5. Parker
PARKER
By the time I leave the office, I feel like I’m walking through molasses. Everything’s heavy. My limbs, my thoughts, the weight of what I did today.
Harrison. The goddamn closet.
I don’t regret it. That’s the worst part. If I had any sense, I’d be drowning in regret right now. Shame. Maybe a hint of horror that I let myself get swept into something so reckless. But I’m not horrified.
I’m just spinning.
Jack, Gavin, Harrison—they’re all in my head like a noise I can’t quiet. And it’s not just the physical stuff, though that’s loud and consuming enough on its own. It’s the way they look at me. Like I’m not just the assistant. Like I’m…someone.
But that’s the problem, isn’t it? I’m not someone.
I’m Parker Simon. Executive assistant. Sister of one of their oldest friends.
Single mom to two six-year-olds who are going to wake up tomorrow needing cereal and clean socks and someone to help them build an arctic fox diorama for science week. I can’t afford this kind of risk.
And then there’s the leak.
I hadn’t even seen it until I checked my phone on the subway—some gossipy little blog with a grainy thumbnail, the headline teasing a “scandalous moment” caught on audio between VT’s upper brass and an unnamed woman.
That woman is me.
I know it. They know it. I don’t know if anyone else knows it yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Maybe someone recognizes my voice. Maybe someone starts asking questions. Maybe Phil finds out.
God, Phil.
I’m not sure what scares me more—my brother hearing about it, or the look on his face if he does. He vouched for me. He told me this job would be good for me. That they’d take care of me.
And now I’ve gone and let them take more than that.
I shouldn’t care what the internet says. Blogs blow everything out of proportion. But VT isn’t a regular company. And Gavin isn’t a regular CEO.
People forget, or maybe they don’t, that Gavin Thatcher is the son of the Jamison Thatcher. Oscar winner. Tabloid catnip. The kind of man whose name trends at least twice a month for either a steamy throwback film clip or another ex-girlfriend coming out with a memoir.
Gavin might pretend he’s nothing like him, but that name carries weight.
And when you factor in that Gavin had his own flash- in-the-pan moment in the spotlight—some indie films that made it to Sundance, a couple of modeling spreads in GQ before he pivoted to the boardroom—he was never anonymous.
He was born famous. Even before he took over VT, people knew who he was. And when he became CEO?
He became a story. A brand. An image. A fantasy.
Every bit as polished and unattainable as his father, just in tailored suits and lower lighting.
When I remember who he is—and who VT’s clients are—it makes my stomach twist. How the hell does a company like VT maintain the illusion of pristine celebrity image management when their C-suite is leaking their own scandals?
It’s messy. Hypocritical. And suddenly I’m the girl at the center of it, even if no one’s named me yet.
I reach my apartment door with my keys already in hand and try to force the thoughts from my mind. Home is where real life happens. The mess and the crayons and the chicken nuggets. I don’t get to be the scandal here. I’m just Mom.
I open the door, and immediately, I’m hit with the smell of baked pasta and Febreze.
“Mommy!” Lyra barrels into me first, loose hair flying, wearing one of her three rotating unicorn pajamas.
“Hey, baby.” I drop to my knees, kiss her forehead, and then feel the tug on my arm.
Levi’s behind her, quieter as always, but smiling. They both have my brown curls, and his dangle on his forehead. His dimples show when he’s proud of himself, and they’re showing now. “I did all my spelling words without help.”
“Of course you did,” I say, kissing his cheek. “You’re a genius.”
He grins and bolts back toward the living room, where I see flashcards and what looks like a half-built blanket fort spread across the carpet.
My mother steps out of the kitchen wiping her hands on a dish towel, wine glass already half-empty.
She’s in her usual uniform of an oversized T-shirt and leggings, and I’m so jealous of how comfortable she must be.
I get my hair from her, and now she has two pretty gray streaks that frame her face. I hope I go gray like her.
“You look exhausted,” she says, which is code for You look like shit.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Pasta’s on the stove. I made extra.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
She gives me a look, and I know she knows something’s off. But she doesn’t push. Not yet.
I toe off my heels, step over a LEGO minefield, and drop my bag by the hall table.
We eat dinner at the table—something we try to do at least a few nights a week.
It’s me, my mom, the twins, and way too much noise.
Lyra talks about a kid in her class who brought a tarantula for show-and-tell.
Levi explains how the moon affects the tides.
I nod, smile, encourage. My mom asks the kids about their homework. The usual.
But the whole time, I’m somewhere else. I keep thinking about Gavin’s hand on my hip. Jack’s mouth on my neck. Harrison’s body pressing into mine in that damn closet.
What am I doing?
When dinner ends, we clean up as a unit. I do dishes. My mom wipes down the counters. Levi and Lyra get their pajamas swapped for cleaner versions of the same and run around for twenty minutes pretending bedtime doesn’t exist.
Eventually, they crash, and we tuck them in. My mom and I settle onto the couch, just like we do most nights. Blanket. Trashy TV. A bottle of wine. It’s our ritual.
She waits until the first commercial break to speak. “Okay,” she says, refilling both glasses, “what’s going on?”
I hesitate. Then I lie. “Work is stressful.”
“Parker.”
I look at her.
She raises an eyebrow. “I’m not dumb.”
I swallow a gulp of wine and set the glass down. “I might be sleeping with my bosses.”
She blinks once. Slowly. “Plural?”
“Not officially—it’s all hush-hush.”
