How I Met Your Brother (Power of the Matchmaker) Read online

  Dawson—no, he went by Marco now—sent her a crooked grin. “Usually a guy introduces his girlfriend to his brother, but Flynn has always been a little slow on social graces.”

  She stepped toward Marco, gulping. She had to tell him the truth, had to explain. “I’m Belle. Isabelle.” The words came out like a confession, laced with uncertainty.

  She waited for the shock of recognition to flash across Marco’s features. She waited for an exclamation—Isabelle? What are you doing here? And worse, then he’d say, Why were you making out with my brother?

  How should she answer? Should she admit she wasn’t smart enough to tell him and his brother apart? Should she demand to know why he’d never mentioned being a twin?

  The elevator dinged and slid open. “Nice to meet you, Belle.” Marco gave her a nod and headed into the elevator.

  And that ended their first meeting in seven years. He didn’t recognize her at all. Perhaps that fact should have been a relief. Instead, it stung.

  She probably wasn’t supposed to see the thumbs up Marco sent Flynn as the door closed, but couldn’t help it. As soon as the elevator shut, her mortification turned to flaming hot anger. She spun on Flynn, hands clenched at her side.

  “You lied to me,” she snapped.

  He held up a hand in defense. “You asked if I was Dawson, and I said yes. I go by that name too.”

  “You knew I thought you were Marco. I can’t believe you lied to me . . . all night.”

  “I did warn you that I was better at lying than you thought.”

  That was the last straw. Her hand flew upward and she slapped him. The noise sounded loud in the small space. She had hit him harder than she’d intended, but she didn’t regret it.

  “Do you think this is funny? Is this some twin prank you played because that’s what bad boys do? Are you going to laugh about this with Marco tomorrow?”

  A bright red mark stretched across Flynn’s cheek. He didn’t step away, didn’t wince from the pain. “No. Look. You don’t under—”

  “No, you don’t understand. You don’t have any idea.” She wasn’t waiting for the elevator. She headed for the stairwell.

  Flynn took hold of her arm and pulled her back. “Oh, I have every idea. Tonight wasn’t a coincidental run-in. I never said that my family was staying here. You already knew. You came here to seduce my brother, and now you’re angry that it didn’t work.”

  “What?” She pulled her arm away, gaping at the accusation.

  He let out a short laugh. “And you did a very good job of it. I give you high marks—the dress, the dance moves, your come-hither look.” His gaze went over her again. “I was having a hard time keeping my hands off you, even though I knew it was only a matter of time before you hated me.” He glanced at his watch. “Pity it wasn’t a few hours longer.”

  “I wasn’t—” A rush of embarrassment surged through her. “You were the one who was all charming and seductive. You used my friendship with your brother to trick me into kissing you.”

  “Your friendship?” Flynn made a scoffing noise. “Come on, Marco didn’t even recognize you. Why don’t you move on and go look for some other rich guy to bag? You’ll find plenty around the resort. Probably several less dense than my brother.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I didn’t slap you hard enough last time. Could you come a little closer?”

  Flynn crossed his arms. “You asked how Marco is doing after the divorce. The answer is that he’s messed up right now. The last thing he needs is some woman showing up in his life just to flirt with him.”

  Marco had looked fine, happy even. “Messed up how?”

  Flynn hesitated. “Mental illness. And…a life of crime.”

  She rolled her eyes. He was not quite the liar he thought he was.

  “Overkill?” he asked. “Fine. Take your pick. Mental illness or a life of crime—whichever is more likely to convince you to check out of this resort and fly home to New York.”

  It was pointless, she realized, talking to Flynn any further. Some people were incorrigible, and apparently he fit into this category. No wonder Marco had been frustrated after every visit home. She pressed the elevator button and pointedly stared at the floor indicator lights above the door. Ignoring him was easier than walking six flights.

  He watched her, hands still folded. “I guess this means our breakfast date is off?”

