Page 24 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends

I stare longer than I mean to. Because God help me, they’re adorable. And because something in my chest twists at the sight of them.

I’ve always wanted a family. Quietly. Privately. I’ve never said it out loud, never included it on any vision board or ten-year plan.But I’ve felt it in the spaces between—watching friends fall in love, watching Gavin get dragged back into his father’s drama, watching other people make messes while I handled the cleanup.

Family is complicated, and I’ve wanted those complications for a long time. I’ve always wondered if I missed my window.

Parker walks up just as I’m staring. She doesn’t say anything at first. Doesn’t even seem annoyed.

I straighten, clear my throat. “Cute kids.”

She smiles a little, brushing her bangs away from her face. “Thanks.”

“They look like you.”

Her smile falters, but just slightly. “They take after their dad.”

I don’t say anything. Not because I don’t want to. But because I can see, plain as day, that she doesn’t want to talk about him. Whoever he is.

There’s a story there. I’m not sure if I want to know it. Phil does. According to him, she’s never been specific about who their father was, saying she drunkenly hooked up with a guy on her senior class trip. A nobody named Zack, or so she thinks.

I gesture toward the photo. “You’re lucky.”

She lifts a brow. “To be a single working mom with very little sleep and no private life?”

“To havethem,” I say simply.

Her expression softens. “Yeah,” she says. “I am.”

We stand there for a beat too long. Then I remember myself. My role. Vivian’s voice still echoing in my head like a warning bell.

“How’s the gala prep coming?”

She perks up. “Good, I think. I’ve got RSVPs coming in, venue walk-throughs scheduled, and catering narrowed down to three companies.”

“Follow me and fill me in on the details.” My office isn’t far. She follows me inside, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. She moves with purpose—efficient, practiced—but not cold. Parker always walks like she has something to prove and something to protect.

It makes sense. She’s had to carry a lot.

She settles into the chair across from my desk and opens her laptop, pulling up a color-coded spreadsheet that would make any EA proud. “I didn’t touch Gavin’s budget,” she says quickly. She walks me through the rest. Catering tiers. Guest list. Lighting options.

It’s all good. Better than good. Clean. Strategic. But I’m not hearing all of it. Because I’m too busy noticing how close she is.

How her blouse gaps slightly when she leans forward. How her lip catches between her teeth when she concentrates. How her voice drops into this low, focused rhythm that hits something deep in my gut. How she’s in my head.

She’s doing nothing wrong. And I’m doing everything wrong. Because all I want to do is touch her.

“Jack?” she says.

I blink. “Sorry.”

“You okay?”

No. “Yes.”

She studies me for a second. “You sure? You look…tense.”

“Tense is my baseline.”

She laughs. It’s a soft sound. Unpolished. Real.