Won't Miss You: A Brother's Best Friend Romance (We Shouldn't Book 4) Read online

  Won't Miss You

  A Brother’s Best Friend Romance

  Lilian Monroe

  Contents

  Foreword

  1. Benji

  2. Rae

  3. Benji

  4. Rae

  5. Benji

  6. Rae

  7. Benji

  8. Rae

  9. Benji

  10. Rae

  11. Benji

  12. Rae

  13. Benji

  14. Rae

  15. Benji

  16. Rae

  17. Benji

  18. Rae

  19. Benji

  20. Rae

  21. Benji

  22. Rae

  23. Benji

  24. Rae

  25. Benji

  26. Rae

  27. Benji

  28. Rae

  29. Benji

  30. Rae

  31. Benji

  32. Rae

  Epilogue

  Bad Prince

  1. Elle

  Also by Lilian Monroe

  Copyright © 2020 Lilian Monroe All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without prior written permission from the author except for short quotations used for the purpose of reviews.

  Resemblance to action persons, things living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

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  1

  Benji

  The office door flies open so hard it bangs against the wall and starts to close again. Sawyer catches it as he barrels through, staring at me with wild eyes.

  “She’s coming,” he pants.

  I frown, leaning back in the desk chair. “Who?”

  “Rae.”

  Sawyer sucks a breath in through his teeth, pacing over and back across the tiny office. He shoves his hand through his hair and mutters to himself as redness rises up his neck.

  I watch him, not sure what to do.

  I’ve known Sawyer for just over a year. He moved to Woodvale and started working at the garage as a laborer. To be honest, he was useless. I was pretty sure he hadn’t held as much as a screwdriver in his life, but he had a good work ethic and an easy smile. He always showed up early and was the last to leave, and he didn’t mind doing the dirty work.

  I liked him. Still do.

  He’s always had a kind of staunch, unwavering idealism about him. He thinks hard work is the key to a good life. Thinks wealth is a scourge, and the wealthy are the soul-sucking vampires of society.

  It’s not often you meet someone like him in Woodvale. There are more wealthy people than not here. Being one of the nots has shaped the way I look at the world. Sawyer isn’t from here, but he gets it. We clicked.

  I convinced Harold Gilles, the garage owner, to put him through vocational school and take him on as an official apprentice mechanic. We’ve been friends since the day he walked through the big roller doors, and I’ve seen him nearly every day since. Had his back since day one, just as he’s had mine.

  But I’ve never seen him like this.

  Sawyer leans his knuckles on the desk, staring at me with big, deep brown eyes. “You need to help me, man. I can’t deal with her.”

  “Who’s Rae? Is she an ex?”

  “Worse.” He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut. I wait, holding my breath. When Sawyer opens them again, they look haunted. “The worst of the worst. Spawn of the devil. The most awful person to have graced this earth since, shit, I don’t know. Fucking Hitler.”

  I frown.

  Sawyer lets out a groan, dropping his chin to his chest. Then, in a low voice, he mumbles, “She’s my sister.”

  I stare, surprised. When Sawyer came into town, he didn’t tell us much about his past, except for the fact that he’d been on the road for two and a half years, and he was ready to stop moving.

  Over the past year, I’ve been able to tease some information out of him. I’m pretty sure his parents are well-off. Blood-sucking billionaires, I believe his exact words were. He might have had a few too many beers when he said it, but the sentiment rang true. I know he has two sisters—both younger. He left because something bad happened, but I haven’t been able to figure out what that was.

  Not that I’m prying.

  I know his dad owns an oil and gas company down in Texas. His mother could be on Real Housewives by the sounds of it. His sisters—I’m not sure. He didn’t elaborate.

  He has his shit just like I have mine. I respect his privacy.

  All I know is something happened, and he was thrown out of the family. Either that, or he left of his own will. Hit the road and started moving. After two and a half years, he came to Woodvale, liked the look of it, and decided to stop.

  I’m not surprised. This little town in the Pacific Northwest is pleasant, lush, and beautiful. People are friendly. It’s nice. Comfortable. Safe.

  Despite the wealth here—not because of it.

  Right now, my best friend is staring at me like nothing is safe, or comfortable. Judging by the tension rippling through his body, I’m his last hope left in the world. Before I can answer, though, the screech of tires pierces my ears.

  Sawyer’s eyes widen. “Please, Benji.”

  An engine roars loud in the garage, then stops when the driver cuts it.

  I nod. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Just distract her. I’ll sneak out the back. Don’t tell her where I live.” Sawyer grabs my wrist, staring at me like his life depends on it. “Please, Benji. She’s a lying hypocrite. She’ll tell you whatever you want to hear just to suck you into her world. She’ll stab you in the back at the first chance. That’s what she did to me. I can’t be around her. I can’t.”

  I nod. “I’ll take care of it. Go.”

  Sawyer lets out a breath, relief flooding through his features. He slips through the door and in a second, he’s gone. A car door slams in the main garage. I get up and head toward the noise, bracing myself for a confrontation.

