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 Google 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."

PARKER

I swallow. "You remember a lot."

Jack's voice drops. "I remember everything." His hand is still on my elbow.

And then...

Then he kisses me.

No warning. No preamble. Just heat. Tongue. Memory. His hand sliding to my waist, then to the small of my back.

It hits like lightning. My body surges toward him without permission, but panic rises in my throat. "Wait-what are you doing?"

He smirks a little. "Distracting you. This time, I've got help."

Another set of hands touches my hips. Gavin. His breath is warm near my ear. "Tell us to stop."

I can't. This is reckless and stupid and possibly illegal, but I can't say the words.

I don't want to. But this is so foolish. I can't just... What even is this? An ambush? No. It's not like they planned to get stuck in the elevator with me.

Jack kisses my throat, and warmth floods me.

Harrison says nothing-just presses behind me, solid. One hand braces on the elevator rail. The other trails down my arm.

"I-this-" I try. I really try to say stop or something. Someone should.

But then Jack's mouth is back on mine again. Gavin's lips brush my neck. Harrison murmurs something low and obscene against my skin.

The elevator may be stuck. But me? I'm breaking loose. This isn't what I fantasized. All those years ago, when I stupidly fostered my crush on my brother's best friends, I pictured frolicking on a beach with them or sharing a great big bed where we could take our time and do it right.

Not in an elevator while I'm mid–panic attack.

Jack's hand slides up my inner thigh beneath my skirt. "We're going to distract you, Parker."

I should say no. This is inappropriate. It's wrong. It's⁠-

Oh, hell. His fingers. I forgot how good he was with them. They cup over my underwear, massaging. There's no stopping the whimper that shoots out of me. It's been too long since anyone touched me like this.

Seven years, to be exact.

Gavin leans close as Jack drops to his knees. His cold brown eyes flicker all over my face, settling on my lips. "If you don't tell us to stop, we're not stopping."

I know what I should say. But I can't think straight with Jack's fingers working me over.

"Don't stop."

His dimple flashes when he smirks right before he kisses me. It's different from Jack, lighter, tentative. At first. But then Jack pulls my underwear off and ducks his head under my skirt, making me moan on Gavin's lips, and that's all he needs to hear. His tongue slips past the seam of my lips as he deepens the kiss.

I feel like I'm falling, and I'm not sure if I care.

Harrison, still lined up behind me, grabs my hips and presses against my backside. He's hard. For me.

The shock of that knowledge does something to me. I got Harrison Gunn hard. Jack remembers a lot, specifically where his tongue should go. My knees are loose, and I'd wobble onto the floor, but Harrison's grip holds me in place. He growls in my ear, "I've always wanted to see you come undone, Parker. Will you let me see that?"

Not sure I have a choice. Jack's mouth is too talented. "Yes."

"I feel you trying to ride his face. Let me give you a hand." He hoists me up until my ass and thighs are held up by his forearms, like my own personal throne. He's so strong to hold me up like this. Jack readjusts, never missing a beat and following us into the position, hiking my skirt up around my waist. Harrison's hard cock rubs up against me from behind, teasing my ass. I lace my fingers into Jack's hair. I need something to hold on to.

Gavin feasts his eyes on the new position, on me. "Always knew you were a hot little thing. Let's see what happens when we set you on fire." He pushes Jack's head from behind, forcing his face harder against me.

I lose it. Too much pressure from Jack's tongue, and I'm too on display. There's no holding back. My moans fill the space, echoing off the dark wood walls as I come on Jack's face.

Gavin releases him, and Jack stands up, face glossy as he comes in for a kiss. I taste myself on his lips, his tongue. He presses his forehead to mine. "You taste so sweet."

"Yeah, but how does she feel?" Gavin murmurs.

"Slick. Tight," Jack says, with firsthand knowledge. But that wasn't an admission about what happened seven years ago. He could just as easily be talking about tonight.

Gavin and Harrison don't know anything damning yet.

Harrison's forearms spread me open wider. "You should find out for yourself, Thatcher." Jack moves out of the way, letting Gavin crowd between my thighs.

Gavin cocks his head like a predatory bird. "You remember the rule, right?"

My head is fogged from orgasm. "Rule?"

"If you want us to stop, tell us to stop."

"Right, I⁠-"

His hand is fast on me, palm gliding over the wetness Jack left behind. Gavin hisses through his teeth. "Fuck." His fingertips curl as he passes back and forth, adding more friction without entering me. Back and forth, back and forth.

