Five Year Secret (One-Night Billionaires #4)

Chapter 1 Janie

ONE

Janie

The plastic champagne flute is slippery between my fingers as another aunt or family friend, I've lost track of the difference at this hour, pulls me into a perfume-scented hug.

"We're just so proud of you, sweetheart!" Her lipstick leaves a waxy imprint on my cheek that I'll have to scrub off later.

"Thank you," I manage, matching her enthusiasm while scanning our backyard.

Mom and Dad have transformed it into something magical for tonight. String lights crisscross overhead, casting a golden glow across familiar faces. The wooden deck I've crossed a thousand times feels different under my heels, like it's already becoming a memory rather than my everyday.

Two days until Chicago. Two days until I prove I'm more than just the Harrelson baby girl.

"Northwestern Memorial is getting one hell of an administrator," Dad's colleague raises his beer in my direction. "Your father hasn't shut up about it for weeks."

I smile, despite the constant flutter lately in my stomach that comes every time someone mentions Northwestern.

The opportunity fell into my lap like a gift I'm terrified of dropping.

I'm getting a full ride to grad school while earning an actual salary at one of the top teaching hospitals in the country.

My dream wrapped in ice and wind and distance.

"Janie!" Blake’s voice booms across the yard before he slings an arm around my shoulders, squeezing like he’s trying to dislocate one.

"Look at you, stealing the spotlight. Everybody’s toasting your big Chicago fellowship while I’m over here bragging about my latest ambulance shift like it’s headline news. "

I laugh, nudging him. "Hey, I'd much rather be doing that than committing to another three years of school. For the record, I'm bragging about your paramedics' heroics, too."

"Nobody’s lining up to shake my hand over an IV line, but I'll take my little sister's admiration any day." He swipes a canapé off a passing tray and grins around the bite. "Just don’t forget us small-town blue-collar workers when you’re too busy being corporate fancy."

"Please. You think I’d ever let you off the hook that easy?"

He smirks. "Just don’t come back in a Bears jersey talking about deep-dish pizza like it’s real food. That’s when we cut you off for good."

"I’m Seminoles for life. I'll never trade in garnet and gold for a Bears jersey. Rest assured."

He barks out a laugh. "That’s my girl." His arm tightens, dragging me into his chest before grinding his knuckles into my hair.

I swat him away. "Easy! I worked hard on this bouffant. Nobody wants your paramedic gorilla hands wrecking it."

"You’ll always be my little sister, and I’ll always have the right to mess with you. That's my job."

"Try it again and see what rights you’ve really got." I flip my hair back into place, ignoring the pinch in my chest.

"Already getting big for your britches." Blake winks, then softens, his hand warm on my shoulder. "Seriously, though, kid, you’re gonna kill it up there. Chicago won’t know what hit it."

My eyes flick past him, snagging on a silhouette near the bar.

Warren Carter, Blake’s best friend since forever, practically another son in our house during their senior year, looks ridiculously handsome as he leans against a chair, laughing.

It's the kind of smile that creases his cheeks in a way I’ve seen a thousand times and never really… noticed.

Blake follows my gaze. "Oh, I meant to tell you. Warren said he’d come by if you need help packing up your place."

I shrug, too casual. "I’ve got it covered. Almost done."

Blake arches a brow. "Then why are you pink?"

The back of my neck prickles. "Because it’s August in Florida, genius."

Before he can press, I duck away, weaving through clusters of neighbors and relatives, catching snippets of conversation as I weave through guests.

"—little Janie, can you believe it? Moving to the big city—"

I clasp my jaw, gripping my champagne flute tighter. That's exactly what I need to leave behind, being perpetually sixteen in everyone's eyes. The baby. The little sister. The one who needs protecting.

I slip through to the buffet table, where Mrs. Delaney and her church friends have formed their usual gossiping circle. They swarm around me like perfumed birds, cooing and clutching.

"There she is!" Mrs. Delaney extends her arms. "Northwestern's newest star!"

Dr. Ramirez, Dad's colleague who delivered me almost twenty-three years ago, raises his glass. "We always knew you'd do something important, Janie. Your mother used to bring you to the hospital in that little carrier, and you'd watch everything with those big eyes."

A balloon skims my shoulder before my nephew, Tyler, barrels past, laughter spilling out of him. Emma shrieks, chasing after her brother, curls flying. Their noise cuts through the adult hum, impossible to ignore.

