Chapter 4 Tessa
TESSA
My plastic fork snaps in my hand.
I stare down at the decapitated utensil resting in my half-eaten kale salad, fighting the urge to scream.
You’re a liability, Tessa.
The words echo in my head, bouncing around my skull like a pinball. Ethan’s voice was low, rough, and terrifyingly intimate when he said it. He leaned into my space, his expensive cologne clouding my senses, and basically told me that I am a walking disaster zone.
And then he ordered me to eat my lunch like I’m a toddler.
“Arrogant, controlling, infuriating jerk,” I mutter, stabbing a cherry tomato with the jagged remains of my fork.
I shove the salad away. I’m not hungry. I’m wired. My blood is humming with a mixture of caffeine and adrenaline. I want to quit. I want to pack up my leather tote, march into his office, throw my badge on his black marble desk, and storm out.
But I can’t. First, because Harper would be devastated. Second, because I have never walked away from a challenge in my life. And third… because he’s right.
I look at the dual monitors in front of me.
I’ve spent the last four hours digging into the backend of Mosaic, and the data doesn’t lie.
The app is brilliant. The matching algorithm that Asher wrote is a thing of beauty; it connects people based on micro-interests and communication styles in a way I’ve never seen before.
But the branding is clinical. It’s cold.
It feels like a piece of software, not a community.
It needs me.
“Talking to your salad is the first sign of a corporate breakdown,” a voice drawls out from above me.
I look up. Owen is standing there, leaning his hip against the edge of my glass partition.
He’s ditched his suit jacket, rolling the sleeves of his white dress shirt up to his elbows to reveal forearms that have no business being that muscular for a guy who works in tech.
He’s grinning. It’s the same grin he gave me at the party right before he told me I made a bold choice.
“I’m not talking to the salad,” I lie, sweeping the plastic container into the trash bin. “I’m brainstorming.”
“Aggressively?” Owen raises an eyebrow. “You looked like you were trying to murder that tomato.”
“It looked at me wrong.”
Owen laughs, a rich, easy sound that draws the attention of a few developers across the aisle. “Come on. Ethan banished me from your desk earlier, but he didn’t say I couldn’t kidnap you.”
I stiffen. “Kidnap me?”
“For the tour,” Owen clarifies, pushing off the glass. “You’ve been chained to this desk since you walked in. You haven’t seen the rest of the kingdom. And as the Lead Brand Strategist, you need to know what you’re selling.”
I glance toward Ethan’s office. The blinds are drawn. He’s hiding. Or working. Or brooding about liabilities.
“Is this an official onboarding activity?” I ask skeptically. “Or are you just trying to avoid the budget meeting?”
“A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B.” Owen winks. He extends a hand. “Come on, Tess. Let me show you the magic.”
I hesitate, looking at his hand. It’s large, broad-palmed. I remember the text message. You better have good security, because you’re going to cause a riot.
Every interaction with them feels like walking a tightrope. One slip, and I fall back into the memory of Friday night. But I can’t hide at my desk forever. I stand up, ignoring his hand.
“Lead the way.”
The Mosaic office is deceptive. The main floor, where my desk and the executive offices are, is all glass, chrome, and hushed efficiency. It screams “High-Stakes Tech Company.”
But the floor below is chaos.
“This,” Owen announces as the elevator opens, “is where the actual work happens.”
The noise hits me first. Music is thumping from invisible speakers, some kind of lo-fi hip hop. The space is wide open, cluttered with whiteboards, beanbag chairs, and desks covered in action figures and tangled wires. It smells like coffee and dry-erase markers.
“Design and UX on the left, front-end Devs on the right,” Owen explains, guiding me through the maze. He walks close to me. A little too close. His arm brushes against mine as we navigate around a cluster of standing desks.
“Everyone,” Owen claps his hands. The room quiets down. About twenty heads turn toward us. “Eyes up. This is Tessa. She’s the new Brand Lead. She’s the one who’s going to make us look cool so we can finally buy that island we talked about.”
A ripple of laughter goes through the room.
A woman with bright blue hair and a nose ring spins her chair around. “Finally. Does this mean we can stop using ‘Synergy’ in our press releases? I die a little inside every time I type it.”
“Yes,” I say immediately. “Synergy is banned. So is ‘paradigm shift’ and ‘disruptor.’”
The woman grins. “I like her. She can stay.”
“That’s Sarah,” Owen murmurs in my ear. His breath tickles my neck, giving me goosebumps. “Lead Designer. She hates everything, so if she likes you, you’re golden.”