  Just another Monday morning, right?

  I square my jaw, steeling myself against the woman I’m about to meet. I already know her type—they’re littered all over Woodvale.

  Rich, entitled, and not afraid to stab a long, manicured nail in her own brother’s eye to get what she wants. I’ve had to fix more than one dented fender in The Porsche That Daddy Bought, and fix it right now.

  Yeah, I know what Rae’s like.

  Hell—even the man who calls himself my father is one of the wealthy elite. He’s not worthy of the word father, though. Another damn entitled millionaire who thinks money can fix everything. Even a broken relationship with his son—just ask the bank teller who accepted the million-dollar deposit in my name.

  Not that I’ll touch his dirty blood money.

  Yes, I’ve spent a lot of time with the mega-wealthy. I’ve gotten grease stains from their luxury cars and soaked up the contempt from their stares. The rich use and abuse people like me, and then they move on to the next victim. There are enough rich assholes in Woodvale to keep me occupied—and to keep business booming. I know how to deal with them. I’m used to the dismissive comments that come tossed with the car keys.

  I take their money with a smile on my face and build myself a better life. Day by day. Dollar by dollar. Rich bitch by rich bitch.
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  Sawyer’s sister will be just the same. Privileged heiress to her parents’ empire, she’s here to fuck up Sawyer’s life. He didn’t play by the billionaire oil tycoon rules, and now he needs to pay. She’s judge, jury, and executioner. Nothing will stand in her way. She’ll gladly step on my neck if it’ll get her where she needs to go.

  I’ve seen it time and again.

  Well, I’m not going to let that happen to Sawyer. His sister isn’t welcome here. As I walk toward the garage floor, I feel the tension ratchet up in my body, gripping every muscle as I ball my hands into fists.

  Sawyer’s a good guy. The best worker I’ve ever met. A happy-go-lucky kind of friend, who doesn’t deserve to be dragged back to the hellhole from whence his sister came.

  He has values. Integrity. A backbone.

  He’s not like them.

  He escaped the elitist, money-hungry society his parents belong to. He left to create an honest life for himself. He doesn’t want to go back.

  My boots smack on the concrete floor as I make my way to the main garage, ready to kick his sister to the curb. She’s not going to get to Sawyer unless he wants to see her. I’ve seen him come into his own since he’s been in this town. He’s found a home. A place he wants to settle down.

  He’s found peace—and I know more than anyone how much peace is worth.

  Now this Rae chick wants to come and snatch it away again?

  Fuck no. Not if I have anything to say about it.

  I come around the corner and see the edge of a wheel. When the bumper comes into view, I recognize it as an Aston Martin. Does this chick think she’s fucking James Bond? She shows up here with a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar car, coming to see her brother who was so broke he had to crash on my couch for the first eight months he was in town.

  Rich bitch, indeed.

  I won’t let her walk all over me, and I sure as hell won’t let her get close to Sawyer.

  Protective anger flares in my chest as I walk the rest of the way into the shop, expecting to square up against the Queen Bee and tell her to get the hell out of my garage.

  When I walk out into the open garage space, though, I stop dead in my tracks.

  In skin-hugging jeans and a plain white T-shirt, she looks like she could bring any man to his knees—including me. Her sleek brown hair is pulled into a tight ponytail that would make Ariana Grande jealous, and my eyes drift down to her ass. She glances around the garage with her nose turned up. She has that I own the ground you stand on aura all wealthy people possess. Hearing my boots scuff on the ground, she turns to face me.

  I almost fall flat on my ass.

  Full, kissable lips. Fluttery eyelashes rimming soft brown eyes. A delicate nose, and a Marilyn Monroe beauty mark above her upper lip. Sawyer didn’t mention that his sister’s a knockout.

  I can smell the money from halfway across the room. Its stench is emanating from her haircut and her nails and her perfect, silky skin. She looks like she just walked out of a beauty magazine trying to sell me fucking moisturizer.

  My gaze lands on her eyebrow, where an inch-long scar runs from the bridge of her nose through her eyebrow, and a sick part of me likes that she’s not, in fact, perfect.

  Her pink, glossy lips stay pinched together. She looks me up and down, and I can almost sense the judgment pulsing off her, hitting me right in the gut.

  Thump, thump, thump.

  Her gaze hammers into me.

  I’m better than you, it says. She sweeps her eyes up from my dirty work boots, up my navy coveralls, and finally landing on my face.

  Yeah, I’m wearing a greasy uniform. I’m a mechanic. What does she expect? A fucking red carpet?

  “I’m looking for Sawyer Montgomery.” Her voice is hard, yet musical. There’s a breathiness to it that makes my heart skip, and I curse myself for feeling its effects.

  I clear my throat. “He’s not here.”

  Her not-so-perfect eyebrows tug together ever so slightly. She takes a deep breath, letting her eyes sweep around the room. I don’t like the way she’s looking at it. Like she’s judging every inch of my domain with her privileged, uppity stare.

