Page 99 of Sexting My Best Friend's Brothers
Ethan stares at me. He looks like I just shot him in the chest.
“Tessa,” he rasps. “Don’t.”
“It’s just business, Ethan,” I say, echoing his words from Monday morning. “Strictly professional.”
I turn around. I walk to the door.
“If you sign that,” Ethan says, his voice low and dangerous, vibrating through the glass walls, “you are declaring war.”
I pause, my hand on the handle.
“I think the war started the moment I sent that accidental text,” I say.
I walk out. I walk past the bullpen.
I see Owen entering the office, holding two coffees. He sees me. He smiles, a tentative, hopeful smile, stepping forward as if to intercept me.
I look away. I can’t handle his guilt right now.
I see Asher coming out of the server room. He watches me, his face impassive, but his eyes intense, tracking my movement like I’m a piece of code deleting itself.
I keep walking. I go to my desk. I sit down.
I open the PDF on my phone.
I stare at the signature line.
I’m going to do it. I’m going to leave. I’m going to save myself.
But as I look at the executive suite—the three men who have consumed my life, my body, and my heart for the last month—I realize something terrifying.
Leaving them won’t be freedom. It will be an amputation.
17
OWEN
The door to Ethan’s office slams shut so hard the vibration seems to ripple through the entire floor.
I step out of the break room just in time to see Tessa storming toward the elevators. She doesn’t look back. She doesn’t hesitate. She’s swiping furiously at her eyes, walking with the kind of precise stride that usually belongs to Ethan—a march that says: Burn the bridge. Don’t look back.
“Fuck,” I breathe out. I know that look. She’s reached her breaking point.
I look at the coffee cups in my hands. I bought her a vanilla latte with oat milk because I noticed three days ago that dairy makes her bloat slightly, even though she denies it. I bought it as a peace offering. As an excuse to see her smile.
Now, the cups feel heavy and stupid in my hands.
I drop them.
They hit the carpet with a dull thud, hot latte splashes over my shoes and soaking the cuffs of my trousers.
I don’t care.
I run, ignoring the hot, sticky liquid seeping into my socks with every stride. I sprint past the reception desk, ignoring the startled look from the receptionist.
I hit the hallway just as the elevator doors are sliding shut. I jam my hand into the gap. The sensors trigger, and the doors bounce back open.
Tessa is standing inside. She jumps, clutching her purse to her chest.
