Page 94 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
I am alone.
I sink onto the floor.
I don’t leave immediately. I can’t.
I sit on the floor of my living room, staring at the empty space where my roommate’s couch used to be. The dust bunnies dance in the sunlight and mock me.
The reality of my situation hits me.
I have slept with my bosses. My best friend is in Paris, blissfully unaware that I have betrayed her trust three times over.
And now, thanks to Asher’s honesty, the brothers know.
Ethan knows. Ethan, who threatened to sue me. Ethan, who controls my paycheck. Ethan, who looked at me with cold, dead eyes and backed me into a financial corner.
I look over at the small desk in the corner. I don’t need to open the blue folder to know what the contract says. I memorized it the day I signed it, desperate to replace Daniella’s share of the rent. Fifty thousand dollars. Immediate repayment upon termination.
If I stay, it’s a soap opera that will inevitably blow up in my face. The tension is unsustainable. Harper will find out. The press will find out. The guilt will eat me alive.
But if I walk away, I’m bankrupt. If Ethan sues me, I lose everything. I move back to Ohio. I become the failure my father always worried I’d be.
I can’t take Asher’s money. He offered, but I can’t do it. It makes me a “kept woman.” It validates everything Ethan thinks about me—that I’m just a mess they have to clean up.
I need a third option. I need leverage. I need money that doesn’t come with strings attached to a Branson.
I stand up, my legs shaky but my resolve hardens into something brittle and sharp.
I grab my laptop and pull up LinkedIn.
I dig through my archived messages, scrolling past the generic recruiter spam until I find the notification I hid on Tuesday. The one I swiped away because it felt like treason. It’s from the shark who smells blood.
Markus Vance.
He’s a Vice President at Nebula, Mosaic’s biggest competitor. He’s been blowing up my inbox since the “Be Seen” teaser went viral last week. They are corporate, soulless, and massive.
Markus tried to recruit me right out of college, and he’s been trying again ever since the industry caught wind of the campaign. He was arrogant, pushy, and treated branding like warfare—everything I hated.
But right now, he looks like a lifeline.
I find his number. I stare at it.
Calling him is treason. It is the ultimate betrayal. If I go to Nebula, I will take Mosaic’s DNA with me.
You aren’t broken. You’re just buffering.
I came up with that. That’s mine. If I leave, can I take it? Probably not. But I can take the brain that made it.
“Survival first,” I whisper, echoing Ethan’s own philosophy.
I dial.
It rings twice.
“Tessa Hartley,” Markus’s smooth, oily voice answers. He doesn’t sound surprised. “I knew you’d call. I saw the engagement numbers on the beta launch this morning. You’re wasting that talent on a startup, Tessa.”
“I’m accepting the offer,” I say, my voice shaking only slightly.
“Smart girl. I can’t get a VP contract through HR in an hour, but I can onboard you as an Executive Consultant today. Same pay, same path to the C-suite. Effective immediately.”
