Chapter 7 Tessa #2
“You hired me for my expertise,” I say, my voice steady but icy. “You looked at my portfolio. You signed my contract. You brought me in to fix your retention problem. This fixes it. If you just wanted someone to nod and smile, you should have hired an intern.”
Ethan stares at me. His chest is heaving slightly. His eyes are blazing with something that looks like anger, but feels like something else entirely.
“The ‘Buffering’ tagline is out,” he says, his voice flat. “It implies our tech is slow. I spent three years optimizing the backend speed. I will not have a billboard telling the world we are slow.”
“It implies human processing,” I argue. “It’s empathetic.”
“Empathy doesn’t scale,” Ethan shoots back. “Efficiency scales. Change the copy. Make it stronger. Make it bold.”
“Bold like a red dress?” I challenge.
The words slip out before I can stop them. Owen chokes on his donut. Asher goes perfectly still.
Ethan goes deathly still. His eyes widen, then narrow into dangerous slits. The air in the room instantly changes from corporate dispute to nuclear warhead.
“Everyone out,” he says.
“Ethan—” Owen starts, standing up.
“Out,” Ethan cuts him off. He doesn’t shout or slam the table. He speaks with a quiet, lethal finality that freezes the air in the room.
Sarah scrambles for her things, grabbing her laptop and retreating toward the exit like the room is on fire. Owen stands up slowly, shooting me a worried look.
“Tess, come on,” Owen says, reaching for my arm.
“No,” Ethan says. “Ms. Hartley stays.”
Owen pauses. He looks from Ethan to me. The protective brother instinct wars with the business partner instinct.
“I’m fine, Owen,” I say, not breaking eye contact with Ethan. “Go.”
Owen hesitates for one more second, then nods. “I’ll be right outside.”
He ushers Sarah out. Asher follows, casting one last, unreadable look at me over his shoulder before the glass door slides shut.
We are alone.
The silence in the conference room is deafening.
Ethan walks over to the wall panel and hits a button. The glass walls instantly fog over, turning opaque white. Privacy mode.
He walks over to the window, staring out at the city, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. His shoulders are tense, the muscles visible through his white shirt.
“You undermined me,” he says quietly.
“I disagreed with you,” I correct him. “That’s my job.”
“In front of my team.”
“They’re my team too, Ethan.” I walk over to the table and start gathering my papers. My hands are shaking, but I refuse to let him see it. “If you wanted a yes-man, you wouldn’t have hired me.”
He spins around. “I don’t ignore data.”
“You’re ignoring this!” I gesture to the screen. “Asher backed me up. The data supports the emotional angle. You’re just too… too stubborn to see it because it’s soft. Because it’s vulnerable.”
“I’m not afraid of vulnerability,” he says, but the muscle ticking in his jaw calls him a liar.
“Yes, you are,” I accuse him. I step closer, fueled by his cold shoulders and dismissive glances.
“You’ve built this fortress around yourself because you’re terrified of anything real.
You treat this company like a machine because machines don’t have feelings.
They don’t have feelings, don’t get hurt, or make mistakes. ”
“I built this company to survive,” he growls, stepping toward me. “You don’t know what we sacrificed. You don’t know what it took to get here.”
“Then tell me!” I shout, slamming the remote down on the table. “Stop treating me like a liability and talk to me like a partner!”
“I can’t treat you like a partner!”
He is in my space before I can blink. He grabs my upper arms, his grip firm but not painful. His face is inches from mine. I can see the gold flecks in his gray eyes. I can smell the coffee and whiskey on his breath.
“Why not?” I whisper, trapped in his hold.
“Because I don’t look at you like a partner,” he rasps. “I look at you, and I lose my mind.”
I freeze. “Ethan…”
“Do you think this is easy?” He shakes me slightly, his voice dropping to a tortured rumble.
“Do you think I enjoy being an asshole to you? Every day you walk into this office, Tessa, and it’s torture.
I watch you with Owen. I watch you with the team.
You shine. You are the brightest thing in this building. ”
“Then why are you pushing me away?”
