Cakes, Country Clubs, and the CEO [h.s]

Chapter 9

"It's just Harry calm down" she insists, still unable to contain the laughter that was begging to burst, her face flushed from trying to hide it for my sake.

"It's just Harry", I mimic, "my hot older billionaire CEO brother".

"I wouldn't call him hot".

"But you would call him your older billionaire CEO brother".

With that last comment, the easiness of the atmosphere disappears.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I mumble to her, our eyes connecting momentarily before she pulls her gaze to focus elsewhere. "Did you just not trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, I wanted to tell you all along" she barks back, the tone surprising me slightly. "I wanted to tell you so bad. Hiding you from my brother for so long and always having to work around his schedule was so much work" she continues on, her tone softer now. "Sneaking you in and out of here without the both of you knowing was so freaking stressful, you have no idea".

Well of course I had no idea. How was I supposed to know you had some mission impossible situation going on in your house, keeping you brother on one end and your best friend on the other.

"But I didn't have a choice. Telling you threatened Harry's position in the company. People aren't supposed to know I exist" Sabrina mutters, the bitterness in her tone clear. Her final sentence strikes at my heart slightly, not able to quite understand why Sabrina had to hide herself or her brother from everyone.

"I don't understand", I mutter, my brows pulling down in confusion and hands picking at the loose strands of her comforter.

"In the business world, Sabrina Styles doesn't exist. Sometimes to Harry, I don't exist. There's only Sabrina Giraldez, and even she has to stay hidden".

The last sentence is said so lowly I barely grasp it, the sound of it tearing at my heart as she says so. The thought of having to stay hidden, and even going by a fake last name, hurts, and I can only imagine how it affects the girl across from me.

"Sabrina I'm so sorry" I mutter, the lowness of my voice matching her own.

"It's not your fault" she shrugs off, once again picking at the broken skin of her fingernails. "If anything I should be sorry for keeping it from you."

Her apology has me instantly shaking my head, my hands going up to grasp her own, in hopes to keep her from breaking any more skin with her nervous habit. The gesture causes Sabrinas head to raise from the bed, and up towards me.

"No I understand" I reassure her as much as I can, "Of course I'm hurt that you hide that for so long" I explain, staring back at her, taking notice of her glazed over eyes. "But not hurt because you kept it from me. The fact that you have to live like that".

By the way her eyes widen slightly, I can tell that my words take off guard, expecting some sort of anger from her admittance and instead receiving reassurance.

"You're really not mad at me?" She questions, still taken aback my previous words of assistance.

"No I'm not mad", shaking my head in further encouragement and comfort. "If anything I mad at Harry for burdening you with this for so long".

"You have no idea", she mumbles, pulling in slightly to wrap her arms around me in some way to gain comfort. Her words cause a sting at my heart, the idea of knowing so little about how much pressure her older brother puts on her for staying away from watching eyes.

But the lingering feeling of being in the dark is still overwhelming. I know more than I did just hours, even minutes, ago. Yet, I feel as if not even half of her new found secret life has been shared.

"Anything else I should know", I joke, hoping to pull at least a little more information from her without the obvious pressure. A part of me is dying to have her lay it all out in front of me now, but the larger portion of me knows she won't.

The obvious hesitation on her face only confirms my suspicions, but her answer says other words. "Nothing else you need to know right now", the double meaning of her answer obvious to the both of us, but I don't push at her anymore.

"Except", she laughs, turning her back to me momentarily to grab her phone from the night stand beside her, "that I might have taken a picture of Harry carrying you upstairs."

"NO" I screech, my worries surrounding her secrets quickly changing focus to deleting any evidence of my captured embarrassment.

She turns her screen to face me, the brightness of it taking me off guard before my eyes manage to adjust. When the light manages to settle, her camera rolls reveals a number of photographs of a sleeping me.

Illuminated on the screen is a number of photos showing a, what looks to be, pissed off Harry and a dead asleep Grace.

Wait a minute.

Harry's touching me.

On purpose.

HOLY SHIT.

And I look like I was ran over by a truck.

My mouth is gapped wide open, and by what Sabrina mentioned earlier, I'm assuming I was snoring pretty audibly. My hair covers a majority of my face and a few pieces find a way into my mouth. My head is hanging off the side of Harry's arm, unsupported, the position definitely not looking comfortable.

The fact that I didn't wake up while this all happened is shocking, yet again though, I am a pretty heavy sleepier.

The actual image of me sleeping leaves no possible way for my imagination to make the occurrence any less embarrassing, the image proving exactly how humiliating it was while I was unconscious.

First I trap myself to a car with a seat belt, next I fall dead asleep in the most embarrassing way possible, what the hell is next.

I instantly push the screen away from my view, bringing up my hands to cover my face in embarrassment, a common tactic I use to convince myself that if I can't see it then it didn't happen.

"I hate you" I grumble from beneath my cover.

Sabrina's laugh ripples through the room and a sing so "No you don't" is what I receive in response. She pulls the phone back to her own view, instantly tapping away at her the screen until my own phone bings. Grabbing at it from my side I turn it over to look at the incoming messages

*1 new message from Chiquitita*

Tapping on the message from Sabrina, my phone instantly unlocks, sending me straight to the conversation and the image she had just shown me on her own phone, showing up on mine.

Along with another number.

"Sabrina who else did you send this to?" I question immediately, dread overcoming my body with the only other assumption I have of who it could be.

"My brother".

"SABRINA".