Page 35 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
Especially not in a house with no locked doors and no escape routes and no kids to anchor me to reality. I change into leggings and a sweater, pin my hair back, and head downstairs. They’re all in the kitchen.
Jack’s pouring tequila. Harrison’s slicing limes. Gavin’s pulling small ceramic dishes from an overhead cabinet like he owns every inch of this place. Maybe he does.
“Strategy retreat,” I say, sliding onto a barstool. “This looks more like pregaming.”
“It’s both,” Jack says.
“Strategy via alcohol,” Harrison adds.
I eye the tequila. “This part of the company handbook?”
“Subsection C,” Gavin says smoothly. “Page sixty-nine.”
That gets a grin out of Jack. They pass me a shot glass. Harrison places the lime wedge just right. Gavin hands me the saltshaker. The ritual is strangely comforting. Salt. Shot. Lime. Warmth hits my stomach. Fast.
The second shot follows.
Soon we’re sitting on the plush sectional in the living room, tequila glasses resting on coasters, shoes kicked off, fire crackling like it’s listening in.
Jack starts it. “This whole thing with Vanessa is spiraling faster than I expected,” he says, elbow on the armrest, glass balanced in his hand. “Icon’s not even pretending to be subtle anymore.”
Harrison nods, stretched out on the opposite end of the couch. “They’ve shifted from sniping at press releases to straight-up client poaching.”
“She tried to poach Bryce Aoki,” Gavin adds, sitting across from me in one of the big leather chairs, ankles crossed. “Asked her if we were still the kind of firm that could protect high-profile talent.”
“She said that?” I ask.
Jack snorts. “Bryce recorded her. Played it for Harrison.”
My eyebrows shoot up. “She recorded her?”
“New liability policy,” Harrison explains. “We agreed to it after her Q4 panic last year.”
“She’s smarter than most of our board,” Jack mutters.
“So Bryce is staying?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral. Trying not to sound like I’m clinging to the one piece of good news we’ve got.
“For now,” Harrison says. “But she’s watching. Everyone is.”
I nod slowly, setting my glass on the coffee table. “Then we need to make sure we’re worth watching for the right reasons.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then Gavin smiles. “That’s exactly what I said in this morning’s damage control memo.”
“Which Parker hasn’t read yet,” Jack says, glancing at me.
“I was getting to it,” I say, lifting a brow. “Eventually.”
“You’ve got an excuse,” Harrison says. “You’ve only been running the place behind the scenes for two weeks.”
“She’s been doing more than that,” Jack says, his voice going a little quieter. “You’ve been the only reason the gala has been running smooth.”
I glance at him. He’s serious. I open my mouth to deflect, to make a joke—but Gavin cuts in.
“You don’t have to downplay it,” he says. “We’re impressed.”
I blink. The fire pops behind us. I feel it in my chest—that warm, slow burn that has nothing to do with tequila. They’re all looking at me. And not like I’m a ticking time bomb or a problem to manage. They’re looking at me like I belong here.