“Good Lord.”
I run a hand through my hair and laugh, but it’s humorless. “It’s…complicated.”
“No shit.”
“They’re Phil’s best friends.”
“I remember.”
“And now I work for them.”
She narrows her eyes. “Please tell me this started after they hired you.”
Dodging my history, I nod. “I didn’t plan it.”
“You never do. That’s the problem.”
We sit in silence for a few seconds.
She sighs. “Parker. You have two children.”
“I’m aware.”
“They rely on you. You don’t get to make messes like this. Not now. Not when your entire life could be turned upside down if someone finds out.”
“I know that.”
She studies me. “Do you?”
I look away.
“And what about Phil?”
I frown. “What about him?”
“You think he’s going to be okay with this?”
“Why would it matter? Phil has nothing to do with my sex life.”
She gives me a flat look. “That man took over as head of this family when your father died. He helped raise those kids when you were still trying to figure out how to breathe again. He’s been there every step of the way.”
“And I’m grateful. But he doesn’t get to control me.”
“No. But he’s protective. And you know exactly what kind of men his friends are.”
I bristle. “They’ve changed.”
“You really believe that?”
I do. I have to. “They’ve been…good to me.”
“Good to you? Or good at distracting you?”
My chest tightens. “It’s not like that.”
She shakes her head. “You’re sleeping with three men who could fire you in a heartbeat if they get bored. If they feel guilty. If Phil finds out and they choose him over you.”
That hits too hard. I pick up my wineglass and stare into it like it has answers. “Maybe,” I say finally. “But maybe it’s worth it.”
I hate this part.
The part where Mom gets that look—the one she gives me when she thinks I’m screwing up, even if she doesn’t say it out loud. The part where I start to feel like I’m seventeen again, instead of a grown-ass woman who pays her rent, folds tiny socks, and juggles two kids with a full-time job.
She picks up the remote and unpauses the show. Some dating train wreck where a woman named Sapphire is crying in a hot tub because three shirtless men can’t pick between her and her best friend.
I try to focus on the screen, but the words are still sitting there between us like wet concrete.
They’ve been good to me.
She’s not wrong—they could fire me. Or ghost me. Or tell HR some version of events that makes me the problem. That would be the story, wouldn’t it? The assistant who got too close. The one who “misread” the situation. Who made things weird.
But that’s not what’s happening. Right?
“They won’t turn on me,” I say finally, and my voice comes out smaller than I’d like.
She lowers the remote. Doesn’t pause the show this time, just mutes it. I can still see Sapphire sobbing in a sequined bikini in the background.
“I know what I’m doing,” I add. “I’m not naive.”
“No,” my mom says, setting her wineglass down. “You’re not naive. You’re exhausted. You’re lonely. And you’ve always been someone who wants to believe the best of people.”
“That’s not a flaw.”
“It is when it gets you hurt every time.”
I blink. That lands harder than I expect.
She sighs, softer now. “Parker. I’m not judging you. I’ve made my share of mistakes. I’m just asking you to think about what this becomes if it falls apart.”
“I have thought about that,” I say, and it’s almost true.
I’ve thought about what happens if someone recognizes my voice in the leak, or if it turns out I’m just a phase. A fun distraction for three powerful men who’ll get bored and move on the second it gets messy.
But I’ve also thought about what it’s been like these last few days.
Feeling wanted. It’s been so long. Jack looks at me like he still remembers how I tasted seven years ago. Like it’s haunted him. Gavin watches me like I’m a puzzle he wants to solve with his pierced cock. And Harrison? Harrison kissed me like he wanted to start a war over it.
They don’t feel casual. None of them do.
“Can I ask you something?” I say, not looking at her.
Mom nods.
“If they were three regular guys…would you still say I’m making a mistake?”
She’s quiet for a long time. “I’d say it’s still a risk. But maybe not a dangerous one.”
I finally turn to her. “Because they’re powerful?”
“Because they hold your career in their hands. Because they’re connected to your brother. Because there are power dynamics at play that even you can’t see clearly yet.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“No, that’s the problem,” she says gently. “Smart people always get themselves in trouble when they think they know better than everyone else.”
That hurts. But I don’t argue. Because a part of me is afraid she might be right.
She finishes her wine and stands, collecting the glasses. “I’m not trying to ruin this for you. I’m just trying to make sure you’re okay.”
“I know.”
She kisses the top of my head like she used to when I was little and scared of thunder. Then she takes the glasses into the kitchen and disappears down the hallway.
I stay there, sitting on the couch, muted TV flickering in front of me. My phone’s on the coffee table. No new texts. No missed calls. No messages from Jack, or Gavin, or Harrison.
I don’t know what I expected. They’re not mine. Not really.
They’re my bosses. Billionaires. Men with reputations to protect and entire companies at stake. This was never going to be easy. But I didn’t think I’d feel this…untethered. I glance down the hallway toward the kids’ bedroom.
Their night-light spills soft yellow into the hall. Lyra’s probably kicked her covers off again and Levi’s snuggled up with the same worn shark plushie he’s had since he was two. They’re safe. That’s what matters. Whatever I do—whatever mess I make—it has to come second to that.
Still.
I reach for my phone and open a blank message. I start typing something—nothing important. Just Hey . Then I delete it. I power off the screen and set the phone face-down.
This was never supposed to happen. But it did. And now I have to figure out how to live with it. Or let it go.
Neither option feels right.