Page 11 of Knocked Up by my Best Friend's Brothers

If only she knew what a double entendre she was proposing. But come to think of it, being close to the Hawthorne brothers would be like Chinese water torture. However, I would be working in my field, and, according to Teagan, I’d be paid handsomely for it.After Perry-Sage, I spent most of my emergency savings to cover my tracks and disappear.

If I’m ever forced to do it again, I’d need funds, legally obtained funds.

“It’s not a terrible idea,” I concede. “Alright, I’ll do it. What’s the worst that could happen, right?” I add a nervous laugh at the end.

“You might like it too much,” Teagan plays along.

And that is precisely what I’m afraid of.

I want to settle down in peace; I really do. But after everything that’s happened, I’ve gotten used to having one foot out the door with no end to the tension in sight.

3

Christa

As soon as Teagan and her husband return from their honeymoon, I’m called into the head offices of the Hawthorne Steel Mills Corporation for my interview. I’ve had two weeks to mull this over, and I am as anxious about it today as I was when Teagan first suggested it.

My phone pings as I pull into the parking lot, the morning sun shining gloriously over the city’s brick and steel skyline. The Lloyd District is as bustling as I remember it. It’s the city’s business center and it overlooks the Burnside Bridge as it stretches over the dark blue waters of the Willamette River.

Good luck with the interview. I’m sure you’ll ace it, River’s text reads.

Hesitating for a moment, I type a reply.Lose my number.

Now you’re just being mean, he replies.

I roll my eyes and step out of my car. I’ve got on a navy blue pencil skirt and jacket over a white silk shirt. I look clean and crisp, professional and classy, just as Teagan suggested.

I hiss at the pain in my feet from these stupid high heels as I reach the top of the front steps. “This is going to be uncomfortable.”

I soldier through the revolving glass and steel doors, briefly lost in the middle of a sprawling lobby area. I need a moment to find the reception desk, but once I do, I sign in and they direct me toward the elevators.

“Good morning. Christa Campbell,” I tell one of the executive secretaries waiting behind her desk. “I’ve got an interview with Anthony Jackson at nine.”

“Good morning, Miss Campbell,” the secretary says. “My name is Dasha. We’ve been expecting you.” She adds a smile at the end, but it doesn’t feel genuine.

I check my phone. “Am I late?”

“Not at all. You’re a minute early. I’ll take you to the interview room,” she replies and gets up from her desk, heels clicking across the hardwood floor.

I follow her closely through a corridor with several black doors, each fitted with a steel nameplate. At the far end of the hallway, I spot the words “Interview Room 01” on the nameplate. We stop outside for a moment, and she gives me another half-smile.

“Here we are. They’re waiting for you. There’s coffee and water available,” Dasha says.

“Thank you,” I reply. She’s about to leave. “Wait,they’reinside waiting?”

“Yes.”

“Who’s they?”

She smiles again and walks away, seeming a tad irritated, as if she doesn’t have time to waste on me. I’d be offended, if I actually cared.

And as soon as I open the door, an involuntary groan escapes me.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mutter, my eyes popping out of their sockets.

Anthony is nowhere in sight. Instead, Cassius, River, and Nathan Hawthorne are casually sitting behind the glass conference table. A coffee urn and water bottle are positioned in the middle.

“Good morning, Christa,” River quips with his signature devilish grin. “Or should we call you Miss Campbell until you say otherwise?”

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