Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Wendy
The office buzzes with its usual energy as I step off the elevator, but for once, my stomach isn't twisting itself into knots. Maybe it's the care package still lingering in my mind, or the memory of Scraps pouncing around like a lunatic with her new toy, but I feel... lighter today.
Lighter and, if I'm honest, a little braver.
That bravery fizzles slightly when I see Priya practically sprinting—or I suppose it’s more an energetic waddle—toward me. I've barely taken off my coat before she's at my desk, clutching a clipboard and radiating more energy than any pregnant woman I've ever seen.
"Wendy!" she chirps. "You're looking... less like a zombie today. That's good."
"Uh, thanks?" I mumble, hanging up my coat and giving her a wary look.
"Seriously, though, you're glowing. It's almost suspicious. Did something happen? Did you meet someone on your way home last night? Or... you won the lottery, didn't you? Can I borrow ten bucks?" She waggles her eyebrows at me like a loon, and I'm almost sorry that I've only got a few days left working with her.
"Priya, it's eight in the morning," I deadpan, booting up the computer.
"Right, too early for my brand of humor. I'll come back later," she says, but she winks as she retreats, clipboard in hand.
I roll my eyes but can't help smiling as I settle into my chair. The inbox is predictably packed, and I've barely finished answering the first email when Ethan's deep velvety voice cuts through the low hum of office chatter.
"Morning, Wendy,"
I glance up to find him leaning casually against my desk, tie loosened just enough to make him look like he just walked off the cover of some fancy business magazine.
"Morning," I reply, trying to figure out where he's going with this. They hovered yesterday, but still remained around the edges.
"Cole's got a surprise for you," he says, his lips quirking into the hint of a smirk.
I narrow my eyes. "What kind of surprise?"
Before Ethan can answer, Cole strides over, carrying what looks like... a casserole dish?
Cole clears his throat, looking adorably embarrassed, and seems to have some trouble meeting my eyes, which only increases my curiosity.
I blink at him, then at the dish. "What is this?"
"Mac and cheese," he says, setting it down on my desk with a reverence of someone placing a crown on a monarch.
"He made it for you last night. From scratch," Ethan interjects. "Cooking is his stress-relief activity, and his language of love, and his way of punishing me."
Cole crosses his arms, leaning on the edge of the desk. "It's no big deal, really."
"It is a big deal. He even let me grate the cheese, which he never does." Ethan snorts when Cole sends a scathing look his way. "And might I just say, I grated it perfectly."
I raise an eyebrow. "I feel like we're not even talking about mac and cheese anymore."
"Well, it's not just any mac and cheese," Cole says, looking offended. "This is the mac and cheese my momma used to make me whenever I had a bad day. It's life-changing mac and cheese. Go ahead, try it."
He holds out a fork, like he knew I'd give in to temptation, and I stick it into the casserole dish, suppressing a laugh as I take a bite. The moment the creamy, cheesy goodness hits my tongue, I can't help the loud, borderline indecent moan that escapes me.
Both men freeze, their eyes wide as they stare at me like I've just propositioned them for some indecent activities.
I feel my own cheeks heat, clearing my throat before responding. "It's good, okay?"
"Oh, I could tell," Ethan says, his smirk returning.
But then, in a truly spectacular display of clumsiness, Cole tries to shift the dish, and the entire thing tilts precariously before crashing to the floor in a cheesy explosion.
"No!" Cole yells, dropping to his knees like he's mourning a fallen comrade.
I'm laughing so hard I can barely breathe, tears streaming down my face as I clutch my stomach. Even Ethan, usually the more composed of the two, has to brace himself against the desk, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
"I... how... what even?" I can't get the words out between gasps.
Cole looks up at us, his face a mixture of horror and disbelief. "That's a tragedy, a crime ."
Before I can respond, Ethan steps back into the mess, his expensive shoes slipping out from under him. He goes down hard, landing flat on his back with an undignified oof .
That's it. I lose it completely, doubling over as laughter bubbles out of me uncontrollably.
"You're both disasters. Even more than I usually am," I manage to choke out, wiping my eyes.
Ethan glares at me from the floor, his tie askew and his hair slightly mussed. "This is your fault, pretty girl."
"How is this my fault?" I sputter, still laughing.
"You're the one who moaned over the mac and cheese," Cole says, deadpan.
Cole bursts out laughing at that, and for a moment we’re all just a ridiculous mess of giggles, cheese and chaos. Between the three of us we get it cleaned up before Cole takes Ethan home to get changed.
As the day wears on, their hovering becomes harder to ignore. Every time I turn around, one of them is there—whether it's Ethan casually leaning against the copier, or Cole dropping off some ridiculous snack at my desk.
And then there's me, flushing like a teenager and fighting the ridiculous urge to flirt back.
It’s just harmless fun, right? A little banter to make the day go by faster.
But every time I catch Cole's knowing smile, or feel Ethan's eyes lingering just a little too long, guilt creeps in like an unwelcome guest.
They're my bosses. They're married. To each other.
And I'm... just me.
The sensible part of my brain screams at me to keep my distance, to not even think about what it would feel like to let my guard down with them. To let them in.
But the other part, the reckless, lonely part, whispers that maybe—just maybe—it wouldn't be so bad.
By the time five o'clock rolls around, I'm exhausted, my emotions swirling between guilt, exhilaration and a low simmering lust.
"We're driving you home," Ethan announces as hesteps up to my desk.
I blink at him. "Uh, no, you're not."
"Yes, we are," Cole says, appearing beside him with that infuriatingly charming grin. "I lost an amazing casserole dish today. Help a guy out."
I cross my arms. "You two are insufferable."
"Yes, yes we are," Ethan agrees, ushering me toward the elevator.
The ride home is oddly cozy, the three of us falling into an easy rhythm of teasing and banter. It reminds me of the times I'd spent around Cole at the apartment he shared with Callum. When we pull up outside my apartment building, I almost don't want the night to end.
They insist on walking me to my door, of course, because apparently, they're incapable of not hovering.
"Well," I say, turning to face them. "Thanks for the ride. And the solitary bite of mac and cheese."
Cole chuckles reluctantly, scratching the back of his neck. "At least it was a good bite."
Before I can say anything in response, Ethan steps closer, his expression softening. "Goodnight, Wendy."
And then—because the universe is clearly sending me all kinds of signals—he leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek.
I barely have time to process that before Cole does the same, his lips brushing the other cheek.
My heart is racing so fast I'm sure they can hear it.
"See you tomorrow, pretty girl," Ethan says, his voice low and warm.
I nod, barely managing to squeak out a 'goodnight' before slipping inside and shutting the door.
I'm a mess of confusing emotions.
Disappointment that they didn't take it any further than a kiss on the cheek, excitement at the possibility of something, worry about being the office hussy.
But most importantly? Hope. That devastatingly dangerous hope.