2. Jack
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.
Gavin’s voice breaks through the speaker on my desk. “Conference room in five. Heather wants to go over damage control.”
“I’m handling it.”
“You sure? Because my mother already texted me three times and it’s not even nine.”
Of course she did.
Vivian Thatcher might not technically run VT Global anymore, but she’s got her fingers in every polished glass surface we own. And her best friend Heather—the CHRO—is her eyes and ears. Always watching. Always judging. Always waiting to yank the reins if things get too messy.
I press the intercom. “Tell Heather I’ll be there.”
Then I press another button. “Call Danny Nguyen to my office.”
Danny’s the head of security. Ex-military. Sharp. Loyal. But if someone on his team leaked that audio, it means our house isn’t in order.
A few minutes later, he walks in. “Morning, sir.”
“Don’t ‘sir’ me. Shut the door.”
He does.
I turn my monitor so he can see the blog post. “How the fuck did they get this?”
Danny sighs. “I’m not sure. I’ll pull badge logs and camera access. But we had issues that night with the rolling grid outages. Could’ve been stored locally and off-loaded by someone working late.”
“Then you fire everyone who had access that night.”
Danny raises a brow. “You want me to clean house?”
“I want you to clean house,” I say, my voice flat. “If one of your team sold us out, they’re all suspect.”
He doesn’t argue. Not at first. But then he crosses his arms. “Wasn’t my guys having sex with an employee in a glass building.”
My eyes cut to his. “What did you say?”
His jaw works. “Just saying what everyone’s already thinking.”
“If you want to keep your job, I suggest you stop thinking out loud. Fire them. Now.”
He nods, jaw tight. “On it.”
When he leaves, I press my fingers to my temples. It’s not like I didn’t know this would blow up. The second I touched her in that elevator, I knew.
And I did it anyway.
I’ve never been able to forget how she sounded in my arms the first time. And I never imagined she would look at me the way she did in that moment—like maybe she wanted me back.
Now it’s a PR nightmare. Not the worst we’ve dealt with, but bad enough. Especially when it involves Phil’s sister. Especially when it involves me .
Gavin’s probably already spinning it as a consensual after-hours “intimate moment” between high-level staff. Harrison’s likely brooding in the gym, pounding a heavy bag and blaming himself for not yanking the emergency override.
Me? I’m trying not to destroy everything that matters. My phone buzzes. It’s a calendar update. Sent by Parker.
Project Kickoff: Spring Gala Proposal – 2 PM Today (conf room B)
I click it open. She’s already outlined logistics, guest list targets, potential venue options, and a proposal doc titled “VT Looks Good Doing Good.”
Smart. Polished. Already leaning into the kind of spin we need. It gives me an idea. I buzz Gavin. “Loop Heather in. I’m naming Parker Simon project lead for the spring gala.”
There’s a pause. “Isn’t that a little…”
“Optical? Risky? Yeah. It’s also smart. She’s organized.
She already started the damn doc. And if Heather wants proof we’re taking advantage of our position, this is it.
Parker just started here as your executive assistant, but if we’re already grooming her for a higher position, Heather can’t say too much about a role differential. ”
Another pause. “Right, so today is the day we’re redefining the term ‘thin excuse’?”
“Does it matter?”
He huffs. “I’ll let her know.”
A few minutes later, Heather calls.
“Jack.”
“Heather.”
“I was just about to request time on your calendar.”
“Don’t bother. I’m ahead of you.”
“Really? Because the elevator footage?—”
“Doesn’t exist,” I cut in. “And if it does, it won’t be leaving this building.”
She hums. “Still, we need to follow protocol. I’m scheduling conduct reviews with everyone who was in that elevator. You understand.”
“I do.”
“And Parker?”
“Project lead for the gala. Smart, visible, controlled. Let the story become about charity, not scandal.”
There’s a beat of silence.
“Vivian would be proud.”
“I’m not doing this for Vivian.”
“No. But you’re playing it her way.”
The call ends, and I don’t move for a minute.
Parker is going to hate this. She’s the type who wants to blend in, not stand out. But there’s no hiding now. She’s the most visible employee in the company.
And somehow still the one thing I want most.
Which means I need to keep my hands to myself. Again. But God help me, I don’t think I can. Not this time. Not now that I know how she tastes when she moans my name. Not now that I’ve felt her again.
And not when I’m pretty fucking sure I never stopped wanting her. I don’t know how.