Page 194 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“Yeah,” I say.
Harper reaches out. She places her hand gently on my stomach. She stares at it, her brow furrowed in concentration.
“I’m your Aunt Harper,” she whispers to my belly. “Your mom is crazy. Your dads are weirdos. But I’m the cool one. Remember that.”
She pulls her hand back and clears her throat, instantly shifting back into business mode.
“Okay,” Harper says, clapping her hands and turning to the boys. “Strategic meeting. The internet thinks you’re perverts. Mom hates you. And you have forty-eight hours before Sterling triggers the Morality Clause to strip your Series B funding. What’s the plan?”
“We survive,” Ethan says, letting go of her and pulling me into his side. “We thrive. And we show them love doesn’t follow a rulebook.”
“And we eat this,” Owen adds, grabbing the takeout bag Harper brought. He peers inside. “Vegan deep-dish with cashew cheese?”
“Because dairy makes her bloat,” Harper says, slapping his hand away. “I’m mad at her, but I’m not trying to give her gas. You get the crust.”
I laugh, reaching into the box and pulling out a slice of pizza. I take a bite, the hot cheese burning my tongue.
The forty-eight-hour clock is ticking down, but as I look at Harper arguing with Owen over the crusts, my hands finally stop shaking.
35
ASHER
The penthouse is quiet.
We’re forty-six hours into the forty-eight-hour injunction Ethan’s legal team secured. The board vote convenes in exactly two hours.
It’s a rare state of stillness for this environment. Usually, it’s filled with Owen’s music, Ethan’s pacing, or the hum of the servers I maintain in the climate-controlled closet. But right now, the only sound is the rhythmic swish of the dishwasher and the soft breathing of the woman seated on the kitchen island.
Tessa is staring at her phone. Her vitals appear stable—respiration steady, no visible tremors—but her cortisol has been elevated for two days.
I walk into the kitchen, placing a glass of water and a prenatal vitamin on the counter beside her thigh.
“Hydrate,” I instruct.
She looks up, offering a faint smile as she picks up the pill. “You’re like a very handsome, very bossy version of Alexa.”
“Alexa is a cloud-based voice service reacting to commands,” I correct her, stepping between her legs as she sits on the edge of the counter. “I anticipate your needs before you verbalize them. There’s a distinction.”
She swallows the vitamin and chases it with water.
“Your dad has excellent grip strength,” I note. “He nearly cracked the veneer on the elevator button when he left.”
Tessa laughs, setting the glass down. She wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me closer. “He liked you guys. In his own way.”
“He threatened to shoot us,” I correct her. “With a shotgun. He was quite specific about the caliber.”
“That’s his love language,” she says. “Protective violence.”
I nod. “Acceptable. That indicates a high protective instinct. It correlates with our own data. He’s an ally, not a threat.”
Tessa giggles, the sound vibrating against my chest. It lowers my blood pressure by four points instantly.
“You’re not upset? That they know? That they think we’re weird?”
“We are weird, Tessa,” I say, resting my hands on her hips. “We’re a statistical anomaly. A deviation from the norm. But in nature, anomalies are often where evolution occurs. Why would I be upset if your progenitors want to ensure your safety? It saves me the trouble of vetting them.”
“You’re impossible,” she whispers, leaning her forehead against mine. “But you’re right. They want us to visit. Once the circus leaves town.”
