Free My Billionaire Stepbrother (Lexi's Sexy Billionaire Romance #1) by Lexi Maxxwell Page A

splendor?” I glance again at the house. “Have Mom and Bill seen you yet?”  
    “No, I — ”  
    I’m not willing to hear the ends of any sentences. I cut him off, saying, “Just wanted to set up a showcase? Saw Bill’s car was gone, knew he’d run out? Remembered that the living room is at the back of the house and that Mom, if she was in there as she always used to be, wouldn’t see you pull up? Wanted to make sure that whichever of us saw you first — me, Mom, or Bill — we’d see you after you were all set up, looking pretty, like a fucking centerpiece at one of your fucking fancy-ass charity events, like a — ”
    “It’s not like that.”  
    “Then what is it like?”  
    He sighs before responding. “I saw them leave. I saw them turn out onto Figueroa. They were in Bill’s car. Then when we got closer, I saw you running, turning onto the path.”  
    I don’t see what this has to do with anything. I roll my eyes and stalk past him, toward his fancy car and my ramshackle house.  
    “I waited because I knew nobody was home and I would have to wait,” he says behind me.  
    I turn.  
    “I waited because I didn’t want to talk to them .”  
    I’d thought I was over my exertion. My heart rate had settled to normal. Now I feel it creeping back up and warming my skin.  
    “I waited,” he says, “because I came to see you.”

PARKER

    A NGELA LOOKS LIKE SHE ’ S DOING me a favor, being here. It’s kind of hard to blame her.  
    She’s sitting across from me in the limo, both of us traveling sideways so we can look at each other rather than being side by side. Right now, that feels too familiar anyway. Side-by-side is the sort of thing you do with friends at the movie theater, with family on the couch or with a date if you’d rather touch sides than look into each other’s eyes. Angela and I, right now, are none of the three. We were never really friends. For the first long while, we couldn’t stand each other. When I moved out, I’m sure she learned to hate me more because I’d left her holding the bag. But we’re not really family either; we only seemed to be because my deadbeat dad married her crotchety mom. And we’re sure not on a date. That would be strange.  
    Angela pretends like she’s not going out of her way to ignore me. The limo’s glass can be manually darkened. Once we got in, I turned it all the way up so nobody would see her leaving in this shameful vehicle — not that they wouldn’t have noticed it parked outside her house. But still, the day’s light is strong, and she can easily see out, so she’s feigning interest in familiar streets so she won’t have to talk to me.  
    We have time. Her getting in the car is a victory. I take it as a good sign: maybe I haven’t burned all my bridges.  
    Angela wasn’t inside long enough to shower. She could have made me wait on the curb for hours but was probably eager to get that big, black car away from her home’s front before Bill and her mother returned. She might also have been outrunning her doubts about coming with me. I know I had to force myself. I didn’t know how long she’d be running, but we only waited twenty minutes. That was enough time for me to tell Brian no fewer than three times to pull away and forget this stupid errand. A roll of the dice. Would she finish her run before I lost my nerve? Or would I break first, and she’d never know I’d come?  
    I didn’t even know what I was there for. I still don’t. I just knew that ever since getting that dumb card in the mail, my mind’s refused to stop turning. I made a lot of decisions in life, too many as the idiot kid I used to be. I didn’t realize how selfish I was at the time. I saw myself as a put-upon loser who never got any breaks. Somehow, I thought a lack of self-esteem would make it impossible for me to be selfish. Turns out, that’s not true. My self-disrespect ironically held hands with intense egotism.  
    I thought of myself