I step slightly away from him, trying to put a professional distance between us. “Nice to meet you, Sarah. I’d love to see the new wireframes later.”
“Anytime.”
Owen guides me deeper into the room. He introduces me to the team—Mark in coding, Jen in QA, David in copy. He’s charming, effortless. He remembers everyone’s name, asks about their weekend, jokes about their coffee habits.
It’s easy to see why he’s the face of the company—at least to the people on the payroll. To the rest of the world, he’s a ghost, but in this room, he’s the sun. Ethan provides the structure, Asher provides the genius, but Owen provides the energy. He makes people feel seen.
“They love you,” I observe as we walk toward the back of the room, where a wall of windows overlooks the river.
“They tolerate me because I sign the expense reports,” Owen shrugs, leaning against the glass. He crosses his ankles, studying me. The playful grin fades slightly, replaced by something warmer, more serious. “You’re good at this, you know.”
“Good at what? Walking?”
“Fitting in,” Owen says. “Most corporate hires come down here and look at the creative team like they’re zoo animals. You jumped right in. You speak their language.”
“I am a creative, Owen. Just because I wear a blazer doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use Adobe.”
“True.” His gaze drops, sweeping over my cream blouse and navy trousers. “Though I have to admit, I miss the red dress.”
My heart stammers. I look around quickly to make sure no one heard him. The team is back to work, headphones on. We’re isolated in this corner by the window.
“Owen,” I whisper. “Stop.”
“What?” He widens his eyes innocently. “It was a nice dress. The kind of dress that starts wars.”
“It was a mistake,” I say, my voice low. “A huge, embarrassing mistake. And Ethan made it very clear this morning that he’s strictly my boss, nothing else. We aren’t talking about it.”
“Ethan isn’t here,” Owen says. He takes a step closer, invading my personal space again. “And I never agreed to anything. I liked it. And I liked the question.”
“You shouldn’t,” I argue, though my pulse is betraying me. “I’m your employee. I’m your sister’s best friend.”
“I know,” Owen sighs, looking genuinely torn. He reaches out, his fingers hovering near my elbow before he drops his hand. “Believe me, I know. That’s the only reason I’m not asking you what you’re doing for dinner.”
“I’m working late,” I say quickly. “I have retention reports to finish.”
“Of course you do.” He shakes his head, a wry smile playing on his lips. “You’re just like Ethan. You think you can solve everything with work.”
“It’s better than solving it with… whatever this is.”
“This,” Owen says softly, “is chemistry, Tess. And you can’t PR your way out of it.”
He stares at me for another second, his green eyes dark and searching. Then, he pushes off the glass, the mask of the charming boss sliding back into place.
“Come on,” he says brightly. “Let’s go check the server room. It’s Asher’s cave. If we’re lucky, he won’t hiss at us.”
By the time I get back to my desk, my brain is fried.
The tour was exhaustive. Owen showed me everything, from the marketing archives to the rooftop terrace.
We even checked the server room, but Asher wasn’t there—Owen joked that he was probably absorbing data through osmosis somewhere else.
He’d been a shadow in the corner of my vision all day, but he hadn’t so much as acknowledged my presence.
I still haven’t officially met the third Phantom.
I collapse into my chair. The office is quieter now. The afternoon slump has hit.
My phone buzzes on the desk. It’s a text from Harper.
Harper: Hey bestie!! How is Day 1??? Are my brothers treating you like royalty? If Ethan is being a grump, tell me, and I will call mom.
I stare at the screen. A wave of guilt washes over me, so heavy I actually slump forward.
She has no idea. She thinks this is a fun, nepotism-fueled adventure.
She doesn’t know I accidentally sexted them.
She doesn’t know Ethan called me a liability.
She doesn’t know Owen just told me we have chemistry.
I need to talk to someone. I need to vent. But I can’t tell her the truth. I start typing, trying to find a safe way to explain the stress.
Me: It’s… intense. They’re very serious about the launch. Ethan is definitely in CEO mode
I pause. Almost immediately, the gray typing bubbles appear, dancing at the bottom of the screen.
Harper: LOL typical. Just ignore him. He barks but he doesn’t bite. And what about Owen? Is he flirting with all the interns yet?
I wince. No, just me.
I type out the reply:
Me: Owen is fine. Just showing me the ropes
My thumb hovers over the send button. A heavy knot of guilt settles in my stomach. We don’t lie to each other. We’ve shared everything since we were six—every crush, every heartbreak, every secret.