Page 45 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
“Me too.” It almost feels good to admit that.
“I can’t afford to screw this up.”
“I won’t let you.”
She swallows hard. “You can’t promise that.”
“I already have.” I reach for her hand, brushing my fingers over hers. “You’ll be protected,” I promise. “From my mother. From the board. From any fallout. I swear it.”
She doesn’t answer right away. Then, finally, she whispers, “Okay.”
It’s a fragile thing, this moment. I’m not sure it’ll hold. I don’t know what I expected after she said “okay.” A kiss, maybe. Some kind of soft cinematic cue that tells me I did the right thing.
Instead, Parker looks down at our joined hands like they’re foreign to her. Like they’re a mistake she’s not sure how to let go of—or how to keep holding on to.
I don’t push. I just sit there, letting her breathe.
Outside, the sky’s shifted. Morning light filters through the kitchen windows, brightening everything until the whole room feels too earnest. The smell of waffles lingers in the air, sweet and warm and a little too comforting for the tension clinging to us.
“I should check on the agenda,” she says quietly, her hand starting to pull away.
I don’t let it go. “I meant what I said.”
She glances up, startled.
“I know you’re scared. I know this isn’t the life you planned. But I need you to understand something.”
Her brow furrows.
“You’re not temporary, Parker. I don’t care what anyone else thinks. Not my mother. Not the board. Not Phil. You’re not someone I’m going to forget the second this gets complicated.”
“You don’t know that,” she whispers.
“I do.”
“Your reputation says otherwise. Yours and Jack’s and Harrison’s.”
That lands like a slap. I straighten slowly. “This isn’t like all the other times.”
“I know about Vanessa. Phil told me. She was polished. Perfect. A good match for your image. And you broke up with her anyway. I’m not any of those things?—”
“And you think that’s what I want?”
She swallows. “Isn’t it?”
“No,” I say, more harshly than I mean to. Then, softer, “It was what I thought Ihadto want. Not what I wanted.”
She looks away again.
I move closer, one hand on the counter beside her hip. Not crowding her, just there.
“I want you. I want your waffles and coffee and efficiency in the office and adventurous spirit in bed. I want your voice in the morning and your laugh when you forget to guard it.”
She blinks, fast.
“And I want you to feel safe enough to want me back.”
The silence stretches between us. I can see her fighting it. Can see the thoughts flickering behind her eyes. I wait. Then she leans forward—just enough to rest her forehead against my chest. I wrap my arms around her. Hold her like I mean it. Because I do.