  Fortunately, the elevator door opened, so she didn’t have to answer. She stepped inside, glared to let him know he wasn’t welcome inside with her, and pushed the button for the sixth floor.

  Chapter 7

  As soon as the elevator door shut, Flynn took out his phone. This week could end in a lot of different ways, and most of them were bad. The majority of scenarios ended with Marco jettisoning any chance of saving his marriage by rendezvousing with Belle on some moonlit beach.

  After being with her tonight, Flynn knew firsthand exactly how eagerly she’d wrap her arms around Marco. And the thought of her lips on his brother’s irritated him more than it should have.

  Belle’s next move would be to call Marco. She didn’t need his cell number, either; she could just call the front desk and ask to be connected to his room.

  Flynn couldn’t let that happen. He called his brother’s cell.

  Marco picked up after the first ring. “So who’s the gorgeous girl, and why have you been keeping her a secret?”

  Flynn wasn’t about to answer that question. “There’s an emergency family meeting. Drop what you’re doing and head to room seven-fifty.”

  “What’s the emergency?”

  Flynn pushed the elevator button. “Mom and Dad are deciding how to divide family assets, and whoever gets to the room last gets cut out of the will.”

  “Seriously, I just started unpacking—”

  “Stop. That’s the other part of the emergency. I’m switching rooms with you.”

  “Why?”

  An elevator door opened. He stepped inside. “I’m still in the lobby, but if you don’t hurry to the meeting, I’ll get the cabin. You don’t want to miss out on Lake Coeur d’Alene every summer.”

  “Fine, don’t tell me,” Marco said with a resigned sigh. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Good. Remember, room seven-fifty.”

  *

  When Flynn reached his suite, Marco was waiting in the hallway, scrolling through his phone. He barely looked up when he spoke. “How come I’m the only one at this family meeting? If Mom and Dad are dividing assets, shouldn’t they at least be here?”

  Flynn unlocked his room. “I only told you that to make sure you’d come.”

  “You don’t say.” Marco slipped his phone into his pocket. “What’s the real emergency?”

  Holding the door open, Flynn gestured for his brother to go inside. “I need to switch rooms with you. This one is too, um, big.”

  Marco stepped inside and glanced around, taking in the sitting room, kitchen, and door to the bedroom. The room was done in soft grays, with seascapes hanging on the walls. Luxurious, pristine, and expensive. “Since when is big a problem for you? I thought you wanted a suite.”

  Flynn made an indistinct fluttering gesture at the leather couches. “I did when I booked it, but…” He looked around, searching for an excuse to hate the room. “But now I don’t.”

  “What’s eating you?” Marco cocked his head, finally giving Flynn his full attention. “Does this have something to do with the mystery girl?”

  Did it ever. Flynn didn’t respond. Perhaps he looked guilty anyway.

  Marco laughed. “Don’t tell me that the mighty Flynn is having woman troubles.” He folded his arms, looking far too happy about the prospect. “What’s the problem?”

  Belle flashed through his mind, her blue eyes glaring daggers at him. He had to resist the urge to rub his cheek where she’d slapped him. He didn’t want to draw attention to it. “I told you; it’s the room. I’m afraid when she sees it, she’ll think I got a suite because
I expected her to spend the night. She’s not that kind of girl.”

  “Ah,” Marco said, nodding with understanding. “Fine. If you insist, I’ll take the suite.”

  Good. One disaster averted, many more, undoubtedly, to go. Flynn handed him the key. “I’ll get your stuff. You relax here.”

  Marco raised a questioning eyebrow. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  “Because that’s the sort of brother I am, despite the fact that you have been known to call me your arch nemesis.” He held out his hand for Marco’s room key.

  “My arch nemesis,” Marco repeated. He pulled his key out and handed it over. “I did used to call you that, didn’t I?”

  Apparently. And Flynn should have gotten more information from Belle about what else his brother had said in college.

  He left the room and headed down the hallway to the elevator. While urgent panic had ebbed, he knew he hadn’t taken care of the problem, just headed it off for a while. He needed to get more leverage with Belle.