On the porch, Cile, Blake's wife, kneels with Tyler’s beat-up giraffe, brushing off the grass while balancing Emma’s juice cup in her other hand. Effortless. Like she was built for this.

Something tugs loose inside me. Not longing, exactly, more like an ache I can’t name. I’ve never pictured myself with a stroller in one hand and a diaper bag in the other.

My three-year plan is airtight: Fellowship, Master's, Director role. End of story.

Sometimes I wonder if that kind of life even leaves room for a family.

Blake never wondered. He was married by twenty, had two kids before twenty-six. Emma and Tyler, practically twins only ten months apart, with their matching blue eyes and sticky hands, are proof of the path he chose.

Like always, Blake chose the safe, steady one. I've always been more of a rebel in that sense. Always seeking adventure, to break out of the mold.

"—and how will you handle the winter?" Mrs. Delaney is asking, her face a mask of performative concern.

"I bought boots. And thermal everything." I accept another glass from a passing tray. "My apartment is within walking distance to the hospital, so I won't freeze to death going to work or class."

I steal another glance at the kids, now being herded by Dad into some kind of game. His gray-blond head bends down to listen to Tyler, his patience infinite.

When did Dad get so gray? When did my niece get tall enough to reach the dessert table without standing on tiptoe?

"Janie! You haven't eaten a thing." Mom materializes beside me, plate loaded with Dad's famous smoked brisket and her potato salad. "Here. You're too thin already."

"Mom, I'm fine—"

"Margaret’s right," Mrs. Delaney chimes in. "Chicago will blow you away if you don't put some meat on those bones."

Dad appears behind Mom, sliding an arm around my shoulders. "Leave her be, Mags. Our girl knows what she's doing."

His quiet pride washes over me. A lump forms in my throat.

"Everyone!" Mom taps her glass. "Toast time!"

The toasts start with Dad, his voice steady and warm as sun-baked wood. His calloused hand rests on my shoulder, anchoring me as he speaks about persistence and dreams.

"To our Janie, who's never been afraid to reach for the stars, even when they're covered in Chicago snow."

Everyone laughs, glasses lifted in my direction. The fairy lights overhead blur as my vision mists. I blink rapidly, determined not to cry.

Mom follows with something about how proud she is, how I've always been her determined girl. Then Blake, making everyone roar with a story about me at twelve, declaring I'd run the hospital one day while wearing a stethoscope made from pipe cleaners.

"Don't make me come up there to tell those yankees to keep their mits off of you. I'll do you. You know I will." He tips his head at me and raises an eyebrow.

Oh, I know you will, protective brother.

I’m just starting to breathe again when Warren steps forward, champagne glass catching the light.

I clear my throat, bracing for whatever my brother’s best friend is about to say.

He’s been orbiting my world since before middle school—part of every holiday, every heartbreak, every milestone that mattered.

Protective when he wanted to be, irritating when he thought I needed it.

The kind of constant that starts to feel like gravity.

But as he lifts his glass, something shifts. The overhead lights trace the hard line of his jaw, the dark sweep of his hair. He’s always been the dependable one—steady, kind, built like he could shoulder the world if it asked him to.

I’ve just never really looked before. The realization hits quick, unsettling, like seeing a familiar photograph in sharper focus. I tell myself it’s the champagne talking, but the shiver that follows doesn’t feel imaginary.

"I remember when I moved in during senior year." Warren's smile creases the corners of his eyes. "Back when Janie was all braces and oversized sweatshirts, trailing after us like a shadow."

Heat floods my face as laughter ripples across the deck. Blake elbows Warren, grinning.

"And Blake made it very clear," Warren continues, mock-serious, "his little sister was strictly off-limits."

More laughter. Mom fans herself dramatically, as if reliving those hormone-soaked teenage days. Dad's chuckle rumbles beside me, his arm tightening around my shoulders.

The word "off-limits" echoes in my head like a bell I can't unhear. I force my lips into what I hope passes for amusement, but my chest constricts with something between embarrassment and... disappointment?

Blake hooks an arm around Warren’s neck, yanking him sideways. “Damn right she was. Still is, pal.”

Warren straightens, smoothing his collar before tipping his head in a mock bow. “Rules always followed, sir.”

Laughter ripples as glasses are raised. I lift mine too, though the bubbles taste flat on my tongue.

“Here’s to Janie,” Warren toasts, his voice smooth and sure. “From braces and soccer sidelines to Chicago’s finest hospital administrator. We couldn’t be prouder. Love you like a sister. Cheers.”