Page 21 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
“They rely on you. You don’t get to make messes like this. Not now. Not when your entire life could be turned upside down if someone finds out.”
“I know that.”
She studies me. “Do you?”
I look away.
“And what about Phil?”
I frown. “What about him?”
“You think he’s going to be okay with this?”
“Why would it matter? Phil has nothing to do with my sex life.”
She gives me a flat look. “That man took over as head of this family when your father died. He helped raise those kids when you were still trying to figure out how to breathe again. He’s been there every step of the way.”
“And I’m grateful. But he doesn’t get to control me.”
“No. But he’s protective. And you know exactly what kind of men his friends are.”
I bristle. “They’ve changed.”
“You really believe that?”
I do. I have to. “They’ve been…good to me.”
“Good to you? Or good at distracting you?”
My chest tightens. “It’s not like that.”
She shakes her head. “You’re sleeping with three men who could fire you in a heartbeat if they get bored. If they feel guilty. If Phil finds out and they choose him over you.”
That hits too hard. I pick up my wineglass and stare into it like it has answers. “Maybe,” I say finally. “But maybe it’s worth it.”
I hate this part.
The part where Mom gets that look—the one she gives me when she thinks I’m screwing up, even if she doesn’t say it out loud. The part where I start to feel like I’m seventeen again, instead of a grown-ass woman who pays her rent, folds tiny socks, and juggles two kids with a full-time job.
She picks up the remote and unpauses the show. Some dating train wreck where a woman named Sapphire is crying in a hot tub because three shirtless men can’t pick between her and her best friend.
I try to focus on the screen, but the words are still sitting there between us like wet concrete.
They’ve been good to me.
She’s not wrong—they could fire me. Or ghost me. Or tell HR some version of events that makes me the problem. That would be the story, wouldn’t it? The assistant who got too close. The one who “misread” the situation. Who made things weird.
But that’s not what’s happening. Right?
“They won’t turn on me,” I say finally, and my voice comes out smaller than I’d like.
She lowers the remote. Doesn’t pause the show this time, just mutes it. I can still see Sapphire sobbing in a sequined bikini in the background.
“I know what I’m doing,” I add. “I’m not naive.”
“No,” my mom says, setting her wineglass down. “You’re not naive. You’re exhausted. You’re lonely. And you’ve always been someone who wants to believe the best of people.”
“That’s not a flaw.”
