Page 13 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
“Right,” Tessa nods. “Results.”
She’s looking me in the eye, but I can see the rapid, betraying beat in the hollow of her throat. She’s terrified. Good.
“Did you bring the signed contract?” I ask, holding out my hand.
“Yes.” She reaches into her bag. For a split second, I worry she’s going to pull out her phone—that damned phone with the group chat history. But she pulls out a crisp blue folder instead. She hands it to me.
Our fingers brush.
Her skin is hot, and the contact burns, traveling up my arm to settle heavily in my chest. Tessa pulls her hand back quickly, her breath catching.
“Signed and dated,” she says, her voice a little breathless.
“Good.” I open the folder, pretending to scan the signature just to give myself a moment to recalibrate. “Owen will get you set up with your keycard and your login credentials. Your desk isthe glass one over there. It has the best view of the city, which usually means it’s the most distracting, so try to focus.”
“I’m very focused,” she says quietly.
“We have a team stand-up at ten,” I continue, snapping the folder shut. “I expect you to have reviewed the current user acquisition stats by then. They’re on the shared drive. Can you handle that?”
It’s a challenge. I’m being an ass, and I know it. I’m trying to push her away, to establish the hierarchy, and to remind us both that I am the boss and she is the employee.
Tessa’s hazel eyes narrow slightly. The nervousness evaporates, replaced by a flash of that stubbornness I remember from when we were much younger.
“I reviewed the acquisition stats this weekend,” she says, in a cool tone. “Your retention rate drops by twenty percent after the first week. It’s not a user acquisition problem. It’s an onboarding engagement problem. You’re getting them to the door, but you aren’t giving them a reason to stay inside.”
Silence stretches across the lobby.
Owen lets out a low whistle. “Damn. She did her homework.”
Asher steps forward from the shadows, his interest piqued. “She’s right. The drop-off correlates with the profile completion step. It’s too long.”
I stare at her. She isn’t backing down. She’s challenging me on my own data. And God help me, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.
“Fine,” I manage to say, keeping my face impassive. “Then fix it. That’s what we hired you for.”
“I intend to,” she says.
“Good.” I turn on my heel. “Owen, give her the tour. Don’t take all day.”
I march back into my office and shut the door with a snap. I walk to my desk and sink into the leather chair, exhaling a harsh rush of air that sounds too loud in the stillness. My heart is thumping against my ribs like I just ran a sprint.
This is going to be a disaster.
I’m trying to work. I really am. But every time I look up, she’s there.
Her desk is directly in my line of sight. I can see the back of her head, the curve of her neck as she leans over her keyboard. She’s been working for four hours straight. No lunch. No breaks except for one trip to the coffee machine.
She’s driven. I respect that. But I also hate that Owen keeps stopping by her desk.
He’s there right now, sitting on the edge of her desk, swinging his leg, holding a stack of papers. He’s laughing and leans down, whispering something in her ear.
Tessa smiles. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
A sharp, irrational spike of anger stabs through me. Professional boundaries, Owen.
I stand up without thinking. I walk to the door, yank it open, and stride across the floor.
“Owen,” I bark.
