Page 14 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
They both jump. Owen looks up, entirely unrepentant. Tessa looks guilty, even though she hasn’t done anything wrong.
“Hey, boss,” Owen says. “Just getting Tessa up to speed on the press kit.”
“The press kit is digital,” I clip out. “You don’t need to sit on her desk to explain a PDF.”
Owen rolls his eyes, sliding off the desk. “Relax, E. We’re brainstorming.”
“We’re working,” Tessa corrects him quickly, looking at me. “I was just asking about the tone for the launch interviews. I think we need to pivot away from the ‘tech genius’ angle and focus more on the ‘human connection’ aspect.”
She’s good. She pivots to work instantly to defuse the tension.
“The human connection is the point,” I say, stepping closer to her desk. I rest my hands on the back of her chair, leaning in slightly. I smell her—sweat and cheap jasmine. It’s the same scent from the party. “But we can’t sell a connection if the product crashes. Owen, the marketing budget needs your approval. Now, please.”
“Slave driver,” Owen mutters, offering Tessa a mocking two-finger salute before heading downstairs.
Now it’s just me and her.
The open-plan office is busy—coders with headphones, designers sketching on tablets—but in this little bubble of space,it feels like we’re alone. Tessa stares at her screen, typing furiously, ignoring me.
“You didn’t eat lunch,” I say.
Her fingers pause. “I’m not hungry.”
“Liar,” I say softly.
She looks up at me then. Her eyes are defiant. “I’m busy, Mr. Branson. I have a retention problem to fix.”
“Ethan,” I correct her. “And you can’t fix anything if you pass out from low blood sugar. Order something. Put it on the company card.”
“I brought a salad,” she says. “It’s in the fridge.”
“Then eat it.”
“Are you micromanaging my lunch break now?”
“I’m managing my assets,” I say, my voice dropping an octave. “You’re an expensive asset, Tessa. I need you to run at peak efficiency.”
“Is that all I am?” She tilts her head, her gaze locking onto mine. “An asset?”
The tension snaps tight between us. It’s the same magnetic pull from Friday night. The same Red or Black challenge.
I lean down, bringing my face close to hers. I lower my voice so only she can hear.
“You’re a liability, Tessa,” I murmur. “You’re a distraction. And you’re the most dangerous thing in this building.”
Her breath hitches. Her lips part slightly.
I want to kiss her. I want to pull her out of that chair, drag her into my office, lock the door, and ruin every single professional boundary I just set up.
But I don’t. I straighten up, adjusting my cuffs.
“Eat your salad,” I command. “That’s an order.”
I walk away before I do something stupid.
4
TESSA