I'm shaking again already and trying to ride his hand, but I can't. Not with Harrison keeping my legs spread. I don't mean to say it. "I need more."

"Yes, you do," Gavin says, his other hand reaching for his pants. "So do I." He's unbuckled and unzipped in a flash, and his cock is out. Something shiny catches my eye. Precum? No, is that-he's pierced there, right at the head.

I'm hit with the same thought I had that fateful night with Jack. How is that going to fit?

Gavin lines himself up with me, rubbing the piercing up and down my slit. He's teasing me with it. There's that dimple-smirk again. "Say it."

"I need more," I hiss out again.

He drives forward, sinking to the hilt. The stretch from his girth is almost too much, and I cry out. Gavin slows, but doesn't exit as the piercing hits my G-spot, checking in with intense eye contact. But I can't speak-I'm already too close to the edge.

Jack says, "Don't stop. She can take it."

I nod slightly, and that's all Gavin needs. He pumps into me, harder on every stroke, groaning my name. This is stupid and glorious and I never want it to end. I'm right there when Jack reaches between our bodies for my clit, letting Gavin smash his fingers against me with each thrust. Heat doesn't pool in my core-it ignites. My head knocks back against Harrison's shoulder when I gasp. The climax steals my breath, wrecks my throat as I scream.

"Fuck yes, that's it, pet, come on my cock," Gavin demands, voice low.

I can't breathe again, this time for a much better reason than claustrophobia. But just as I start to fill my lungs, Gavin presses against me with his body. It forces me harder against Harrison, his back to the wall. I'm sandwiched in the best way possible. Gavin kisses me, his hips making tiny thrusts now, like he doesn't want to retract fully anymore. I can feel the piercing better now, feel his pulse in his cock, the swelling of him inside me.

Jack murmurs in my ear, "Come again for us, sweetheart. Do it soon, or Harrison's going to have to fuck your ass."

For emphasis, Harrison thrusts against me there, and that extra stimulation sends me into the stratosphere, coming yet again. Gavin pumps into me like a wild man until he pulls out and comes into his hand, cursing the whole time. He steps back, cleaning his hand with a handkerchief as he tries to catch his breath.

"My turn," Harrison mutters. He sets me down, and before my legs can adjust to standing, he spins me around.

The back wall of the elevator is a mirror.

I look disheveled in every possible way. Curly brown hair mussed, skirt for a belt, nothing below the waist but my sensible pumps. And Harrison, meeting my eyes in the mirror, every bit the beast he's built like.

He takes my hands and places them on the mirror before pulling my hips back. "Look at your eyes, pretty girl. Watch what happens." His cock is right at my pussy from behind. "See the faces you make when you get fucked properly." He dives in deep, stuffing himself into me with a hard shove.

My eyes flutter back, but Jack fists my hair to focus me. "He said to watch."

And I do. I watch Harrison fuck me, watch the way Jack's hunger lights him from the inside, and I watch Gavin stroke himself over his pants as he watches us too.

Jack, never one to lose focus, gropes my breasts under my blazer, fingers tweaking my hard nipples. More heat shudders through me. He whispers in my ear, "I remember everything, sweetheart. Including this." He roughly pinches my nipples.

My mouth falls slack as another orgasm takes hold. The pain of his grip on my nipples... I love that pain. It makes me come so fucking hard that I see stars.

Harrison slams into me and pulls out to come on my ass. He's still gasping when he wipes me down with his tie.

I turn to Jack, dying for him to complete the night. Just as I reach for him, the elevator jolts.

Oh, shit.

Security says, "Looks like we got you rolling again. Sorry for the inconvenience."

I'm shoving my clothes back into place, and the guys barely look like anything happened. When the doors open, the four of us are as put together as we can be. A man in a security uniform stands there, apologetic as all hell. "Mr. Thatcher, I am⁠-"

"No worries, Jerry," Gavin says, patting his shoulder. "All's well that ends well." He strolls toward executive parking like nothing happened, Harrison hot on his heels.

Only Jack glances back at me. He mouths, "Next time," before exiting through the same door.

Next time? There'll be a next time? After what just happened in the elevator, how do I explain that's a bad idea?

How do I tell him that I probably shouldn't be having foursomes that include the father of my children when he doesn't know he's the father of my children? Help Center FeedbackCopyRight © 2022 novelmanga.com All Rights Reserved. Privacy Policy

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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.