  “You are…?” I cross my arms, staring her down. I keep my face impassive and puff myself up to my full height.

  She may be hot, but my loyalties lie with Sawyer.

  Rae Montgomery isn’t fazed. She barely spares me a glance, taking a step deeper into the garage.

  “I’m his sister.” Pause. “And your new boss.”

  I splutter, my tough-guy façade shattering in an instant. “You’re my what?”

  She purses her lips, shaking her head and finally deigning to look at me again. “Believe me, Mr.”—her eyes flick down to my chest, where my name is embroidered on my overalls—“Benji. I bought this place, although I’m not entirely sure it was the right decision.”

  “Harold Gilles owns this place.”

  Rae snorts, throwing her car door open. “That’s not what the paperwork says. If you won’t tell me where my brother is, I’ll find him myself.” She pauses, one foot in the car as she stares at me across the hood. Her stare is withering. “And clean this place up. It’s a fucking pig sty.”

  My jaw is clenched so hard I think my back teeth start to crack. My body’s vibrating.

  Harold wouldn’t sell this place. He wouldn’t. He built this garage with his bare hands. I’ve worked here since I was fourteen years old, and he told me more than once he’d leave it to me when he was too old to run it. Even when I got my pilot’s license and started working at Woodvale Skydive on the side, I still kept my job at the garage.

  This garage is my retirement plan. It’s my domain. This is my fucking kingdom.

  Rich Bitch Rae doesn’t get to walk in here and turn that dream to ash. She doesn’t get to make Sawyer run for his life and tear up my carefully laid plans in the process.

  “Is there a problem?” she asks, that scarred eyebrow raised in an insolent arch.

  “You’re damn right there’s a problem,” I spit. “You don’t own this place. Harold wouldn’t sell. You can take your precious paperwork and shove it—”

  Right up your perky, perfect, round, rich-girl ass.

  She stares at me, waiting for me to finish.

  Instead, I reach into my pocket for my phone. I dial Harold’s number as Rae slips into her car.

  Her fancy, bright white Aston Martin purrs to life. I stare at her, vaguely realizing her car is about ten or twelve years old. Surprise registers deep in my brain—wouldn’t she buy herself a brand-new model every year?—but I’m too overcome with white-hot rage to truly acknowledge it.

  My phone is at my ear and I hear Harold’s voice on the other side of the line.

  Rae puts her car in gear without sparing me a glance. I watch her start backing out of the garage, her lips pinched into a pretentious line.

  Harold says my name again—but before I can answer, the fancy, expensive Aston Martin splutters and spits, the engine dying right there on my pig sty of a garage floor.

  “Benji?” Harold says in my ear. “You’re calling about the garage, aren’t you?”

  Rae turns the key in the ignition and the engine struggles, whining and grinding and failing to turn over.

  “Yeah,” I say, watching her falter. I can see the tension mounting in her shoulders, and even though I can’t see her face, I can imagine those lush, pink lips are pursed in an outraged, angry little pout. How dare her car not function properly?

  Harold sighs in my ear. “They offered me so much money, Benji. It only just happened this week.” The old man pauses. “So much money,” he repeats softly.

  “Didn’t know you could be bought,” I spit, wincing at my own tone. Harold doesn’t deserve that, but I’m angry and I want to lash out. He promised this place to me. Told me I was like a son to him.

  And idiot that I am, I believed him. I thought he was different from my own parents. Different from every other person who walked all over me and t
hen left. I thought he was the exception, not the rule. But he’s just like everyone else. Out to help himself. Doing what’s best for number one.

  What did I expect?

  Everyone leaves. Harold’s no different.

  The old man lets out another long breath as Rae tries the ignition again. A sick sort of satisfaction twists in my stomach as the car refuses to start.

  “Benji? Let me buy you a beer tonight. I’ll tell you everything.” His voice is soft, and it grows even softer. “I’m sorry, son.”

  Anger spears me right in the middle of the chest. I’m not angry at Harold. They probably offered him millions for a dirty, old garage. He’s been wanting to retire for over a decade. He lost his wife a few years ago, and he hasn’t been the same since. I can’t be mad at him. Not truly.

  The person I can be mad at, however, is currently banging her hands on her steering wheel in frustration.

  “Fine. I’ll call you back,” I say, hanging up the phone.

  A cruel, satisfied smirk tugs at my lips as I amble over to her door. I rap a knuckle on the window, relishing the anger in Rae’s eyes when she swings her white-hot gaze over to me.

  I arch an eyebrow, leaning toward the window so she can hear me. “Need a hand? Or is this place too much of a pig sty for a fancy vehicle like yours?”

  2

  Rae

  Heat rises up my neck, spattering my cheeks with red. I try the ignition one more time, already knowing the car won’t start. My parents bought me this car for my sweet sixteen, and it’s been making a weird clunking noise for a year and a half. I haven’t had the money to get it fixed, though. All my money goes to my sister, Lucy, her son, and the savings I used to buy this place.