My Brother's rich best friends

PARKER

There’s a reason people don’t start new jobs the Friday before a long weekend.

It’s weird.

Everyone’s half-packed to escape the city, you’re overdressed in a blazer that’s already pilling under the arms, and the office smells vaguely like someone microwaved fish before they bolted out the door.

But when Gavin Thatcher—the silver-haired legend of celebrity damage control and CEO of VT Global—tells you to come in on a Friday “to get a feel for things,” you don’t argue. You show up fifteen minutes early with anxiety in your bloodstream and exactly twelve backup pens in your tote bag.

And you try not to throw up in your mouth when the elevator dings on the twentieth floor.

“Hey, baby sister,” Phil says, standing there in his VT polo like a smug little gatekeeper to hell. “Ready to meet the wolves?”

“Wolves,” I repeat, blinking at my brother. “You couldn’t just say ‘executives’? Or, I don’t know…people?”

Phil’s already grinning like this is the best part of his entire week. “They don’t bite.”

“That’s a lie and you know it.”

He chuckles. “Come on.”

The offices are…stupid beautiful. Glass and steel everywhere, a fresh orchid on literally every surface, and the kind of diffused lighting that makes you feel like you’re in a Vogue shoot instead of a workplace.

Phil leads me past the open bullpen—where glamorous assistants are clicking away at sleek desktops—and into a glass conference room.

And there they are. Jack Myers. Gavin Thatcher. Harrison Gunn. My three childhood crushes.

And me, wearing my best Target blouse and a deodorant-stained blazer.

“Gentlemen,” Phil says, overly casual, “you remember Parker. She’s stepping into Jenna’s role starting today.”

I lift a hand. “Hi. So nice to meet you—again.”

Because, of course, we’ve met. Years ago. They’re Phil’s best friends. They used to come to our family gatherings. Unfortunately, they also happened to be at my sixteenth birthday where I snuck too much wine and sang an ill-advised acoustic version of “Pony,” thus ruining any chance I had with them.

Oh—and there was that one night seven years ago when Jack and I hooked up and never spoke about it again.

So, you know. Mild history.

Jack stands first. Still tall. Still impossibly broad in the shoulders. He’s tan, with close-cut black hair graying at the temples in a way that makes my libido feel deeply unsafe. His green eyes lock onto mine for exactly one second too long before he nods.

“Parker.”

“Jack,” I say, forcing my smile. My palms go clammy.

Next is Gavin—or rather, Thatcher, as the tabloids call him. VT’s founding son. His hair is pure silver, combed back with Clark Kent precision. Tall and lean, with the kind of face you want to punch and kiss at the same time. Cold brown eyes. Crisp white shirt. No tie. Just power.

He glances at Phil, then back at me. “Hello again. Glad you could make it.”

When he smiles, just a flicker of a smirk, I see it—the dimple in his right cheek.

Oh no.

And then there’s Harrison. Built like a gym ad. Shorter than the others at six feet even, but more…solid. Like he could bench-press a truck while editing a spreadsheet. Olive skin. Wild salt-and-pepper curls that don’t give a damn about corporate grooming. Blue eyes that surprise me every time. Intense, almost soft.

He reaches out first. “Welcome aboard.” His handshake is warm. Dry. Firm, but not crushing.

I swallow. “Thanks. Really excited to be here.”

It’s a lie. I’m excited to make money. I’m excited to use my color-coded calendar and pretend I have my life together. But I am not excited to be this close to these men. Life is complicated enough.

“So.” Phil claps his hands. “Ready to get started?”

“Leave her to me,” Jack says automatically.

I almost drop my bag.

Gavin quirks a brow. “You feeling okay, Parker? You look a little flushed.”

Phil swings an arm over my shoulders. “She’s fine. My baby sister definitely would not bring a communicable disease to work on her first day. Right?” His last word is a little tight.

“Of course not. Just excited to get started.”

“Perfect,” Jack says. “This is what we needed. Someone who actually wants to do the job.”

“Jenna was fine,” Gavin says, annoyed. “Not her fault her new wife is loaded and wants a stay-at-home bride.”

