Later That Night
Gigi's Loft, Wynwood
The space was pure Gigi—open concept, massive windows, street art on every wall (some real, some commissioned, some she'd done herself badly). Her friends were already there when she arrived, bottles open, music playing, the energy exactly what she needed.
"There she is!" screamed Mia, her best friend since high school, a stylist with hot pink hair and zero filter. "The Milan massacre! I saw every single walk. You ate and left no crumbs!"
Gigi dropped onto the couch, accepting a drink. "I'm exhausted. My dad dropped a bomb on me."
"Bomb?" Mia's eyes widened. "Good bomb or bad bomb?"
"Confusing bomb." Gigi took a long sip. "He wants me to fake date a billionaire for a merger."
The room went silent.
Then everyone started talking at once.
"Which billionaire?"
"Rivers Parker. Peevers guy."
"Oh shit, he's hot."
"Wait, fake date? Like publicly?"
"Can I be your assistant?"
Gigi held up a hand. "Everyone shut up for one second." They did. "I don't know anything yet. I meet him tomorrow. I'm wearing something boring. I'm being professional. And then I'm going to figure out what the hell is actually happening."
Mia leaned forward. "But is he hot? Like, actually hot? Because I've seen photos and he's fine, but photos lie."
"He's fine," Gigi admitted. "Quiet, apparently. My dad says he has no personality, he's boring, blahh blahh blahh."
"No personality?" Mia wrinkled her nose. "That's tragic. You have too much personality for two people."
"Exactly." Gigi grinned. "This is going to be a disaster and I'm not prepared for this."
"Your specialty."
They clinked glasses.
Outside, Miami pulsed with neon and noise. Inside, Gigi pushed thoughts of mergers and fathers and fake boyfriends aside. Tonight was for her. Tomorrow, she'd figure out the rest.
Her phone buzzed. Again.
Dad: "He's looking forward to meeting you. Try not to be too terrifying."
She typed back: "No promises."
Then she turned her phone face-down and dove back into reality.
*** *** ***
Miami, Florida
March 18th, 8:03 AM
Peevers Headquarters, Brickell Avenue
The building rose forty stories above Brickell Avenue, all glass and steel and sharp angles. Rivers Parker stepped out of his private elevator on the top floor at exactly 8:03 AM. Same time every day. The security guard on duty, Marcus, nodded once. Rivers nodded back.
No words needed. That was how he preferred it.
His office occupied the entire corner of the floor. Floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides gave him a view of the skyline to the north and the bay to the east. His desk was a slab of black marble, completely clear except for his laptop, a single fountain pen, and a leather notebook. No photos. No personal items. Nothing that could be used against him.
He sat down, opened his laptop, and began.
8:17 AM: Forty-seven emails reviewed. Thirty-two deleted. Fifteen requiring responses, which he dictated to his assistant via internal message.
8:43 AM: Video call with the Tokyo office. The new Peevers cosmetics line was exceeding projections. Rivers listened, asked three precise questions, and ended the call in eighteen minutes.
9:02 AM: His assistant, a efficient woman named Dana in her fifties who had zero tolerance for drama, appeared in his doorway.
"Mr. Parker. The Wells Resorts file has been updated. Harold Wells confirmed the meeting for tomorrow at ten AM."
Rivers looked up. "And the daughter?"
Dana's expression didn't change, but something flickered in her eyes. "Colette Wells arrived last night. She's... settling in."
"Settling in?"
"Apparently there was a party at her loft in Wynwood. Photos are already circulating."
She held out her tablet. Rivers took it.
The screen showed a woman laughing, drink in hand, surrounded by people with colored hair and too much energy. She was wearing something small and bright. Her head was thrown back, her mouth open, her entire body radiating the kind of joy Rivers found exhausting.
Gigi Wells. The model. The one from Instagram.
"Turn it off," he said, handing the tablet back.
Dana raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"The merger doesn't require her involvement," Rivers continued. "I'm meeting with Harold. The daughter is irrelevant."
"She's listed as a major shareholder. Twenty-three percent of Wells Resorts."
