Page 22 of Falling For My Ex's Older Brother

Maggie is on the couch with a glass of wine and her laptop when I get home, which is her default state on weeknights, and she takes one look at me when I come through the door and sets the laptop aside.

"What happened?"

I drop my bag on the chair by the entrance, kick off my heels, and go to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of whatever she's opened. I take a sip before I answer, because some things require a moment before they become sentences.

"Logan asked me to go to Dallas with him," I say.

"For a philanthropy gala. As his date."

The silence that follows is very Maggie — not the absence of a reaction, but the brief suspension of one, the moment before she decides how to release it.

"His date," she repeats.

"Fake date. For appearances. He needs someone who knows the business and can hold the room. It's a strategic decision." I sit on the other end of the couch and pull my legs underneath me.

"He was very clear about that."

"I'm sure he was." Maggie's tone is dry in thespecific way it gets when she finds something both obvious and slightly absurd. "And you said yes."

"It's a legitimate professional opportunity. The people in that room — foundation board members, major donors — that's a network I couldn't access any other way. And I already know his world well enough to—"

"Sutton." She says my name the way she does when she wants me to stop building the case and start telling the truth.

"I'm not arguing with your logic. Your logic is fine. I'm just noting that your boss — who happens to be your boyfriend's brother — just asked you to pretend to be his girlfriend in another city, and you said yes, and you walked in here looking like that."

"Like what?"

She gives me a look that does all the work a sentence would.

"Like someone who has a lot of feelings they're being very organized about."

I take another sip of wine.

"It's professional. It's temporary. It's one evening."

"Okay," she says simply, which means she's decided not to push, which is almost worse than if she did.

"What?"

"Nothing. I didn't say anything."

"You said okay in that specific way that means you have a lot more to say."

Maggie smiles and picks her laptop back up.

"What does Caleb think about it?"

The question lands and I feel the beat before my answer — brief, barely there, but there.

"I haven't talked to him about the details. I'll mention I have a work trip. He doesn't need the whole breakdown."

Maggie says nothing, which is the loudest response available to her.

"He travels for work constantly," I say.

"He'd understand it."

"I'm sure he would," she agrees mildly, and takes a sip of her wine.