Page 34 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
Just what we needed.
I huff at myself and look down at my inbox. Five unread reports. Budget updates. Line-item disputes. One from legal asking if I’ve drafted a statement for the “rumored personal entanglements” clause in the executive handbook.
I click it shut. I can’t think straight right now.
What I need is to move. Todosomething. Or someone.
9
PARKER
A strategy retreat.That’s what they’re calling it.
Three words spoken in a tone so casual I almost believed it was going to involve whiteboards and brainstorming sessions and maybe some kind of team-building exercise involving ropes.
It does not. It involves a flight on a private jet, followed by piling into a rented SUV with three men who’ve each had their hands on me at some point in the last ten days, driving into the goddamn mountains to “get some perspective.”
The road winds through the forest like something out of a postcard. Tall pines, golden sunlight slipping between branches, a silence so thick it makes my city-dulled ears ring. I haven’t been away from Levi and Lyra for more than twenty-four hours since they were born. It’s a lot.
But here I am. Three days. No kids. No Wi-Fi worth a damn, according to Jack. Just me and my bosses and the most complicated set of feelings I’ve ever tried to shove into a professional pencil skirt.
I told my mom it was a work trip. Technically true. But there’s nothing about this that feels like work, and it feels so far from the truth that I’m in liar territory.
They didn’t tell me much before we left. Just that it was time for a reset, they needed my help with logistics, and I should pack comfortable clothes and not ask too many questions.
That should’ve been my first clue. The second clue is the so-called “cabin.” What I’m looking at is not a cabin.
It’s a palatial lodge.
Three stories, stone and timber, with soaring windows and a wraparound porch overlooking a lake so still it looks fake. Even the grounds are perfect, as if this is a Disney vacation instead of awork retreat.
Inside, everything is wood and leather and clean lines. The kitchen is bigger than my apartment. The living room has a fireplace the size of a Volkswagen. There are eight bedrooms upstairs, each with its own en suite bathroom, and a long hallway lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves like we’re in some luxury hunting retreat curated by a man who reads Thoreau and only drinks whiskey neat.
The place smells like cedar and heat. It’s warm, rustic, and somehow intimate without trying to be. And I’m the only woman here. It hits me hard as I drop my duffel in the guest room at the end of the hall. I close the door, lean against it, and take a long breath.
What the hell am I doing?
This is a bad idea. Averybad idea. I should’ve said no. Should’ve told them I had childcare issues or stomach flu or that I don’t domountains. Instead, I agreed. Because I’m still new. Still trying to prove I belong. And I don’t want them to think I’m skating by on my back.
God. That’s the worst part.
I like this job. I like the company. I like feeling competent again—needed. My old job at the water company was rote. I could have done it in my sleep, and when the twins were little, I did. The money was nothing compared to what I’m making now, and my boss’s favorite pastime was being inappropriate with me and every other woman younger than his daughters.
VT Global is more than a step up. It’s everything for me, professionally and financially. Yes, I’m a mother, but I’m more than that too. Without a job that challenges me, I feel useless. VT has changed that, and I need to do my job well. I have to keep this retreat legitimate.
But the second I remember the way Jack kissed me, the way Gavin held me in the elevator, the way Harrison manhandled me in that closet…
It all feels like a trap. A beautiful, devastating trap.
I walk to the window and stare out at the lake. The sun’s starting to dip, painting the water in gold and rose. I can see Jack down by the dock, bare forearms, sleeves rolled up. Harrison’s dragging firewood from a shed near the edge of the property. Gavin’s on the deck, phone to his ear, pacing like he’s still wearing the city.
They’re all so…put together. But not in the way men usually try to be. They don’t pretend for appearances. Theyareappearances.
Jack, tall and precise, with those intense green eyes and that permanent scowl that makes your stomach flip when he turns it into a smile. Gavin, lean and regal like someone carved him out of stone and ego, his voice always calm but layered in control. Harrison, solid and broad, a heat all his own, like the kind of man who lifts furniture for fun and doesn’t say much unless it matters.
I want them. All of them. That’s the problem. I want them in a way that has nothing to do with power or professionalism. It’s raw. Physical. My teenage crush has grown into an eight-headed monster that roars every time I think of stopping.
I don’t want to stop. And I don’t know what the hell todowith that.
