Page 23 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
The phone buzzes justas I take a sip of coffee I’ve already reheated twice.
Vivian.
I don’t groan. I don’t sigh. I’ve learned how to take her calls without giving her the satisfaction of knowing she’s interrupted anything. She raised Gavin like a chess piece. I was the one she used to practice strategy on first.
I tap the screen and slide into my chair. “Vivian.”
“Jack. I assume you’ve heard about the leaked audio?”
“No pleasantries today?”
“Do you think this is the time for charm?”
I sip the coffee. It’s terrible. “I’ve heard about it.”
“Then you understand the problem.”
“I do.”
“I’m hearing whispers of a potential board request for audit. That doesn’t happen unless someone—someonevery close to the top—has created a reputational vulnerability.”
“Gavin has it under control,” I say. “And our lawyer’s already issued takedowns. The relevant security guards were fired. It’ll blow over.”
“Do you know how many scandals start with someone saying it’ll blow over?”
I say nothing. I don’t need to. That line is rhetorical. Everything with Vivian is. “I’m prepared to freeze discretionary budgets if this escalates.”
I stiffen. “That is out of your purview, given your retired status.”
“Do you think retirement will stop me from doing whatever I want with VT?”
Time to shift tactics. Nothing good comes from telling her what she can or can’t do. “There’s no proof. No names. No faces. Just poor quality audio that we both know is fake. The firm is stable, the press is distracted, and unless you want to feed the fire, you’ll let us handle this internally.”
There’s a pause. That tightrope silence that always follows one of her power plays. “I don’t like secrets.”
“Then it’s a good thing this isn’t one.”
“If it becomes one—if I seeonemore whisper about your little elevator misstep—I will not hesitate to pull funding from gala sponsorships and client hospitality.”
“You’re assuming the leak is real?”
“Don’t kid a kidder, Jack.” She hangs up.
I set the phone down carefully.
It always amazes me how calmly she weaponizes power. Her voice never rises. Her claws never flash. She just slices through expectations with the same passive-aggressive finesse she used to use when she’d send back undercooked steak during client dinners and still get the chef’s card on the way out.
I’ve always respected her. But I’ve never liked the way she makes me feel like a borrowed suit. Like my title is at her discretion, even now.
Gavin gets the worst of it, but sometimes I wonder if I’m still stuck playing the same damn game I was at twenty-three. Polished, polite, and quietly swallowing the urge to breathe for myself.
Later, I walk past Parker’s desk on my way back from the conference room. It’s innocent, really. Just a glance.
Her coffee mug. Her cardigan draped over the back of the chair. The notebook with a dozen multicolored sticky tabs poking out from the edges.
And then there’s the photo.
Two kids—twins, obviously. Boy and girl. Six, maybe. Same brown hair. Same sweet, bright faces. They’re laughing. The kind of unselfconscious, mouth-open, full-belly joy you don’t see in adults anymore.
