LOGINGAVIN
The glass walls of my office reflect everything—skyline, morning haze, the hard line of my jaw as I stand behind my desk trying to exhale Parker out of my system. It doesn’t work. I adjust the cuff of my shirt and stare down at the tablet in my hands, but none of the numbers register. There’s a buzzing under my skin that won’t stop.
The elevator audio leaked over the weekend, and I haven’t stopped bracing for impact since. No video. Just sound. Enough to spark headlines and social media threads about power dynamics and after-hours indiscretions.
I handled it the way I handle everything—with control. Got Jack to handle security. Told legal to issue takedowns. Prepped a board memo about internal sabotage from a rival firm.
But none of that fixes the most inconvenient truth of all.
It wasn’t fake. It was real. Every breath. Every kiss. Every sound Parker made in that elevator. The faint elevator ding is my only warning before the door bursts open.
Phil storms in like a hurricane of righteous fury. His jaw is clenched, his brown hair a mess like he’s been running his hands through it all morning. “Are you fucking serious?” he barks, ignoring protocol, manners, and the fact that I’m still technically his boss.
I don’t react. “Good morning.”
“Cut the bullshit.” He shuts the door with more force than necessary and stalks toward my desk. “You hired my sister. You said she’d be safe. And now she’s on every gossip blog from here to Singapore.”
I set my tablet down. “Yes, I’ve seen it.”
“And you’re not doing anything?”
“I’ve already launched a full internal review. The employees responsible for the leak have been terminated.”
His eyes narrow. “Don’t spin me.”
“I’m not spinning you, Phil. I’m managing an optics crisis in the way I’ve been trained to do.”
“She’s my sister.”
“I know.”
He grits his jaw. “She trusted me when I said this job would be good for her.”
“And it is. Her pay is significantly higher than standard, her benefits package—”
“She’s being dragged across the internet.”
“No one’s named her. It’s just audio.”
“People know.”
I pause. “Do you?”
His expression hardens. “Do I what?”
“Do you know what happened?”
Phil hesitates. That moment of doubt is everything. I know him. I know how much it costs him to question his own instincts.
He’s not sure. He wants to believe Parker’s innocent. He’s not sure if I am. “It sounds like you on the audio,” he says finally. “Jack too. And Harrison.”
“I’m not in the habit of having sex in our elevators.” Technically, it’s not a habit if you don’t do it habitually.
He scoffs. “Since when?”
“Since always.”
“You dated Vanessa in this building.”
“And she worked in cybersecurity. She never reported to me. That relationship was cleared by legal.”
“This is different. Parker’s directly under you—” He winces, shaking his head. “I did not need that mental image.”
I sigh. “Phil. I have no idea what that audio is. Could it be a deepfake? Sure. Could it be a prank by Icon PR to rattle our image? Absolutely. Vanessa knows exactly where our weak points are. She knows how to strike.”
Phil rakes a hand through his hair and paces. “You’re telling me nothing happened?”
“I’m telling you that Parker is safe. No one here is going to hurt her, or compromise her. You know me.”
He stares at me. Hard. Like he’s trying to peel back all the layers I’ve spent years crafting. Finally, he mutters, “I want to believe you.”
“Then do.”
“I don’t want her reputation torn apart.”
“It won’t be.”
“Because you’ll protect her?”
“Because she’s earned that protection. Not because of me. Because of the job she’s doing.”
Phil nods slowly. The edge in his posture softens, just slightly. He runs his tongue along the inside of his cheek and looks toward the windows like they hold some answer he hasn’t found yet. “I’m trusting you,” he says eventually.
“You always have before. This isn’t any different.”
He heads for the door, pauses before pulling it open. “I meant it, you know,” he says, not turning back. “I vouched for you, for this place. I told her you were safe.”
He leaves before I can respond.
And I don’t move. Because I don’t deserve that trust. Not after what I did. What I still want to do.
I sit down slowly and drag a hand down my face. I didn’t lie. But I didn’t tell the truth either. I’m not sure which is worse.
The worst part? It wasn’t just Jack. It wasn’t just Harrison. It wasn’t just a moment of heat or confusion. I wanted her. And she wanted me.
That’s what keeps me up at night.
Not the scandal. Not the board. Not the fucking gossip blogs. It’s the memory of her lips. Of her eyes locking on mine like she saw through the suit, the position, the name, and still wanted more. It had nothing to do with what I am and everything to do with who I am.
That’s the part I can’t shake.
My phone buzzes again. I don’t want to look. It’s her. It’s always her.
I answer without thinking. Reflex. “911, what’s your emergency?”
“Do you think this is funny?” Vivian hisses.
“I think it’s a little after eight on a Monday morning, and you’ve called me twice.”
“You’re trending.”
“Comes with the territory.”
“Not like this. You are everywhere. YouTube, T*****r, TikTok. The hashtags are disgusting.”
“I’ve had legal issue takedowns.”
“That doesn’t change the fact that this is out. The board will be circling. Do you know how this looks?”
“Yes. Like a vaguely salacious, unconfirmed, low-resolution leak that no one can verify. It’s trashy, and it’ll pass.”
“It looks like you’re becoming your father.”
That hits harder than anything else she’s said today. My pulse spikes. My fingers clench the edge of the desk. “Don’t.”
“I warned you.”
“And I warned you.”
“You’re on the same path.”
“No. He lied. He cheated. He hollowed us out from the inside. I’m not a married man with dalliances. I’m single, and I’m allowed a personal life. Even if that tape was real, it doesn’t matter. The optics aren’t going to hurt VT.”
“You should’ve never hired her.”
“She’s the best damn assistant we’ve had in five years.” Might be exaggerating there, since she’s been with us less than a week, but who cares? Nothing I say will change her mind.