Rivers paused. "She owns nearly a quarter of the company?"
"Her mother's shares. Passed down when her mother was diagnosed with her current illness. Colette Wells has voting rights and veto power over any major decisions."
He absorbed this. A party girl with twenty-three percent of a hospitality empire. Perfect.
"Fine. She attends the meeting. She says nothing. We get the signatures."
Dana nodded, but didn't leave. "There's one more thing. Your mother called. She wanted to confirm Sunday dinner. She also mentioned that Jude would like to speak with you before then."
Rivers's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Jude can email me."
"He said it's about the merger. Something about the foreign trade angle."
"Foreign trade." Rivers's voice was flat. "Jude hasn't touched foreign trade in two years. He barely touches his desk."
"I'm just relaying the message, Mr. Parker."
He waved a hand. "Fine. Tell him I'll be at FUG Corp this afternoon for the board review. He can find me there."
Dana left. Rivers turned back to his laptop.
Jude wanted to talk. Jude always wanted to talk. About feelings, about family, about the past. Rivers had stopped listening a long time ago.
---
12:30 PM
FUG Corp Headquarters, Downtown Miami
The FUG Corp building was older than Peevers headquarters, a legacy structure from their father's era. Dark wood, marble floors, the smell of old money and older secrets. Rivers hated it.
He walked through the lobby, nodding at the receptionist who'd worked there for thirty years. The elevator took him to the executive floor, where his brother's office sat at the end of the hall.
Jude's door was open. Music was playing—something loud with a bass beat. Typical.
Rivers knocked once on the doorframe.
Jude looked up from his desk, a drink in his hand despite it being twelve-thirty in the afternoon. He grinned, the expression not quite reaching his eyes.
"Little brother. You actually came."
"Don't call me that." Rivers stepped inside but didn't sit. "You wanted to talk about the merger?"
Jude leaned back, swirling his drink. "Straight to business. Always. You know, most people start with 'how are you' or 'nice to see you.'"
"How are you?"
"Lonely. Drunk. Fantastic." Jude laughed at his own joke. "Sit down, Rivers. I'm not going to bite."
Rivers remained standing.
Jude's grin faded. "Fine. Stand like a statue. Whatever." He set down his drink. "The merger. Wells Resorts. I've been looking at the numbers."
"And?"
"And they're good. Almost too good. Harold Wells is desperate to close this deal. That means something's wrong."
"His health."
Jude blinked. "What?"
"Harold Wells is sick. That's why he's pushing. He wants his daughter taken care of before he dies."
"How do you know that?"
"I pay people to know things."
Jude stared at him for a long moment. Then he laughed, but it was different now—something darker underneath. "Of course you do. You pay people to know things. You pay people to handle things. You pay people so you never have to actually deal with anyone."
"Is there a point to this?"
"The point is, what do we actually get out of this merger? Wells Resorts is Canadian. Their properties are nice, but they're not Miami. They're not New York. They're not where our customers are."
"Expansion. Diversification. A foothold in hospitality." Rivers recited the points like reading a list. "We turn FUG and Peevers into a lifestyle brand. Resorts, spas, experiences, fashion houses. It's the next logical step."
"Logical." Jude shook his head. "Everything with you is logical. When's the last time you did something illogical? Something fun?"
Rivers didn't answer.
"I'll tell you," Jude continued. "Three years ago. When you threw Serena out. That was emotional. That was real. Everything since then has been robot mode."
Rivers felt something bitter settle in his chest. "Serena is not a topic for discussion."
"Why? Because I fucked her?"
The words hung in the air.
Rivers stared at his brother. Jude stared back, his expression a mix of defiance and something that looked almost like relief—like he'd been waiting to say it out loud for years.
"You want to talk about it?" Jude pressed. "Let's talk about it. I slept with your girlfriend. In your bed. For months. You found out, you ended it, and we've been pretending it didn't happen ever since. Mom thinks we can fix this with Sunday dinners. But we can't, can we? Because you hate me."
Rivers's voice was quiet. "I don't hate you."
"Then what? You're indifferent? That's worse."
