Page 87 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
I walk the perimeter twice. Bathroom. Hallway. Service corridor. “Hey,” I say finally, turning back toward the others. “Where’s Parker?”
Jack looks up, confused. “Wasn’t she sitting behind you?”
Gavin turns, scanning the room.
I already know the answer. I take another step. A faster one this time. Down the short hallway behind the curtain. Into the kitchen. I poke my head through the exit door that leads to the rear alley where the performers packed up.
No sign of her. I try her phone. Voicemail.
No missed texts. No note left behind.
She didn’t say goodbye. She didn’t ask for help. She didn’t askanything.
I stand there for a long moment, phone still in hand. And I finally say what we’re all too slow to admit.
“She’s gone.”
21
PARKER
I wakeup with puffy eyes and a headache that feels like it’s coming from behind my ribs. Like grief, not dehydration.
My dress is draped over the chair by the window, still clinging to its shape from last night. The heels that carried me through a ballroom and a bombshell and a marble-floor mic drop are upside down on the rug. My clutch is empty. I don’t even remember setting it down.
I came home. That much I know. Slipped out while they were still arguing. Got in the rideshare. Told the driver to take the long way and cried the whole time into the satin shoulder strap of my bag.
I’m not mad at them. I’m mad atme.Because I did this.
I threw a live wire into the middle of their already impossible lives. I let things happen. I let myself want too much. Take too much. And now I’ve jeopardized everything they’ve worked for.
VT Global is their legacy. And I made it a ticking time bomb. They’ll never say it—Jack would grumble, Gavin would go silent, and Harrison would justlookat me—but I know. I sawthe pressure behind their eyes. The pain. They were already breaking apart before I left. I just…sped it up.
So I do the only thing I can. I fix it. Or at least, Itry.
I sit on the couch with my laptop balanced on my knees, hair still damp from the shower I took to feel human again. My kids are at school. The house is quiet.
I open my email. The cursor blinks at me. I blink back, not sure what to say at first. But the words come eventually. I draft the whole thing twice before I get to something that feels like enough—but not too much.
Subject: Resignation – Parker Simon
To the Partners of VT Global,
Effective immediately, I am resigning from my role as executive assistant and event coordinator.
I want to thank you for the opportunity and for everything I’ve learned in my time with the firm. This was a difficult decision, but I believe it’s the right one—for me, and for the company.
Please consider this my formal notice. I will not be returning to the office. Please forward my belongings to the address on file with HR.
Wishing you continued success,
Parker Simon
I stare at it for ten minutes. Hover over the send button for five more. Then I click. The email vanishes.
And with it, the last thread tethering me to them. I close the laptop and pull my knees to my chest, wishing none of this had ever happened. I thought I’d feel better once the email was sent.I don’t. Instead, I feel hollow. Like something sacred has been carved out of me.
I don’t cry. I don’t move. I just sit on the couch, curled up with a blanket and a cup of chamomile I reheated twice and never drank. I let the silence stretch long enough to convince myself I made the right call. But my stomach twists every time I glance at my phone.
