Page 3 of The CEO I Hate (The Lockhart Brothers #1)

LIAM

T he only thing more frustrating than Mia Collins was city hall. Barely.

“This again?” I growled into the phone as I stepped out of the world’s slowest elevator onto the eighth floor. I carefully avoided the uneven floor tiles—the ones that were always giving Jake trouble—and set off down the hall.

“I don’t care if he’s busy,” I continued, barking out instructions to one of my assistants.

“Get Cruz on the phone and make sure the filming permits have been sorted this time. The last thing I want is production halted because someone forgot to file the damn paperwork again .” Apparently, when you were going to set fire to things for a TV show, the city wanted to know about it. “What do you mean he’s on leave?”

My assistant said something about Cruz and an engagement. I rolled my eyes, walking up to Jake’s apartment door. “Yes, I want you to email him. The man had all year to get engaged; it’s not my problem he chose the run-up to season two to do that. Forward me his response when you hear from him. ”

I hung up with a sharp exhale, staring at the door for a beat. Honestly, Cruz was a damn good location manager. But the timing? Ridiculous. The show was already on a knife’s edge with the mess in the writers’ room, and now this?

Still, I supposed I was happy for the guy. I made a note in my phone to have one of my assistants send Cruz a card and some flowers. I stuffed my phone in my pocket when I was done and lifted my hand to knock on Jake’s door.

I hesitated for a moment. It still felt strange having to mentally prepare myself for seeing the guy who had been my best friend since we were fourteen. We’d met on the basketball court freshman year of high school, and it was like finding another brother.

Back then, Jake had been a rocket bottled with pure optimism. No matter what kind of day I was having, his energy always lifted me up. Now we were thirty-eight, and everything had changed—especially in the last year.

“You’re trying to do too much! Like always!” I heard before I could knock. The voice that pierced through the door sounded like Jake’s girlfriend, Gabrielle, and judging by her tone, she was capital P pissed. “You need to rest!”

“I’ve been resting all morning!”

I rolled my eyes. At least it was a familiar argument.

“How do you expect to get any better if you don’t take it easy?” Gabrielle yelled. It sounded like she was storming back and forth across the unit.

“I’m fine!” Jake said.

“No, you’re not! Your leg needs time to heal!”

“Yeah? And how much time is that, Gabrielle?”

“As much as it takes! Look, I’m not trying to hover?— ”

Jake scoffed. “Hover? You mean stand next to me and nag me about not doing anything for myself?”

“Fine! I don’t know what I’m doing here anyway if you’re not going to listen to anything I say.”

“I’m listening,” he huffed. “I’m just?—”

“Not letting anything permeate that stubborn head of yours!”

I blew out a breath that rattled my lips together.

This sounded like my cue to leave. But as I considered backing away from the door, down the hall, and right into the elevator, I reminded myself that I hadn’t been able to scrape out time to visit Jake all week—and if I left now, I wasn’t sure when I’d get another chance later.

I missed their next bit of sparring, but Gabrielle let out a strangled sound, and I could imagine the frustrated side-eye she’d just given Jake. It had become a staple in their relationship as of late.

I raised my hand and knocked. “Hey, it’s me,” I called through the door.

The conversation inside stopped abruptly. Footsteps drew close. A moment later, Gabrielle threw the door open, her dark eyes narrowed, her lips puckered in displeasure. “Good!” she snapped. “ You can babysit him for a while. Maybe he’ll listen to you better than he does to me.”

“Babe?” Jake called after her, but she grabbed her purse and stormed past me into the hall without looking back.

“Want me to go after her?” I asked Jake.

He slumped back in his wheelchair and waved his hand at me dismissively. “Let her go.”

I closed the door behind me, walking into the living room toward Jake .

Jake Collins was many things: Former firefighter. The guy who’d once helped me perfect my rec-league three-pointer. Mia’s fiercely protective older brother. But the one thing he’d never been was the kind of guy who’d put up with a pity party, so I did my best to muster a smile. “How’s it going?”

Jake glowered, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t need a babysitter.”

“That’s not why I’m here. Bad day?”

“Aren’t they all?” His voice was hollow, flat. He rocked the wheels of his chair back and forth, nudging the coffee table. Jake had always been the person who could turn a bad day around with a joke or a laugh or a quick one-liner.

Forget half full—his cup was always filled to the brim with enthusiasm and purpose. But that was before the accident. Now it was like some light in him had gone out. He didn’t joke anymore. Hell, he barely smiled. And if his glass was filled, it was only with resentment.

“Hey, so Connor says he’s going to have an advanced copy of BladeBound Legacy soon.

I’ll bring it over so we can test it out.

” Since Jake had been wheelchair bound, we’d transitioned from sports to video games.