"I don't think about you at all."
The words landed like a slap. Jude's face went through several expressions—hurt, anger, something broken—before settling on a hard smile.
"Right. Of course. The great Rivers Parker, too busy building his empire to waste brain space on his worthless brother." He picked up his drink again. "Fine. Have it your way. But I'm still on the board of FUG Corp. I still have a say in this merger. And I'm telling you now—I don't trust it."
"Noted."
"That's it? Noted?"
"What else do you want?"
Jude stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor. "I want you to see me. I want you to acknowledge that I exist. I want—" He stopped, running a hand through his hair. "Forget it. You're not capable."
Rivers turned to leave.
"Rivers."
He paused at the door.
"Serena's back in town."
The words hit him like a physical blow. He didn't turn around.
"I saw her at a party last week," Jude continued. "She looks good. She asked about you."
Rivers walked out.
Jude remained, wearing a dark smile on his face.
---
3:47 PM
Rivers's Office, Peevers Headquarters
Back in his space. Back where he had total control. Rivers sat at his desk, staring at the Wells Resorts file, his mind hovering about the news he had heard.
Serena was back.
He hadn't thought about her in months. Had trained himself not to. She was a wound that had finally scarred over, and Jude had just ripped it open again.
He remembered coming home early that day. Remembered the sound from his bedroom. Remembered opening the door and seeing them tangled in his sheets. The shock on their faces. Serena's pathetic attempts to explain. Jude's silence.
He hadn't yelled. Hadn't thrown things. Had simply said, "Get out. Both of you." And they had.
Three years. He hadn't dated since. Hadn't wanted to. Had thrown himself into work instead, building Peevers into something that mattered, something that couldn't betray him.
His phone buzzed.
Dana: "Harold Wells confirmed for tomorrow. His daughter will attend. Shall I prepare the standard meeting room?"
Rivers typed back: "Yes. And have coffee available. The good kind."
Dana: "The Italian roast?"
Rivers: "Yes."
Dana: "Anything else?"
He hesitated. Then typed: "Research Colette Wells. Public profiles, social media, any press. I want to know what we're dealing with."*
Dana: "Already done. Sending now."
A file appeared in his inbox. Rivers opened it.
Colette "Gigi" Wells
Age: 26
Born: Montreal, Canada / Miami, Florida
Education: New York University, dropped out after two years
Occupation: Model (current), previously freelance artist, briefly a bartender
Known for: Viral runway moments, high-profile parties, dating various musicians and athletes (none serious)
There were photos. Dozens of them. Gigi on runways in Paris, Milan, New York. Gigi at clubs, laughing. Gigi on yachts, drinking. Gigi with her arm around famous people, always the center of attention, always glowing.
One photo caught his attention. She was at some event, dressed in red, looking directly at the camera with an expression that wasn't quite a smile. It was challenging. Almost defiant. Like she dared the world to try her.
Rivers closed the file.
She was beautiful. That was irrelevant. She was chaotic and loud. That was a problem.
Tomorrow, he would meet Colette Wells. He would be polite, professional, and completely uninterested. He would secure the merger, protect his company, and move on.
Simple.
---
9:12 PM
Rivers's Penthouse, Brickell
The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet, maybe, but Rivers preferred it that way. No music. No television. Just the hum of the city forty floors below.
He stood at the window, a glass of water in his hand, watching the lights of Miami pulse and flicker. Somewhere out there, Jude was drinking. Somewhere out there, Serena was smiling at some party, pretending she hadn't destroyed him.
And somewhere out there, Colette Wells was probably doing shots with strangers, completely unaware that tomorrow she'd be sitting across from a man who could change her life.
His phone buzzed.
Mom: "Sunday dinner. 5 PM. Your brother confirmed. Don't be late. I love you."
He didn't respond.
Tomorrow, he would meet the heiress. Sunday, he would sit across from the brother who'd betrayed him. And every day, he would keep moving forward, because stopping meant feeling, and feeling meant breaking.
Rivers Parker did not break.
He set down the water glass and walked to his bedroom.
---