Chapter 3

JACK

Parker Simon is prettier than I remembered. And that’s a fucking problem.

Not that I ever forgot her. I’ve spent the last seven years pretending she was just a blip, just one night of bad judgment. But the moment she stepped back into VT Global wearing that soft pink blouse and carrying a tote bag big enough to hold the secrets to my happiness, every lie I’ve told myself cracked down the middle.

She’s still got those soft eyes, though her face has matured into something sharper, cleverer. Her brown curly hair is longer now. She had it twisted up on Friday, but it had fallen around her face and shoulders by the time we left the elevator. I remember exactly how those curls felt between my fingers.

I also remember how she looked at me that night seven years ago. Eyes wide. Lush lips parted. Her voice shaking after we finished when she said, “I can’t believe we did that. Phil is going to kill us.”

And I believed her. That she meant it. That it was a mistake.

Even though I hadn’t been drunk. Even though I’d waited all damn night hoping for a sign she might want me too. Even though I still remember how she kissed like she meant it and clung to me like I was the only thing anchoring her.

She walked out before sunrise, whispering that we had to pretend it never happened. And I let her go.

I spent the rest of that day looking at the logistics. I’m ten years older than her. I had no business having a crush on her. Still don’t.

Do I?

She’s twenty-five now. Has twins. She’s building a career⁠—

One that I might derail if I don’t keep it in my pants.

But is that true, or is that conventional wisdom that sounds like common sense? We’re both adults. We made an adult choice that night at the bar, and in the elevator Friday. It’s no one else’s business but our own.

Phil’s goofy-ass face pops into my head, stealing the oxygen from that argument. He’s been one of my best friends since prep school. He’s why she left my bed so early the morning after. Ironically, he’s the reason I’ve avoided him since I slept with his sister.

Avoided every family gathering Phil invited me to after that. Claimed scheduling conflicts. Blamed busy seasons. I even skipped a holiday ski trip to Aspen when I found out Parker was going. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t worry about him finding out. He’d hate me for it. That’d be the end of our friendship.

Apparently, it’s all well and good to be friends with a known womanizer as long as he doesn’t fuck your sister.

I thought dodging invites would be enough distance between me and Parker. But then Phil mentioned she was looking for work, and somehow Gavin suggested we interview her. Said her résumé was solid. That she was smart, organized, good with people. I didn’t disagree. I just kept my mouth shut, hoping for the best outcome for her. She deserves a good job.

And I deserve to have my ass kicked.

Now she’s here. And she’s not a kid anymore. None of us are. We have to start making better choices. We’re professionals. We can do this. We’ll just have to avoid being in an elevator together.

Which, of course, is exactly where we ended up. All four of us.

That elevator was never meant to get stuck. Never supposed to feel like a pressure cooker filled with hormones and heat and memories. But it did. And I kissed her. And she let me. No—she kissed me back. And then everything went sideways.

When I saw her panic, I didn’t think about what I was doing. I just knew in my gut how to help her calm down. No thought went into it whatsoever, and I haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

Now it’s Monday morning, and I’m pacing in my office like a goddamn intern because a gossip blog has posted the audio of our encounter.

Not video. Thank God. Just sound. But that’s damning enough.

Heavy breathing. Soft moans. A whispered “Jack, please.” Some noise that could have been the elevator or could have been⁠—

“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, rubbing the back of my neck.