Chapter 21: There is no your Tessa anymore
“Tessa.” His voice came from the bedroom, muffled by the door but unmistakably his—a low, sleep-roughened baritone that vibrated in her bones.
She didn’t answer. She moved on autopilot, her bare feet silent on the cool marble. The blazer, shirt, and skirt hung from the bathroom hook, neat and alien. She snatched them.
“Come back to bed, Tessa.” It was louder this time, a command wrapped in a morning rasp.
She yanked the bathroom door shut, the click echoing sharply in the tiled space. She leaned against it, closing her eyes for a three-second count. Breathe. The reflection in the mirror was a stranger—smudged mascara, hair tangled from his hands, a flush still high on her cheeks. She looked well-fucked and completely wrecked. She turned on the tap, splashing cold water on her face, scrubbing roughly at the makeup.
“What?” she called out, her voice steadier than she felt. “What do you want?”
“The other Tessa,” he said, his tone laced with a weary amusement that grated on her raw nerves. “The one who’s nice.”
“Yeah, well, she’s late for work.” She yelled.
She opened the door, her bra and underwear the only this on.
He was there, in the lounge. Naked. He stood behind an armchair, one forearm resting casually on its high back.
She stopped mid-step, her words dying in her throat. “Where are my—” She turned abruptly, presenting her back to him. “Hey. Privacy.”
“Privacy?” The word was drawn out, mockingly soft. “After what we did last night, you want privacy?”
“Don’t remind me.” She grabbed the black slacks from the hanger, yanking them on with rough, hurried motions instead of the skirt. The fabric felt tight, constricting, all wrong.
“Hey, you called me.” He was still behind the chair, a statue of ink and tense muscle framed by the rumpled bedroom behind him.
She turned around, the slacks only half-buttoned. “I didn’t tell you to come here.”
“Okay.” He let out a short breath, a dry, humorless sound. “I’m getting the feeling you’re not entirely cool with what happened last night.”
She pulled the blue polka-dot shirt over her head, her voice muffled for a second before her face emerged. “No.” She looked right at him, her eyes clear and hard now. “I’m not cool with it.”
“Well, do you want to talk about it?”
“No.” She focused on the small pearlescent buttons, her fingers fumbling slightly. “You hurt me, and I can’t forgive you. That’s it.”
He watched her, his ocean-blue eyes tracking the deliberate, dismissive movement of her hands. “So last night meant nothing?” The question was quiet, stripped bare.
“I was drunk.” She fastened the last button, her motions sharp. “I called you. You came here.” She made a vague, frustrated gesture with her hands. He looked at her, his head tilting slightly, confusion etching lines beside his mouth. “I made a mistake.”
“You obviously missed me.” He said it softly, the hurt in his voice a tangible thing in the space between them.
“I didn’t know what I was doing.” The words tumbled out, fast and defensive. “From kissing that guy to—” She stopped herself, her mouth clicking shut.
Hardin’s expression shifted instantly. The hurt deepened, then fractured into something darker, more alert. “What?” he said, his voice dropping.
She froze. “What?” She mirrored him, a poorly played deflection.
“From kissing—” He leaned forward, his arms straightening against the chair back. “What did you say?” He stood up fully, the naked tension in his body suddenly predatory.
“I didn’t say—” she started, taking a half-step back toward the door.
“From kissing that guy.” He interrupted, the words precise and cold as chipped ice.
“No.” The denial was weak, automatic.
“What?” He took a step toward her, his bare feet silent on the marble.
She spun around, her heart hammering against her ribs. “I need to go.” She grabbed her bag from the floor, not looking back.
“Tessa.” His voice followed her, a low warning.
She wrenched the heavy hotel room door open and stepped out into the bright, sterile hallway. The click of the latch behind her was final.
“Tessa, wait!” His shout was muffled by the door, then louder as he yanked it open again.
She didn’t look back.
“TESSA, WAIT!” He yelled, the sound raw and too loud for the plush hallway.
She turned around quickly, her body rigid with defiance. The door was ajar behind him, framing his naked form in the dim light of the suite, a stark contrast to her put-together, fleeing figure.
“Who did you kiss?” he asked, each word a clipped accusation.
“No one.” She said it to the patterned carpet, already turning again to leave.
“Was it Trevor?” The name was a poison in his mouth.
“No!” She yelled it this time, spinning back to face him fully. Her blue eyes were bright with a fury that eclipsed the last traces of the night’s warmth. “My Tessa would never kiss a fucking stranger at a club.” He said it like a wounded declaration, his voice cracking on the possessive pronoun.
A cold, brittle laugh escaped her. “There is no your Tessa anymore.” The words were absolute, a guillotine blade dropping between them.