Harrison rolls those deep blue eyes. “It’ll be nice to have someone around here who doesn’t disappear for lunch meetings with whatever influencer of the month you were sleeping with.”

The scowl on Gavin’s face is priceless.

Wait—so Gavin and Jenna were sleeping with the same influencer? And by the irritated look on his face, that was an angry little surprise for him. Yikes.

“Gentlemen,” Jack mutters.

They’re already bickering. I love that for me.

Phil pats my shoulder. “You’ll be great. Call me if they start throwing things.”

And with that, my protective older brother bails, leaving me with three men who are each hotter than the last and who definitely remember things I’d rather forget.

The rest of the day is a blur of log-ins, onboarding docs, Jenna’s horror-show G****e Drive folders, and smiling through the knowledge that I’m surrounded by people who dress like they fell out of a fashion editorial and speak in billion-dollar buzzwords.

By four, the floor’s nearly empty. The last orchid has been watered. Someone in HR sends me a Slack emoji wave.

And I’m…still here.

Because Jenna’s files are chaos. Because my to-do list already has sixteen items. Because making a good impression means staying until the job is done—and because my mom already said she’d pick up the twins from kindergarten today.

So I keep going.

And going.

Until the janitorial staff waves goodnight and I realize the sky outside is dark and my Fitbit thinks I died two hours ago.

“Okay,” I whisper, shutting down my borrowed desktop and shoving my charger into my bag. “Time to escape.”

The elevator is…not my favorite thing. But I am not walking down twenty floors in heels. I step inside the polished chrome coffin and press G.

It doesn’t move at first.

Instead, the light above flashes. And the elevator goes up.

“Wait—what—no,” I whisper, hitting the button again.

The doors open on twenty-two. And in step Jack, Gavin, and Harrison. Because the gods are laughing at me.

“Evening,” Jack says, his deep voice rich with exhaustion.

Gavin nods. Harrison raises a brow.

I smile weakly. “Didn’t realize this elevator had a VIP after-party.”

Jack leans against the wall. “Don’t worry, Parker. This is an express elevator. You’ll be on the ground, in the open air in no time.”

I freeze. He remembers. The cramped bar bathroom stall. Me panicking in the small space. Him laughing softly before whispering, “You like it big?” And carrying me out like I weighed nothing.

He remembers. And now he’s staring at me like he’s wondering if I remember too.

“I’m fine,” I lie. “Just not a fan of tiny spaces. Or unexpected upward movement.”

“Ironic,” Gavin murmurs.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Harrison presses the lobby button again. “We’ll be out in a second.”

Except we’re not.

Because the elevator shudders. And stops. Between the second and third floors.

“Seriously?” I say, heart lurching. How is the air escaping the elevator when I can’t? The lights are too dim and too bright. Is that sweat trickling down my back?

Jack pulls out his phone. “Calling security.”

Gavin sighs and checks his Rolex.

Harrison leans into the intercom. “We’re stuck. Again.”

“Sorry, guys,” says a tinny voice. “We’ve got some rolling grid outages in this part of Midtown. Could be electrical. Cameras have been blinking in and out. Sit tight—we’ll get someone there soon.”

“Define ‘soon,’” Jack growls.

The speaker crackles, then cuts off. The air feels warmer already. Closer. Absent.

And I’m stuck in a tiny box with three men I have had entirely inappropriate thoughts about for years. It’s bad enough that my heart kicks up when they’re around, but now? I traded hearts with a hummingbird, and it’s making me dizzy.

I exhale, trying to will away the panic. Not here, not now, not in front of them. Please, please⁠—

“You okay?” Jack asks. He glances at the other two. Harrison gives an almost imperceptible nod, but I see it because I see everything right now, including the walls closing in on us. Jack clears his throat. “Parker, are you okay?”

I nod quickly.

He narrows his eyes. “You’re not breathing.”

“I’m fine.”

“You hate small spaces.”

“Still fine.”

He studies me. Then, before I can stop him, he steps forward and puts a hand on my elbow. “Hey.” My eyes fly to his. “Breathe.”

“I am breathing.”

“Through your teeth. You do that when you’re freaking out.”