Thankfully, my youngest brother’s company was always working on projects, so I at least had that small distraction to offer Jake.

“Cool.” Jake’s response was as flat as the last one. No enthusiasm. No spark. Just words to fill the silence.

I sort of wanted to bring up his fight with Gabrielle.

They’d been arguing a lot more lately, and things were clearly not okay.

Then again, they hadn’t been okay since Jake walked into that high-rise fire last year.

His legs had been crushed when part of the building collapsed under him, and though his crew dragged him out, it took multiple surgeries to patch him back together .

He was still healing from his latest procedure, which would be followed by physical therapy. Last I’d heard, the doctors said he might get some mobility back, but there was too much damage for his legs to hold his weight anymore.

He’d never walk again, and that was a hard pill for Jake to swallow. He’d never run down a basketball court again. He’d never fight another fire.

Sometimes he could barely maneuver his wheelchair through this cramped, narrow maze of an apartment. But heavy, emotional conversations weren’t my forte. When I saw a problem, I wanted to fix it, not talk about it.

“But seriously, man, how are you feeling?” I asked. “How’s the pain been?”

Jake let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Manageable.” His tone was thick with sarcasm. “Which seems to be the magic word for the doctors. As long as things are manageable, I’m fine.”

I knew he was frustrated, and I wished I could make things easier for him. But right now, all we could do was slog through one day at a time and see what came of it.

“Anyway, don’t feel like you have to hang out with Debbie Downer,” he muttered. “I’m sure you’ve got better shit to do.”

“You’re not a downer,” I lied, trying to keep things light.

“I am,” he shot back. “I can see it in your face.”

“This is just my face,” I said.

He snorted. “True. You have what Mia likes to call ‘resting grouch face.’”

I scowled, but Jake was oblivious as he wheeled himself in the direction of the kitchen. “Can I grab you anything? A drink? I think I have some beer in the fridge from the last time you were here. ”

He got snagged on the corner of the couch.

I watched him struggle to get the wheelchair unstuck.

He shoved harder at the wheels, grunting with effort and frustration as he twisted his upper body.

He still lived in the same place he’d lived in before his injury, and nothing about it was accommodating for a wheelchair—especially not the wall-to-wall carpeting.

“Nah, I’m good,” I said. “I need to keep a clear head for work. I’ve got problems coming out my ears.”

Jake turned his chair around. “Whatever.”

“Hey, you know you’re more than welcome to move into my place, right?

” I’d made the offer before—multiple times—but I felt the need to make it again.

Jake’s North Hollywood building had a fresh coat of paint slapped on the exterior, but the interior was terribly maintained.

My place out in Studio City had tons of space and everything he’d need on one level.

Jake opened his mouth to protest.

“Just think about it,” I cut in. “No more crappy elevator to deal with. Plus, there are hardwood floors. And the jacuzzi! You have to admit that’ll feel nice after your PT sessions.”

Jake’s expression hardened. “Gabrielle would probably complain that I’d get in there and drown.”

“Well, she could stay over and enjoy it with you any time she wanted. You could have the whole guest wing to yourself. And you wouldn’t have to worry about cooking or cleaning,” I added. “The staff would take care of that.”

“Man, this is the last time I’m gonna say this. No !” The word was so forceful I couldn’t bring myself to argue, no matter how frustrating it was to see him struggle with an issue I could easily fix.

“I’m just saying, the option is there. ”

“I’m staying here,” Jake insisted. “And I’m not letting you or anyone else hire a nurse or a housekeeper to take care of me, so get that idea out of your head. You and my parents and Gabrielle can all just stop with the nagging shit.”

I winced slightly. “Comparing me to your parents, man? That’s harsh.” Frank and Harriet Collins were well-intentioned but also kind of the worst. Ever since the injury, they couldn’t shut up about the fact they’d warned Jake about how dangerous firefighting could be.

Jake shrugged, the frustration in his expression easing a little. “Okay, maybe you’re not quite that bad. They’ve just really been piling on lately. With me and Mia.” His eyes locked with mine as he said the next part. “As if she doesn’t have enough shit to deal with.”

My chest tightened as I thought about yesterday’s coffee shop incident. “Wait, she told you about that?” I blurted. Honestly, did she really have to run tattling to her brother?

Jake opened his mouth, but at that moment, Mia herself breezed through the door, arms full of groceries and cheeks flushed from the wind.

She had her hair pulled up in a messy twist, a pencil stabbed through it like she’d been scribbling notes and got distracted halfway through. Leggings, a ribbed top, sneakers—the kind of thrown-together look that shouldn’t have been worth noticing. And I forgot, for a second, how to look away.

Like the universe was trying to piss me off on purpose.