  He took out his phone and called Katrina again. He hated bothering her so late, but he didn’t have much choice.

  After a few rings she picked up. “So how was your date?”

  “Fine. I need you to find out who owns Fontaine and see if it’s for sale. Look at their SEC filings and anything else you can find out about them.”

  “Fontaine,” she repeated as though writing it down. “That’s the fashion house Isabelle Lind works for?”

  “Right.” He’d reached the elevator and impatiently hit the button.

  “Sounds like your date went either really well or really badly.”

  It had done both, but he wasn’t about to admit that. “If Fontaine is for sale, check comps in the fashion industry. I want to know if it’s competitively priced.”

  “That information will take longer for me to dig up.”

  “Understood. Get it to me when you can.”

  A pause. “So . . . you’re not going to tell me about your date? You’re going to let me wonder if you’re trying to win her over or get her fired?”

  “I already told you, it wasn’t that sort of date. It’s strictly business.”

  She made a tutting noise, and her voice turned motherly. “Some people go on vacation to relax, you know.”

  “And someday, I hope to be one of those people.”

  *

  Flynn expected to see the message light blinking on the phone when he got to Marco’s room. It wasn’t. The light wasn’t blinking when he finished switching their luggage either. Belle hadn’t called Marco’s room after all.

  What was she up to? Had she decided to give up? Maybe he’d given up the suite for nothing. But then again, she’d be here all week. She might call another day. Almost against his will, he opened his camera and stared at the photo Katrina had sent him: Belle on the catwalk, looking proud, determined, and downright seductive.

  His cell phone buzzed in his hand, startling him. The picture disappeared, replaced by Daisy’s number. He answered, still preoccupied.

  “Hey,” she said. “I wanted to bring your mom a gift—you know, for her birthday—so I bought some chocolate truffles. Then I wondered if she could eat them. I know her pills make her nauseated. What do you think?”

  Honestly, he was thinking about Belle and that dress. What had she been doing on the catwalk anyway? She was a designer, not a model. Did designers do both nowadays? Was that a thing? Maybe only the designers who looked so… “Fine,” he said.

  “Fine?” Daisy repeated. “She can eat chocolate, then?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure whatever you bring will be fine.”

  “Okay. What about Marco? I want to bring him a gift too. Something special and romantic, but I don’t know what.”

  That dress. Was that a gown Belle designed? Who was her clientele, anyway? Had to be either celebrities or hookers with ambition. Funny that those groups intersected.

  “Any ideas?” Daisy asked.

  Oh, he had plenty of ideas. But none about what Daisy should bring as a gift. “You’re probably in a better position to know what Marco would like.” He ran a hand through his hair to clear his thoughts. Daisy knew Belle. He needed to break the news that she was here.

  “I’m just so nervous,” Daisy said.

  Then again, maybe it would be better not to tell her about Belle. Maybe they wouldn’t run into each other.

  Daisy took a slow breath. “My whole life is riding on the next few days. If anything goes wrong…”

  He definitely shouldn’t tell her about Belle. No point in stressing her out more.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t come at all,” she said. “Coming to the reunion might make me look needy and will probably just be awkward for everyone.” She didn’t give him time to comment on that. “I could send Marco something instead. You know, a peace offering, and then tell him I want to see him again. Maybe I need to move slowly, warm him up to the idea of getting back together.”

  Daisy didn’t have time to take things slowly, not when Belle was on the prowl for Marco. “I ran into Isabelle Lind in the lobby today,” Flynn said. “She’ll be here all week.”

  “What?” Daisy asked, confused by the subject change. “Isabelle is there?”

  “She thought I was Marco and was very friendly.” He waited for the words to hit their mark, for Daisy to understand what was at stake.

  “Wow, I haven’t thought of Isabelle in years. Why is she in Cancun?” Daisy clearly didn’t understand.

  “Belle said she was here for design inspiration, but I’m pretty sure she already had designs when she came.”

