Chapter 5 Owen #2
Ten minutes later, Perla’s is bustling, filled with the hum of conversation and the clatter of silverware. We snag a table on the patio, sitting under a large oak tree draped with lights. It’s a beautiful Austin day—sunny, warm, with a light breeze.
It feels like a date. It definitely feels like a date.
Tessa seems to realize it too. She’s fidgeting with her napkin, looking everywhere but at me.
“So,” she says, grabbing her water glass a little too tight. “Appetizers. I was thinking we should avoid anything messy. No ribs, no heavy sauces. People will be holding drinks and networking.”
“Agreed,” I say, leaning forward, resting my elbows on the table. “We need elegant finger foods. Maybe those little crab cakes?”
“Crab cakes are good,” she nods, relaxing a fraction. “And maybe bruschetta? It’s colorful.”
We talk about the menu for about ten minutes. She’s smart, decisive. She has good taste. I watch her hands as she talks, the way she animates her points. She’s passionate about this job. It’s sexy as fuck.
“And the oysters,” I add.
The waiter arrives with a silver platter of them on ice before she can protest.
“I didn’t order these,” Tessa says, eyeing the shells warily.
“I pre-ordered,” I grin. “Perks of being a regular. Try one.”
“I don’t know if oysters are the best ‘networking food,’ Owen. They’re messy.”
“Only if you do it wrong.”
I pick up a shell. It’s cold and rough against my fingers. I garnish it with a squeeze of lemon and a drop of hot sauce.
“Watch,” I instruct.
Tessa watches, her gaze locked on my mouth.
I tip the shell back, sliding the oyster into my mouth, swallowing it smooth and slow. I lick a drop of lemon juice from my bottom lip.
Tessa’s breath hitches. It’s a tiny sound, but I hear it.
“Your turn,” I challenge, holding out a prepared shell to her.
She hesitates, looks at the oyster, then at me. The space between us shrinks, pressurized by the unspoken thing we aren’t allowed to talk about.
“It’s just an oyster, Tess,” I tease softly. “Don’t be scared.”
“I’m not scared.”
She takes the shell from my hand. Her fingers brush mine.
She lifts it to her lips. She tips her head back, exposing the long, elegant line of her throat. I watch the muscles work as she swallows.
She closes her eyes for a second, savoring the brine and the heat of the sauce, her tongue darting out to catch a stray drop on her lip.
Fuck.
My grip on the table edge tightens until the wood groans under my fingers. She opens her eyes. They are dark and dilated.
“Good?” I ask, the word scraping against my throat.
“Salty,” she whispers. “And… unexpected.”
“Aphrodisiacs usually are.”
She flushes, reaching quickly for her water glass. “We should stick to the crab cakes for the party. Oysters are too… risky.”
“Risk is part of the brand,” I counter, though I can’t take my eyes off her mouth. I force myself to check my watch. “Okay,” I say, finally dropping the pretense. “We have twenty-five minutes left. Tell me how it’s really going.”
Tessa pauses, her fork hovering over her salad. “How what is going?”
“The job. The company. Us.” I gesture between us. “It’s been a week. Ethan has been tearing you apart on the data. Asher has been… well, Asher. And I’ve been trying to respect the ‘no flirting’ rule, which is physically painful for me, by the way.”
She laughs, a genuine, surprised sound. “Is that what you’ve been doing? Respecting the rule?”
“I’m trying,” I grin. “I think I deserve a gold star.”
“You winked at me in the budget meeting yesterday,” she points out.
“I had dust in my eye.”
“Uh-huh.” She smiles, shaking her head. Then she sighs, looking down at her plate. “It’s… heavy. You guys are overwhelming. You built this incredible thing, and you’re so protective of it. I feel like I’m constantly proving I deserve to be here.”
“You do deserve to be here,” I say seriously. “Ethan knows it too. That’s why he’s so hard on you. He respects you. If he didn’t think you could handle it, he would have ignored you.”
“He called me a liability,” she says quietly.
I wince. “Yeah. He told me about that. But you know it isn’t personal, right?”
“It sure feels personal.”
“It’s survival,” I correct her. “This company is his life. It’s our life. We lived in a basement apartment eating ramen for three years to write the code base. Now we’re on the verge of going public, and the stakes are massive. He’s afraid of anything that might rock the boat.”
