Page 116 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
Jack raises his beer. “To fixing shit.”
I tap my bottle against his. It’s a simple gesture, but it means more than they know.
After the guys leave, I don’t turn on the TV or head straight to bed. I sit in the same armchair, the bottle sweating in my hand, and watch the city lights blink across the glass. Everything looks the same, but something’s shifted under my skin.
I used to chase control like it was oxygen. Keep my accounts tight. My calendar tighter. Wake before dawn. Stay two moves ahead in every meeting. I made a life out of proving I deserved to be in every room I walked into.
And I do.
But I’m going to be a father.
The thought settles differently now than it did a few days ago. Back then it was still abstract, hypothetical. We hadn’t met the twins. We were just three men circling something too fragile to touch. Now? Now there’s no denying it.
I want to be the kind of man who makes them proud. All of them. The kind who shows up. I want to be their safe place. Their steady hand. And I want to be that for Parker too.
She never asked for that. Never demanded anything. But she deserves everything. A partner who sees her. A man who stays. Or three of them.
My phone buzzes on the counter. I pick it up, expecting an update from Gavin or Jack. But it’s Parker.
Her message is simple. Just five words:I miss you. Come over?
I stare at it for a second, then grab my keys. This is where I’m meant to be.
On my way.
29
PARKER
I never thoughtI’d say this, but apparently, the internet loves us.
No, really. Like,lovesus.
Just weeks ago, we were a headline waiting to explode. One leaked audio clip and a round of HR whisper campaigns from Vivian’s best friend, and I was sure I’d end up unemployed, disgraced, and eating gluten-free freezer waffles in a bathrobe while the men I was absolutely-not-dating denied my existence to the press.
Instead?
VT Global’s new “radical authenticity” campaign is trending. We’re the face of it. Fluff pieces are rolling out every other day with headlines like“Modern Love at the Top: Can Poly Relationships Work in the C-Suite?”and“Three Men, One Baby, and a Very Efficient Calendar.”My personal favorite?“Who Needs a Glass Ceiling When You’re Sleeping with the Board?”
That one made Jack spit his coffee across Harrison’s white leather couch.
And the thing is? It’s working. By getting ahead of the narrative and framing us as bold, transparent, and unconcerned with outdated societal norms, VT has shifted the tone completely. Nobody’s got dirt when we’re the ones handing out the shovels.
We even have a preferred press liaison now. Her name’s Darla. She wears pastel power suits and has a voice like honey over gravel, and I suspect she could happily kill a man with a metal nail file if given enough motivation. She sends me drafts of anything that mentions us before they hit publication.
The one she sent this morning has the lead-in:“Parker Simon is just like you—if you, too, were balancing a powerful role at one of LA’s most influential PR firms, co-parenting with three billionaires, and glowing your way through the first trimester of pregnancy.”
Jack read that over my shoulder, narrowed his eyes, and muttered, “What the hell does glowing even mean?”
“It’s a compliment.”
His scowl didn’t fade.
“If you keep scowling every time someone compliments me, we’re going to end up in a media narrative about ‘toxic alpha dynamics in poly households.’”
He snorted a laugh and kissed the top of my head in response.
We’ve been leaning into the strategy. Smiling in public. Letting ourselves be seen. I wore a wrap dress with tiny cartoon whales on it to VT last week and was told I looked “fresh and humanizing.” I don’t even know what that means. But apparently, it’s good.