“Because I have to,” he says, his eyes dropping to my mouth. “Because if I don’t push you away, I will pull you in. And if I pull you in, I will ruin everything.”
“Maybe I want you to pull me in,” I breathe.
It’s the wrong thing to say. Or maybe the right thing.
Ethan releases my arms and grips the nape of my neck, forcing my head back. His gaze devours me. It’s not the playful lust I see in Owen or the intense curiosity I see in Asher.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he murmurs. “I’m not Owen. I don’t play games. If I start this… I won't stop.”
“I’m not asking you to stop.”
He groans, a low, animalistic sound in his chest.
He lowers his head. Our noses brush. I can feel the heat of his body radiating through his shirt, burning me. My hands come up to rest on his chest, feeling the frantic thunder of his heart.
“Tessa,” he whispers. “Stop me. Tell me I’m your boss. Tell me I’m—”
“No,” I interrupt.
His fingers tighten against my skin. He tilts his head, angling for the kiss. I close my eyes, my whole body bracing for the impact.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
The sound is sharp, loud, and utterly shattering.
Ethan freezes. I freeze.
We stay like that for a heartbeat, panting, our foreheads resting together. The reality of where we are, a conference room in the middle of a busy office, crashes back in.
Ethan pulls back. He moves so fast it makes me dizzy. He steps away, turning his back to me, running a hand through his hair.
“Come in,” he calls out. His voice is wrecked, rough as gravel.
The door opens. It’s a young intern holding a tray of sandwiches. She looks terrified.
“Mr. Branson?” she squeaks, clutching the tray against her chest. “Sorry to interrupt. Owen sent me. He said you need to eat before the pitch, so…”
Ethan keeps his back turned, gripping the leather of the chair until it creaks under the force of his hold.
“Leave it,” he orders.
The intern places the tray on the table, glances wide-eyed at me, and scurries out, sensing the suffocating tension in the room.
The door clicks shut.
I stand there, my heart pounding against my ribs, my lips still tingling from the phantom warmth of his breath.
Ethan takes a deep breath. I watch his shoulders rise and fall. When he turns back to me, the mask is back in place. The CEO is back.
But his eyes are still wild.
“The campaign,” he says. His voice is devoid of emotion, like he’s reading a script. “We’ll run it.”
I blink. “What?”
“The ‘Be Seen’ campaign,” he says. “You were right. It’s better. We’ll present it to the investors at noon.”
“Ethan—”
“Go prep the files,” he interrupts me. He walks back to the head of the table and picks up his stack of papers. He refuses to look at me. “And Tessa?”
“Yes?”
“Keep the door open from now on,” he says softly. “For both our sakes.”
He walks past me and out of the room.
I’m left alone with a tray of sandwiches and a marketing plan that just got approved by a man who almost kissed me senseless.
I sink into a chair, my legs giving out. But I can’t stay here. The room smells like him.
I grab my files and rush out. I bypass my desk and head straight for the ladies’ room.
I push the door open and lean against the sink, staring at my reflection in the mirror. I look wrecked. My neck is red where his fingers dug in. My chest is flushed a deep, tell-tale pink.
I look exactly like a woman who was about to be ravaged by her boss on a conference table.
“Get it together,” I whisper, splashing cold water on my face.
Two weeks. I’ve been here for two weeks. I have almost hooked up with Asher in my apartment. I have held hands with Owen under a restaurant table. And I have almost been ravished by the CEO in a conference room.
I cover my face with my wet hands and let out a shaky laugh that sounds a lot like a sob.
My purse vibrates on the marble counter, the buzzing sound loud in the quiet bathroom.
I glance at the screen:
[Incoming Call: Harper]
My pulse spikes. Her smiling face on the screen hits me like a slap. She’s probably calling to ask how the meeting went. To ask if Ethan was nice to me.
And minutes ago, I had my hands in his hair.
I can’t answer. I can’t even look at it. I hit Silence and flip the phone face down, gripping the cold porcelain of the sink until my fingers ache.
My career is skyrocketing. My personal life is imploding. And I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to survive the beta launch party next week.