Page 13 of Stuffed

Tessa

No? What would it take, then?

"Oh, man." Asher laughs. "She's good."

"Would you get the fuck back?" I shove him away so he can no longer read my messages but I'm fighting a smile as I type my response.

Me

You're playing with fire, Miss Marlow.

Tessa

Good thing I've always liked the heat. Ball's in your court, Mr. Mercer.

"You know what your problem is?" Asher says as I pocket my phone.

"Please, enlighten me."

"You're so afraid of getting burned that you're missing out on the warmth." He opens his car door with a huge goofy grin, that same one that had every single girl tripping over their own feet in high school. "Think about it."

I watch him drive away, his words echoing in my head.

I get in my car and sit for longer than I care to admit, staring at our text exchange. Her boldness both thrills and terrifies me. The Tessa I remember from high school would never have been so direct, so challenging. But this version of her—confident, successful, unafraid to go after what she wants—is infinitely more dangerous to my carefully constructed walls.

My phone buzzes again.

Tessa

By the way, you have a little chocolate on your tie. Might want to handle that before your next meeting.

I glance down at my tie and sure enough, there's a small smudge of chocolate near the bottom. I must have gotten it when I was sampling those damn cookies—the ones I used to sneak between classes just to have an excuse to walk past her classroom.

Me

Trying to micromanage my wardrobe now, Miss Marlow?

Her response is immediate.

Tessa

Someone has to. Though I have to admit, a slightly disheveled Zane Mercer is quite… interesting.

"Fuck," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. Every interaction with her feels like playing with fire, and I'm starting to forget why I was so determined not to get burned.

My phone lights up one more time.

Tessa

Still thinking about those raw numbers if you change your mind about coffee. I'll be here late, going over the final contractor estimates.

The image of her working late, probably still with that smudge of chocolate on her cheek, makes something twist in my chest. Before I can talk myself out of it, I respond.

Me

Don't stay too late. The neighborhood's not safe after dark.

Tessa

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