So Not Meant To Be (Cane Brothers, #2)

by Meghan Quinn

Lottie is my older sister—by twelve months—and my best friend. She’s engaged to the incomparable Huxley Cane, our boss and the brother of the bane of my existence standing before me.

my business, Sustainably Organized.

“Why on earth can’t we be friends?”

“Because, Kelsey, there’s a palpable attraction between us.”

man and a woman who find each other attractive and who work together will never be able to be friends. There will always be a giant elephant in the room, and that elephant’s name is Sex. It’s basic human math, Kelsey. We all need to climax, and when we find someone who’s attractive, we want that person to help us climax.”

“It’s relevant,” he says, sliding in closer, his shoe now pressing against my heel, “because when your hungry eyes are devouring me from across the conference table but your attitude is attempting to put me in the friend zone, I’m going to call you out on it. You said you want to be friends, but that’s not going to happen.”

Because, JP, if I wanted you, I would want to steal, consume, and savor every second I had with you.”

“The only bullshit thing between us is that spiel you just laid out. Deny it all you want, but I know you want me. The quicker you accept that, the better you will feel.”

He

I’m looking for love. Not a fling, not a sexy one-night stand.

I’m looking for my soulmate, just like the soulmates on my semi-popular podcast. I want forever.

Kelsey told you we’re so not meant to be,

Meant to Be Podcast

“A trope is a plot or theme that helps tell a story. For instance, if I were to label Huxley and Lottie’s romance, I would easily call it ‘enemies to lovers’ since they hated each other, with a smattering of ‘fake fiancée’ and a touch of ‘billionaire.’ All wildly popular.”

“Jesus,” he mutters. “You’re ripe tonight. You’ve always been decently chill, but tonight, you’re on another level.”

“I understand you. And I look forward to our newly established working relationship where we don’t ever mention the hot date we went on or the way you shivered when I talked about your cunt, or how you secretly love it when I call you babe.”

“Edwin is an idiot because he didn’t appreciate something other than the color of your dress. What he should’ve said the moment he saw you was how fucking breathtaking you look, how the yellow in your dress makes the gold in your eyes sparkle even brighter. He should’ve lifted your hand and pressed the lightest of kisses to your knuckles, just so he could claim you in front of everyone around him. His eyes never should have strayed from yours. And when he lowered your hand, he should’ve taken one more step closer to you, leaned inches from your ear, and said how intoxicatingly beautiful you smelled.”

“Tell me right now something is wrong with your dick or you’re going to San Francisco.”

Your opinion of me is so low, that you believe only the worst.

Ladies and gentlemen, this is where things go terribly, terribly wrong. It happens in slow motion. I’m unable to completely process what’s going to occur as everything else fades away and the only sound is the long, drawn-out noise of JP saying, “What . . . the . . . fuuuuuuck?” It was never my intention to anger him more, nor was it my intention to cause him to fall. But I accomplished both things . . . whilst pantsing him at the same time. Yup, just like that, with a slight yank, those elastic-banded shorts of his slide right off his narrow hips and down his legs, causing him to stumble even more. I cry out in horror because, good God, there are loose shorts in my hand. Which only means . . . Please let him be wearing underwear. Please let him be wearing underwear. He dances above me, attempting to gain balance. I squeeze my eyes shut out of pure self-preservation. I twist. He turns. He jumps. I clutch. And then, with a big crash to the floor, he falls on top of me, pillowing my face with what I can only assume is his stomach. “Jesus fuck,” he says.

I open my eyes and come face to face with man scrotum. A man’s freaking scrotum! “Ahhh!” I scream and swat at his leg. “Your penis is on my face. Your penis is on my face.” “I know. Fuck,” he yells, attempting to get off me. “Where is your underwear?” “I don’t wear underwear at night.” “Dear God! It’s on my nose! Your genitals are resting on my freaking nose!” “I fucking know!” he yells back. “But I can’t get up because you’re still holding on to me.” “I’ve been tea-bagged,” I cry out in horror, his penis still rubbing along my nostrils. “Let the fuck GO, KELSEY!” As if I finally realize what’s happening, I release all my limbs and he climbs off me. I scramble up against the wall and hold my hand—still clutching his shorts—in front of my face. “I’ve been defiled.” “You’ve been defiled?” he retorts. “I’m the one who’s been stripped bare.” He yanks the shorts from my grasp and I hear him scurry around, putting them on. When I think the coast is clear, I part my fingers to see if he’s decent. I’m met with a very angry stare. Menacing, to be precise. Some might actually say . . . *gulp* sinister. I attempt a smile, but it falls flat. I lift my finger to speak, but he cuts me off.

“Let’s get one thing straight, Kelsey. I’m not here to be friends with you, nor am I here to try to solve any sort of complex you might have about not being liked. I’m here to do a job and I’d prefer you just leave me alone.” He turns away, pushes his hand through his hair, and mutters, “C...

You are strong. You are handsome. You’re not a pathetic loser who jacks off to a simple exhalation.

“Kelsey?” “Yes?” she asks, fork poised near her mouth. “Just so you know, you can act like we’re friends all you want, but know this . . . I can still taste your sweet cunt on my tongue.”

“Good night . . . Jonah.” “Good night, Kelse.”

dude, I’m going to start a goddamn campaign, and the logo will be a pigeon in flight. And the money will go to saving all the pigeons because no one cares about them. No one thinks they’re worth their time. Just because a pigeon might have a fucked-up childhood and can’t fly like the rest of the birds, that doesn’t mean that the pigeon should be isolated.”