“And I’m the boat-rocker?”
“You,” I reach across the table, my fingers brushing against the back of her hand.
I feel the shock of it, a static snap that travels straight up my arm.
She doesn’t pull away. She turns her hand over, capturing my fingers in hers.
“You are a hurricane, Tessa. You walked in with that red dress and that text message, and you blew his entire controlled little world apart.”
She blushes, looking down at our joined hands. “I didn’t mean to.”
“I know. That’s what makes it so dangerous.” I lower my voice, leaning in. “He likes you.”
She goes completely still. “What?”
“He likes you,” I repeat. “He hates that he likes you, because you’re an employee and Harper’s friend and a ‘liability’ as he puts it, but he does. He stares at you through the glass wall of his office when he thinks no one is looking.”
Tessa’s lips part. She looks shocked. And… hopeful?
A pang of jealousy hits me, sharp and sudden. I shove it down. For the first time, the idea of Asher analyzing her or Ethan claiming her makes my chest tight.
It’s a traitorous thought, wanting to keep her for myself, but I can’t shut it off.
I don’t want to be part of a rotation. I want to be the one who unravels her first.
But telling her about Ethan is safer than admitting that.
“And Asher?” she asks, her voice breathless. “Does he stare too?”
“Asher watches everything,” I say. “He brought you a brownie. Do you know the last time Asher brought someone food? Never. He usually forgets to feed himself.”
She smiles, a soft, private smile. “The brownie was good.”
“And me?” I ask, my thumb tracing a small circle on her knuckle. “Do you want to know if I stare?”
Her breath catches. Her eyes lock onto mine, the pupils blowing wide. “I catch you staring all the time, Owen.”
“Guilty,” I whisper.
The air between us is charged, thick with the scent of salt and citrus. I lean in, the movement instinctive, until I can feel the warmth of her breath against my chin.
“Owen,” she warns softly, her voice trembling. “You’re my boss.”
“Screw the titles,” I say roughly. “I’ve known you since you were twelve, Tess. You were just Harper’s loud little friend. But now…” My gaze drops to her lips. “Now you’re here, every day, sitting ten feet away from me. It’s torture.”
I squeeze her hand.
“It’s killing me,” I admit. “Knowing you asked that question. Which one guarantees I get laid?”
She turns a deep, burning crimson. “Please stop reminding me.”
“I can’t,” I say. “Because I keep wondering… did you get an answer?”
“What?”
“Did you get laid, Tessa?” I ask, my voice rough. “Did the red dress work?”
She stares at me, her throat swallowing hard.
“No,” she whispers. “I didn’t go home with anyone. I went home alone.”
The tension in my shoulders snaps, letting my lungs finally fill with air.
“Good,” I breathe out.
“Why is that good?” she challenges, her chin lifting. “Maybe I wanted to go home with someone.”
“Because,” I say, releasing her hand slowly, forcing myself to pull back before I climb over the table and kiss her. “If you’re going to be a liability, Tessa… be my liability.”
Her eyes widen. She chokes on a breath, staring as her chest rises and falls rapidly.
My phone buzzes on the table, shattering the moment. I glance at it. It’s a text from Ethan.
Ethan: Investors just walked in. Get her back.
I let out a groan, picking up the phone. “The fun police has arrived.”
Tessa blinks, shaking her head as if waking up from a trance. “Ethan?”
“Yeah. He’s counting the seconds.” I signal for the check. “We have to go. Before he locks us out of the building.”
Tessa laughs, but it’s a shaky sound. She grabs her purse, her hands trembling slightly.
“Okay,” she says. “Back to business.”
“Back to business,” I agree.
I stand up and offer her my arm. She hesitates, then slides her hand into the crook of my elbow. The heat of her touch burns through my jacket.
We walk out of the restaurant, stepping from the shade into the bright Texas sun.
But the heat between us doesn’t dissipate.
I lied to Ethan. I told him I was taking her to lunch to talk about appetizers. But as we walk back to the office, hips bumping, the air crackling with unspoken promises, I know the truth.
I didn’t take her to lunch to talk about a party. I took her to lunch to see if she was willing to break the rules.
And looking at the flush on her cheeks? I think she is.