Page 119 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
Harrison is the first to speak. “She won’t stop.”
Gavin nods beside him, jaw tight. “No. But she’ll hesitate. That’s enough for now.”
Jack opens the back passenger door for me and puts a hand on my lower back to guide me in. His touch is soft. Gentle in a way that says everything he’s thinking. I know this shook him. I know she got under his skin too, even if he didn’t say much at all.
Inside the SUV, the air-conditioning kicks on. The doors shut. And suddenly the world feels like it’s being held at arm’s length again.
I glance around at the three of them, taking in their faces. Jack’s still watching the spot where Vivian stood, his expression unreadable. Gavin has his fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to force a headache away. Harrison just stares out the window, unreadable.
I break the silence. “So…Mr. Butters?”
All three of them look at me.
“What?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “That name landed like a pipe bomb and I think I deserve context.”
Jack shakes his head immediately. “Nope. Absolutely not.”
“Out of the question,” Gavin mutters.
Harrison sighs and finally looks at me. “He’s not a friend.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“If you ever see him,” Harrison says, “run.”
“That sounds like something people say before someone dies in a spy movie.”
“Yeah, well.” Harrison shrugs. “There’s a reason for that.”
“Wait—” I sit up straighter. “Who even is he?”
“No one,” Jack says. “No one you’ll ever meet.”
“Hopefully,” Gavin adds.
I squint at them. “You’re telling me this man—Mr. Butters—is real, capable of scaring Vivian Thatcher speechless, and I’m just supposed to pretend I didn’t hear that name?”
“Correct,” Jack says, folding his arms.
Gavin glances in the rearview mirror. “We don’t keep Mr. Butters around. He’s not on retainer. He was…a necessity. Back in Vivian’s days at VT.”
“That is not remotely comforting.”
“Good,” Harrison says. “It’s not supposed to be.”
I blink at them. “I don’t know whether to be more disturbed by the fact that he exists or that you all have such a coordinated trauma response when he’s mentioned.”
Jack sighs and reaches for my hand. “Just forget the name.”
“I won’t.”
“You will,” Gavin mutters. “Please.”
I lean back and exhale, letting the weirdness settle. There’s something grounding about their discomfort, honestly. They’re so composed, so used to having power in every room they walk into. But this rattled them. And it makes me feel, oddly, like I belong even more. Like the monsters under the bed are real, and I’m not facing them alone.
We can leave Mr. Butters in the past. For now.
“So,” I say after a beat. “You good?”
