Page 80 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
He owns me.
He knows exactly how desperate I am right now, and he’s using it as a weapon.
“You wouldn’t,” I whisper.
“I would,” he says. “You think I want you here? You’re a distraction.”
He steps closer, looming over me, his voice dropping to a rough whisper.
“But if you leave, you become a variable I can’t control. And I don’t tolerate loose variables. You stay where I can see you.”
I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.
This isn’t the man who held me in the dark. This isn’t the man who whispered my name like a prayer. This is the CEO. The soldier.
“You’re a monster,” I whisper.
“I am a man who keeps his word,” he counters, straightening up and adjusting his cuffs. “I told you I wasn’t the good guy. You didn’t believe me.”
He picks up the resignation letter. “Since you don’t have the liquidity to execute this…” He rips it in half. Then in half again. He drops the pieces into the trash bin. “You’re staying,” he says. “You will finish the campaign. You will attend the launch party. You will do your job.”
“And us?” I ask, my voice trembling with rage. “What about us?”
“There is no us,” Ethan says. “There never was. From this moment on, we are strictly professional. You report to me on strategy. Nothing else. I don’t care who you talk to. I don’t care who you date. I don’t care who you sleep with.”
He leans in, his face inches from mine. His eyes are cold, but there is a fire burning deep within them that contradicts his words.
“You’re free, Tessa,” he lies. “Do whatever you want. Just do your job.”
I hate him. In this moment, I hate him more than I have ever hated anyone in my life.
“Fine,” I hiss. “You want to be professional? I’ll give you professional.”
I turn on my heel.
“Tessa,” he calls out.
I pause at the door, but I don’t look back.
“Cover the mark on your neck better next time,” he says softly. “The concealer is cakey.”
I slam the door so hard the glass walls rattle.
I’m shaking again.
I stand in the break room, gripping the edge of the counter, trying to breathe.
He trapped me. He actually trapped me.
“You’re gripping that counter like you want to snap it in half,” a voice says.
I look up.
Owen is standing in the doorway. He looks tentative, unsure. The swagger is gone.
“I do,” I say. “Your brother.”
Owen winces. He walks into the room, closing the door behind him. “I heard the door slam. The whole office did.”