“She’s Phil’s sister. And she’s tempting you.”
I stare at the desk. My blood is roaring in my ears. Nothing good comes from continuing this conversation. “I’m hanging up now.”
“Don’t you—”
I end the call.
She calls back immediately. I let it ring. Again. Ring. Again.
I power down the phone for the first time in months. It feels wrong, like I’ve broken the ultimate rule. Being out of contact with Mother? Unforgiveable in her eyes. But I don’t have it in me to care right now.
All I can think about is Parker.
I hadn’t planned to do it. I don’t even know why I didn’t stop it. Her perfume still lingers in my memory. Clean, warm, a little too sweet.
Like her.
God, I want her.
That’s the truth. Buried under all the corporate positioning and political maneuvering, under the responsibility and the name and the legacy—I want her.
I want to know how many freckles are under that silk blouse. I want to hear her gasp again. I want to watch her mouth form my name without a whisper of guilt between us.
I want everything I can’t have.
And I don’t know how long I can keep pretending otherwise.
PARKERBut she just squeezes my hand again and says, “You want to talk about it?”My throat tightens. “Not really.”“Okay.”She waits. That’s what she does. She doesn’t prod or scold or guilt-trip. She just gives me space until I either fill it or start crying inside of it.I exhale slowly. “It isn’t like last time.”She nods.“I mean, I wasn’t…alone. And I wasn’t being careless. I was on the pill. It wasn’t supposed to happen.”She stays quiet.I keep going. “I didn’t plan on any of it. Not the job. Not the gala. Not…them.”Her brows lift slightly. “Them?”I nod, blinking back tears. “It’s not just one guy this time.”“I know.” She says it without judgment. Not even surprise. Just that soft sadness I hate—because it means she’s hurting for me.I try to explain. “It wasn’t a game. It wasn’t like I walked in there planning to fall for my bosses. It just…happened. Slowly. Then all at once.”She tilts her head, and her eyebrow jumps a little. “All at once? Together?”“Yes.”Her mouth twi
PARKERI wake up 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 at me. 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 just look at
HARRISONI try to speak again, but Gavin’s already turning away, hands on his hips, pacing in a tight line like he’s about to explode. And maybe he will. Because everything in him is cracked right now. He’s not just angry. He’s trying not to fall apart in front of the only people who’ve seen him broken before.Jack watches him. I watch both of them. And for a second, everything in the room is heat and tension and unspoken grief.No one says anything else. The worst part isn’t the yelling. It’s the silence after. When no one knows what to say next, because everything that could have been said was said too loud, too fast, and too damn personal.Gavin’s back to pacing, but slower now. Like his body still hasn’t figured out how to calm down. Jack’s near the catering carts, arms crossed, jaw flexing like he’s chewing on restraint. Neither of them looks at me. Not directly.I’m not sure if it’s because they’re still pissed, or because they feel how close we all came to something that couldn
HARRISONI didn’t think it would feel like this. I didn’t think saying it out loud would make the air go this still, this sharp. Like a storm passed through and forgot to take the lightning with it.But I said it. And the silence that follows is so deep, it hums.Gavin stares at me like he didn’t hear it right. Like if he doesn’t speak, maybe it won’t be true. His jaw’s tight, his hands fisted at his sides, his posture frozen—too still to be neutral.Jack’s already halfway to the next thought, pacing near the floral wreckage of the bar, lips parted like he’s got a list of theories he’s been waiting to unload.Parker?She’s still. Seated at the edge of the riser, eyes down, like she’s trying not to absorb the explosion about to go off in front of her.Gavin’s voice breaks the silence first. Cold. Controlled. “It’s not possible.”I nod once. “You saw the same evidence I did.”He shakes his head. “She hates Icon.”“She owns thirty percent of it.”“That’s. Not. Possible.”“She did it thro
GAVINThere’s a quiet that settles between us then. Not uncomfortable. Just thick. Like the adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet but the crash is coming. I don’t usually crash. But tonight, I feel close. Too close. So I speak. To keep myself from thinking too hard. “Honestly?” I say, “I’ve never been more relieved to watch a disaster unfold.”Jack glances at me. “You were smiling when she hit the floor.”“I was. Just a little.”“She looked like a pelican falling out of a tree,” Parker mutters.Harrison snorts.“Icon PR’s new slogan,” Jack says. “‘Graceful as falling teeth.’”We laugh. All of us. It’s short and sharp and necessary. But the moment doesn’t last long. Because Harrison’s face shifts. Subtle. But I see it. Like a shadow passes behind his eyes.He straightens. Reaches into his jacket. Pulls out his phone again. And I know something’s coming. Something heavier than Vanessa. Harrison’s thumb moves across the screen like he’s skimming something for the fifth time just to be sure. His
GAVINI’ve spent most of my life controlling narratives. Make it clean. Make it sharp. Make it disappear.But tonight? Tonight, I let it unravel. No regrets.Vanessa went down like the universe handed Parker a gift-wrapped opportunity, and she didn’t blink. Execution. Delivery. She tripped Vanessa like she was born to do it. Then she handled it like a pro. Kneeling beside her. Brushing her hair back. Asking if she was okay while smiling like an angel.Helping her into the fucking ambulance.The press was still hovering around the courtyard, and there she was—elegant, gracious, perfect. A vision in composed green satin, steady hands holding a woman who’d just threatened to ruin her life.It was PR brilliance. And not even mine.Now the gala’s over.The crowds are almost gone, just stragglers lingering in the parking lot. The performers are packing up stilts and costumes. Catering staff are scraping trays, folding linens. The illusion has ended, and we’re left with the aftermath.I’m st







