Page 96 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
I walk past the reception desk.
Owen isn’t there. Usually, he’s perched on the edge of the desk, flirting with the receptionist or juggling stress balls. His absence feels like a hole in the room.
I walk past the design pit.
“Tessa!”
I stop moving. Sarah, the blue-haired lead designer, waves me over. She looks exhausted but exhilarated.
“Hey,” she grins, holding up a tablet. “Check this out. The final render for the Times Square billboard. It’s gorgeous. The black background makes the text pop like crazy. ‘You aren’t broken.’ It’s… honestly, Tess, it’s the best thing we’ve ever done.”
I stare at the image. It is beautiful. It’s my vision, brought to life by the team I’ve grown to love in almost a month.
“It looks great, Sarah,” I say, my voice hollow.
“Great? It’s going to win awards!” She looks at me closer, her grin fading. “You okay? You look kinda pale. Is Ethan riding you about the press kits?”
“I’m fine,” I force a smile. “Just launch nerves.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve been stress-eating gummy bears since 6 AM.” She nudges my arm. “We’re going to celebrate this weekend, right? After the launch? Drinks on Owen?”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Celebrate.”
I can’t look at her. I can’t look at the work I’m abandoning.
“I have to go,” I say abruptly. “Ethan is waiting.”
“Good luck in the lion’s den!” Sarah calls after me cheerfully.
I walk away, my heart twisting. I’m not just leaving a job. I’m leaving them. I’m leaving the people who welcomed me.
I walk past the server room. The door is closed. No sign of Asher.
I walk to my desk.
Ethan’s office door is open.
He is there. He is standing at his window, looking out at the city, his hands clasped behind his back. His posture is rigid, military.
He turns as I sit down.
Our eyes meet through the glass wall.
He knows.
I don’t know how he knows—maybe Asher told him I was coming in, maybe he just senses the disturbance in the force—but he knows things have changed.
He walks out of his office. He crosses the floor.
The chatter in the bullpen dies immediately. Everyone watches the CEO move. He moves like a storm front, dark and inevitable.
He stops at my desk.
“My office,” he says.
“I have work to do,” I say, not looking up from my blank screen. “The press releases need final approval.”
“My office,” he repeats. “Now.”
