Page 17 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
I collapse into my chair. The office is quieter now. The afternoon slump has hit.
My phone buzzes on the desk. It’s a text from Harper.
Harper: Hey bestie!! How is Day 1??? Are my brothers treating you like royalty? If Ethan is being a grump, tell me, and I will call mom.
I stare at the screen. A wave of guilt washes over me, so heavy I actually slump forward. She has no idea. She thinks this is a fun, nepotism-fueled adventure. She doesn’t know I accidentally sexted them. She doesn’t know Ethan called me a liability. She doesn’t know Owen just told me we have chemistry.
I need to talk to someone. I need to vent. But I can’t tell her the truth. I start typing, trying to find a safe way to explain the stress.
Me: It’s… intense. They’re very serious about the launch. Ethan is definitely in CEO mode
I pause. Almost immediately, the gray typing bubbles appear, dancing at the bottom of the screen.
Harper: LOL typical. Just ignore him. He barks but he doesn’t bite. And what about Owen? Is he flirting with all the interns yet?
I wince. No, just me.
I type out the reply:
Me: Owen is fine. Just showing me the ropes
My thumb hovers over the send button. A heavy knot of guilt settles in my stomach. We don’t lie to each other. We’ve shared everything since we were six—every crush, every heartbreak, every secret.
But if I tell her the truth, that her brother just looked at me like I was the only person in the room, I’ll lose this job and I’ll lose her trust.
I close my eyes and hit Send. It feels like swallowing glass.
I hesitate, my fingers poised over the glass screen again. I want to ask her about them. I want to ask if they’ve always been this… overwhelming. I want to ask if Asher ever speaks, or if he just communicates in binary code and intense stares.
“You’re lying to her.”
I yelp, dropping my phone on the desk with a clatter. I spin around.
Asher is standing right behind my chair. I didn’t hear him approach. The man moves like a ninja in a hoodie.
“Jesus, Asher!” I press a hand to my chest, my heart trying to escape my ribcage. “Do you have a bell? You need to wear a bell.”
Asher doesn’t smile. He’s looking at my phone screen, which is still lit up with the chat.
“You’re downplaying it,” he says. His voice is quiet, flat. “You told her it’s ‘intense.’ That’s a euphemism.”
I snatch my phone up, turning it face down. “It’s a private conversation.”
“It’s on company time,” he counters, but there’s no heat in it. He walks around my desk and places something on the glass surface.
It’s a small, white paper bag from a bakery down the street. And a bottle of green tea.
I blink, looking from the bag to him. “What is this?”
“I saw you from the server room door,” Asher says. He leans against the edge of my glass partition, crossing his arms. “You ate two tomatoes and then snapped a plastic fork like it had personally offended you.”
My mouth falls open. “You saw that?”
“I notice patterns,” he says simply. “You didn’t eat enough. Low blood sugar leads to cognitive decline and irritability. Hence, the fork destruction.” He nods at the bag. “Eat.”
I reach out and open the bag. Inside is a massive, dark chocolate brownie. God, it smells heavenly. My stomach growls.
“I… thank you,” I say, looking up at him. “This is…”