  “Oh, that’s right. She was majoring in fashion design. She’s working in fashion, then?”

  Still missing the point.

  “Daisy, Belle was flirting with Marco—well, technically with me because she thought I was Marco.”

  “Really? That’s totally rude.” Daisy’s voice held annoyance, but not the dread he’d expected. “Does she even know we’re divorced?”

  “Oh yes, she knows.”

  “So she was hitting on you, thinking that you were Marco? Pathetic.”

  Pathetic wasn’t the word Flynn would have used. Tempting was a better adjective. So was dangerous. Derailing was probably the best.

  “She ought to know by now that she’s not Marco’s type. He never saw her as more than a friend, no matter how much she would have wanted it to be otherwise in college.”

  Wait, Belle had liked Marco in college? Things had just gotten worse. Flynn missed what Daisy said next because he was muttering curses. Maybe greed wasn’t what brought Belle here. Maybe it was revenge. Or validation. Or just Marco’s name on Belle’s bucket list. And unless he was blind, he’d definitely see Belle as more than a friend now.

  “I wouldn’t take things slowly if I were you.” Flynn paced the room. “Come to Cancun.”

  “You think Marco would date her just to get back at me?”

  Well, not just to get back at Daisy. There were other compelling reasons to date Belle, but Flynn didn’t want to bring those up. “Let’s not find out. I’ll do my best to keep her away from him until you get here.”

  “Thanks,” Daisy said. “You really are the best.”

  No, not really. He felt like a jerk for what he’d done—and would be doing—to Belle, but it was the only way to give his brother’s marriage a chance.

  His hotel phone rang. He turned toward it, staring at the blinking light. “Got to go. Talk to you later.”

  Flynn hung up one phone and picked up the other. “Hello?”

  He and Marco sounded enough alike that even their parents had trouble telling them apart over the phone. Even so, he tried to mimic his brother’s inflections.

  “Is this Marco?” Belle asked, hesitant, embarrassed.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Belle Lind—Isabelle. I need to explain some things. I, um… we went to college together. I was Daisy’s roommate.”

  “Oh, right. I remember you. Wait—are you t
he same Belle who was kissing my brother in the hotel lobby tonight?”

  “Yeah… That’s what I called to talk to you about. You see…” She let out a nervous laugh. “It was all a misunderstanding.”

  “A misunderstanding? It looked pretty clear to me.” If he shot her down, thoroughly and completely, maybe she’d pack up and turn her sights elsewhere. “So how long have you and Flynn known each other?”

  “I’d rather explain it all to you in person. Is there someplace we can meet?”

  Wrong direction for the conversation. “I’m already in bed, but I can meet you in the morning for breakfast.”

  “That would be great. Where and what time?”

  And with that question, he’d just bought Daisy one more day. “There’s a boat that does sunrise breakfast cruises—the Dulce Sueno. It leaves early, but the view is worth it.”

  While he spoke, he brought the boat’s schedule up on his laptop. The Dulce Sueno left at six-forty for the seven-fifteen sunrise. Passengers were supposed to be onboard by six-twenty.

  He clicked on the reservations tab and charged the trip to his room. “I just bought the tickets. I’ll pick you up and…oh wait,” He tried to make the next part sound as plausible as he could. “I told my parents I’d help them with a few things in the morning before the family’s low-tide nature walk. Can I meet you at the pier at six-thirty instead? It’s about half a mile down the beach, north of the resort. Will that work?” The later she boarded, the better.

  “I can swing that.” Her voice had a silky, sophisticated quality even when she wasn’t in the room looking at him from beneath her lashes.

  “Wear your swimsuit under your clothes,” he added. “The boat stops at a private cove for snorkeling.”

  “Great. I’ve always wanted to try snorkeling.” A hesitation. “Can I get your number? Just in case anything comes up, and I need to contact you.”

  Was she asking for his room number or his cell number? He gave her his cell. In return, she provided her own, then said her goodbyes.