Page 31 of Filthy Rich Bosses

Tessa's gaze doesn’t soften. If anything it gets harder. "What is it with you men and thinking you have any say in what I do? I can handle myself."

We're standing so close now, I can see the water droplets clinging to her eyelashes. My heart pounds in my chest. For a moment, I think I might...

No. I can't. The guilt crashes over me like a wave. What would Sarah think?

I step back abruptly, clearing my throat. "Just...be more careful next time," I mutter, then turn and walk away, leaving a confused Tessa behind me.

As I retreat to my office, I can't shake the image of her by the pool, or the way my body reacted to her closeness. What the hell am I doing?

Chapter 14

Tessa

The evening breeze rustles through my hair as I sit on the patio, staring out at the sprawling backyard. Lulu's warm body presses against my leg, her rhythmic breathing a comforting constant. I scratch behind her ears, grateful for her unwavering presence in the midst of all this chaos.

"At least you're not giving me the silent treatment, huh girl?" I murmur.

Lulu's tail thumps against the chair’s canvas in response. I can't help but smile, even as my mind wanders to the events of the past few days. The rescue mission, the arguments, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. And then there's Chase...

I close my eyes, remembering our latest encounter. The passion, the anger, the raw emotion. We're making progress, I suppose, even if it's only in the bedroom. My cheeks flush at the memory.

"What am I doing, Lulu?" I sigh, looking down at her mottled coat. "I'm still pissed at him, you know. And he's still upset with me. But God, when we're together..."

I trail off, shaking my head. Lulu whines softly, as if sensing my conflicted emotions. I pat her head, grateful for her simple, uncomplicated love.

"Yeah, I know. It's complicated, girl. You’re so lucky that you never have to go through this kind of stuff."

The patio door slams shut with a bang, making me jump. I turn to see Cole storming out, his brows furrowed and his jaw clenched tight. He's muttering under his breath, something about "ridiculous expectations" and "unreasonable demands" and “crazy fucking women”.

I watch him silently as he paces back and forth, his hands running through his short brown hair in frustration. He hasn't noticed me yet, too caught up in whatever's bothering him. It's strange seeing him like this—usually, he's so composed, so in control.

"Damn it all," he growls, his deep voice carrying across the patio.

I clear my throat softly. "Um, Cole? Are you okay?"

He whirls around, his intense eyes widening as they land on me. For a moment, he looks almost embarrassed, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. It's kind of...endearing?

"Spitfire," he says, his voice gruff. "I didn't see you there."

I offer a small smile. "Yeah, I gathered that. Is everything all right?"

He hesitates, clearly debating whether to open up or brush me off. I'm betting on the latter—we haven't exactly been on the best of terms.

To my surprise, he sighs and drops into the chair across from me. "It's just...work stuff. Nothing for you to worry about."

"Try me," I say, leaning forward. "I'm a pretty good listener when I'm not, you know, arguing with people."

That gets a chuckle out of him—a low, rumbling sound that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. "Fair enough," he says, his intense eyes meeting mine. "It's this new project we're working on. The investors are pushing for faster results, but they don't understand the complexities involved."

I nod, encouraging him to continue. As he talks, I find myself drawn into the conversation, asking questions and offering suggestions. It's...nice, actually. For once, we're not at each other's throats.

"You know," Cole says after a while, a hint of surprise in his voice, "you've got some good ideas there."

I can't help but grin. "Don't sound so shocked. I'm not just a pretty face, you know."

He laughs again, and I feel a warmth spreading through my chest. Who knew Cole Ashford could be...charming?

I’m about to ask about the “crazy fucking women” when the patio door slides open with a soft whoosh. Chase saunters out, his dirty blonde hair tousled and a mischievous glint in his eye. He's wearing nothing but low-slung sweatpants, and I can't help but admire the tattoos scattered across his chest and arms.

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