Page 72 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
I unlock my front door and step inside. The apartment’s dark and still. Clean, mostly. Just how I left it. I toss my keys on the counter and shrug off my jacket. The couch is waiting. So is the gym bag I left by the door two nights ago and haven’t touched since.
But I don’t go to either.
Instead, I walk to the big window in the living room and lean against the frame, looking out at the skyline. The city buzzes. Always does. But right now, it feels quiet in a way I can actually hear.
I don’t know how this ends.
The gala’s in a week. Vivian’s still circling like a vulture. Parker’s name is still in the wrong mouths. The board’s being polite, which means they’re waiting to see if something explodes.
But none of that matters as much as what happened today. Because today, she let me see her. And I let her see me.
I saw it in her face when I kissed her cheek. In the way her hand lingered at the doorframe after I walked away. She’s still trying to figure out if she can trust what this is. And, I want to give her the space to decide.
I want to be the one who waits. Because she’s worth it. And because for the first time since I clawed my way into this life, I’m not scared to say what I want.
I want her.
17
PARKER
I don’t trip walkingthe red carpet. That’s the first miracle of the night.
I keep my chin lifted, my smile bright, and my steps smooth in the heels Harrison insisted on buying me to match the gown. I can feel the subtle weight of eyes, flashbulbs, curated curiosity—VT Global’s gala istheevent tonight. There are camera crews, influencers, industry powerhouses. Clients. Enemies. Frenemies.
It’s a show, and I’m one of the main acts.
The dress is a deep green satin that catches light like water, clinging in the right places and cascading in all the others. My makeup is elegant, and my hair is curled, pinned, and sprayed into submission. I look like someone who belongs here.
Which is wild, because I absolutely do not.
There’s a tight coil in my chest that hasn’t let up all day. Not when I got my hair done. Not when I was zipping up this dress. Not even when Lyra told me I looked like “a very nice mermaid” and Levi gave me a solemn high five like I was going into battle.
Because I’m not just managing a gala tonight. I’m also keeping a secret. And it’s getting harder to breathe around it.
The second I step inside the venue, my senses are swallowed whole. It’s everything I imagined—and more.
The theme is “Elegance & Spectacle.” Translation? Upscale circus. There are towering floral centerpieces shaped like spinning wheels and red velvet drapes framing golden light. The string quartet is suspended on swings above the main floor, and the catering staff wear crisp black with subtle nods to ringmaster chic—striped lapels, satin gloves, bold red lipstick.
A fire breather performs near the grand entrance, timed with the crescendo of music. Somewhere to the left, a contortionist folds herself into a gilded hoop like human origami. And in the center of it all? The stage.
Circular. Elevated. Lit from below like a spotlight from hell. I’ll be speaking there later. Just a short welcome message. A few words about animal welfare, our charity partnership, and a cute little pun about “rescuing animals and reputations.”
It was Jack’s suggestion. I almost choked when he said it.
The whole space hums with movement. Conversation. Deliberate glamour. Even the air smells expensive—vanilla and smoke and something slightly sweet that makes me think of caramel apples.
I grip the clutch in my hand and breathe through my nose. I should be ecstatic. It’s perfect. This is what we worked for. We raised half a million dollars before dinner even started. Bryce Aoki’s endorsement got us three new donor families. The head of the LA Animal Coalition kissed me on the cheek and whispered, “Thank you for making this beautiful.”
And somehow, even Icon PR showed up.
Smug and sleek in their statement heels and designer suits, they walked through the doors like they owned the place—late, of course, and just in time for their names to be read aloud as “major contributors.”
Assholes.
Still, they showed. Which means the gossip about the leaked elevator audio hasn’t scared them off. Which means VT is back on top.
Which means…I should feel on top too. But I don’t.
