.”

  I grin, feeling pretty damn pleased with myself as she dives in. My restaurant is so good it turned Business Eva into Regular Eva.

  “Want to try mine?” I offer.

  She looks at me, suspiciously. “Do I have to share mine?”

  My grin widens. “I’ve had yours before.”

  She leans across the table and spears some stake and one of the mystery vegetables, closing her eyes to savor the bite. It’s fun to watch her when she’s enjoying something. A little too much fun.

  I look down at my own plate. “So, can I get some credit for bringing you here?”

  “Yes, Jack,” she relents. “You get credit for lunch.”

  “Not as much credit as me, I hope?” a deep male voice asks, and Eva looks up startled to see Chef Gabriel Besset smiling down at her nearly empty plate appreciatively.

  Eva blinks up at Gabriel, and for the first time, I think about what women see when they look at Gabriel—tall, handsome, French accent. Plus there’s that white chef’s jacket that pops against his dark brown skin, reminding everyone he cooks like a god.

  Gabriel, for his part, is looking at Eva like she is a very, very pleasant surprise.

  Shit.

  Eva holds out her hand and flashes Gabriel a smile that has his own grin widening. “Eva Price. Nice to meet you.”

  “Chef Gabriel Besset. Enchanté.”

  Shit, shit, shit. Gabriel speaks better English than I do. He only busts out the French when he’s flirting.

  “Gabriel, Eva’s our new marketing manager. Your coworker,” I add.

  “Interim marketing manager,” Eva corrects. “I’ll be gone in two months, but while I’m here, you must tell me what you put in this sauce.”

  Gabriel ducks his head. “A man doesn’t cook and tell, but I will happily make it for you every day you’re here.”

  “The menu rotates,” I cut in. “So it’ll be gone next week.”

  “I don’t know.” Gabriel lowers his voice conspiratorially. “Don’t tell the boss, but I’ve been known to bend the rules for my regulars.”

  The absolute liar. He all but threw a hissy fit when I asked him to put the governor’s favorite dish back on the menu.

  “No need to go to any trouble on my account. It might be good to expand my palate. And I don’t know how much of a regular I’ll be,” Eva says regretfully, her smile warm and genuine. I’d think she was just friendly, but I’ve known Eva since grade school. She is definitely interested.

  Luckily, Gabriel misinterprets her comment as politely putting the brakes on his flirting. He takes the rejection graciously and after welcoming her to the team, excuses himself to the kitchen.

  Eva watches him go, then sighs. “What is it about the French? I swear, that accent just hits you in the ovaries.”

  “What happened to the woman who was grilling me about flirting with employees just a second ago?”

  “He’s not my employee. As we’ve established, it’s your hotel. I’m just relaxing here for two months.”

  I chew my steak mutinously, suddenly not quite so enchanted by its taste.

  “Oh, calm down. It’s not like I’d actually make a move on someone I’m working with, even if your handbook does allow coworker dating.” She looks at me, suddenly uncertain. “Unless I’m doing it again? Is he secretly a jerk, too?”

  Jerk is a generous term for her exes. I’d go with selfish, soul-sucking idiots with the collective moral background of a limp french-fry. But she’s looking at me, nervous, and I can’t stand the self-doubt on her face.

  “One of the best men I’ve worked with,” I admit, reluctantly. “As long as you don’t try and cut his budget.”

  Gabriel and I run into each other in the hotel gym pretty regularly, which is how I know he’s got a good sense of humor, calls me on my crap, doesn’t date around, and calls his grand-mère every other weekend.

  Eva looks back toward the kitchen, her face turning speculative. “Huh.”

  I want to wave my hand in front of her face and say, “No, not him, pay attention to me.” It’s a reaction that makes me feel about twelve years old, partly because it’s immature as hell, and partly because I actually did that when we were kids and Eva had her first crush.

  Humphrey Collins. I hated that kid. I mean, I hated him before. I didn’t arbitrarily start hating every guy Eva had a crush on. I just hated him more once she started mooning over him.

  This is ridiculous. Get yourself together, McBride.

  I make a show of checking my watch and saying we need to go back to the office. Eva and I head back up.

  In the elevator, for a second, she leans her head against my arm. “Thanks for everything, Jack. I know I can be difficult.”

  “You’re not difficult,” I say, which isn’t exactly true. She’s difficult, but she’s also worth it.

  “Still.” She’s quiet for a while. “Thanks for being my friend. The last year has been …”

  She doesn’t have to say it. She’s been through the wringer, and I wasn’t there for any of it. I can talk a big game about protecting her, but I can’t do anything if she doesn’t let me.

  Eva’s right about Rose Hotels allowing coworkers to date, too. Someone can’t date someone they supervise, and technically, I supervise everyone.

  Eva deserves something good, though. Even if this something good makes me feel like punching something, for reasons I don’t want to examine too closely.

  We’re almost to our floor.

  Sometimes I hate myself.

  “Gabriel likes you,” I grit out. “He doesn’t in
clude his first name when he’s meeting someone in the restaurant unless he likes them.”

  Eva looks up at me in surprise. “But that was only a few seconds after he came over to us.”

  The elevator dings.

  “It only takes a few seconds to like you, Eva,” I say as the doors open and I stride off the elevator.

  3

  Eva

  That’s totally awesome that you asked Molly Alvarez to senior prom! TOTALLY. AWSOME. You deserve to be happy. Why would you feel weird telling me that? But a word to the wise, don’t go for second base. She stuffs her bra, and when she made out with Humphrey Collins, things shifted. It was an awkward experience for everyone.

  —Eva Price, email to Jack McBride, senior year of high school

  On Thursday morning, I’m standing on the front steps in front of my old Brownstone apartment building, waiting for Jack’s sleek red sports car. We’re going to drive upstate to see an old hotel building he bought but hasn’t renovated yet. The only consolation prize is that I get to take a break from business clothes and wear jeans, a sweater, and boots.

  “This is not a good use of my time,” I say when Jack’s car finally pulls up in front of me.

  Jack stretches over to open the passenger door and smiles at me cheekily. “Did you say something? I can’t hear you over the sound of your paycheck. That I’m paying.”

  I make a face as I climb into the car. The leather seat is butter-soft and smells like luxury. “I said, this is not a good use of my time. Which means it’s not a good use of your money. Why do we need to drive to upstate New York? Why can’t we just look at the pictures?”

  “Because you can’t get a feel of the place from the pictures. Also, the renovation team is still stalled on what to do about that room on the northwest side. We need a fresh set of eyes. Which you have.”

  He hands me a Starbucks cup with my usual drink order scrawled on the side, just like he used to do on our college road trips. Also, that one day trip we took in high school, the day that he got his license and I found out I was moving across the country. He pulled up in front of my house, and we just drove and drove. We both got in so much trouble with our parents when we got back.