He backed up a step as if physically struck, his shoulders hitting the doorjamb. A defensive, cruel mask slid over his hurt. “Yeah? Well, when you were kissing that guy, I was kissing Molly.” He spat it out, a desperate, dirty grenade meant to wound equally.
Tessa looked at him. For a long, silent second, she just absorbed the lie. Her expression didn’t crumble; it hardened into something glacial and distant.
She walked away, not toward the elevators, but past the room service trolley abandoned further down the hall. Her movement was deliberate.
She grabbed the long, wrapped loaf of bread from the top of the cart.
In one fluid, angry motion, she turned and threw it at him. It was not a gentle toss. “Fuck you!” she yelled, the sound tearing from her throat.
The loaf spun through the air and hit Hardin squarely on the shoulder with a dull, solid thwack. He turned slightly on impact, more from surprise than force. It bounced off him and landed on the hallway carpet with a soft, absurd sound.
She was already walking away, her heels clicking a final, rapid rhythm on the marble.
He watched her go, the shape of her back in the blazer, the swing of her hair. A hot, stinging pressure built behind his eyes. He knew he hadn’t kissed Molly. The lie curdled in his stomach, instantly worthless. He shook his head, a violent, frustrated motion.
“Fuck!” he yelled at the empty, elegant hallway. The sound died against the soundproofed walls.
Tessa pushed through the heavy lobby door, the morning light assaulting her senses. The cool, conditioned air did nothing to calm the heat in her cheeks.
“Hi.” Trevor’s voice came from a plush chair near a potted fern. He stood up, holding two paper cups.
“Hi.” she said back, her voice strangely calm, as if all the yelling had happened to someone else.
“I got us some lattes.” He said, holding them up with an awkward, hopeful smile. His glasses were missing, making his face look softer, younger.
“Thank you.” She reached into her back pocket, her fingers finding the sleek frame of his glasses. She handed them to him.
“Oh, thank you.” He said, taking them, his fingers brushing hers briefly. He put them on, the world snapping back into focus for him. He held a latte out to her.
She took it, the heat seeping through the cardboard into her palm.
“So, interesting night.” He said, adjusting his glasses back on the bridge of his nose with a practiced push of his finger. The gesture returned a layer of composure to his face.
“Trevor, I’m so sorry about last night.” The apology felt insufficient, scraped raw from her throat.
“No, don’t be.” He took a sip of his own coffee, his eyes crinkling slightly. “If I showed up to my girlfriend’s hotel room and I saw a half-naked, incredibly handsome man there, I’d react the same way.”
He peered around the lobby’s potted ferns and sleek columns with exaggerated caution. “Is he still lurking around? Should I be hiding in a vent?”
“He’s the one that should be hiding.” She said flatly, the image of Hardin standing naked in the doorway flashing behind her eyes. “And we are not together.”
He fell into step beside her as she began moving toward the hotel’s grand entrance.
“How do you two know each other?” She asked, the question bursting out of her. She needed the conversation to be about anything other than her own disastrous choices.
“Hardin worked at Vance last year.” Trevor said it casually, as if mentioning a mutual acquaintance from a book club.
“He did?” Tessa stopped walking, the lobby’s polished floor reflecting the shocked expression she couldn’t smooth away.
“Yeah. Same position as you, actually.” Trevor nodded, holding the heavy glass door open for her. The city’s humid morning air rushed in, thick and smelling of exhaust and damp concrete. “Kind of a sad story. We were best friends, and then we became lovers, and then I found a red hair on my pillow.”
She looked at him, her face blank. She didn’t laugh.
“Hilarious.” She said, her tone devoid of any humor. They stepped onto the bustling sidewalk.
“You know, I didn’t peg you as the bad boy type.” Trevor mused, glancing sideways at her as they waited for a crossing signal.
“Well, save that for another time.” She deflected, her voice tight. The latte was suddenly too sweet, cloying in her mouth.
Vance and Kimberly emerged from the hotel then, a united front of sleek winter wool and purpose. They moved to the coffee stand just outside, taking two fresh lattes without breaking stride.
“I don’t know what you said or did to Mr. Chang last night,” Vance said, falling in beside Tessa as they began walking down the street. His arm was slung comfortably around Kimberly’s shoulder. “But he just wrote a humongous check to finance our expansion. Good job.”
Kimberly offered Tessa a tight, approving smile over Vance’s shoulder. It didn’t reach her eyes.
They followed behind Vance and Kimberly, a few paces back. The distance felt symbolic.
The traffic light ahead turned red. They all stopped at the curb.
She could feel the ghost of his hands on her hips, the weight of his body, the devastating tenderness that had undone her more than any anger ever could.
The memory was a physical ache, a full-body blush that had nothing to do with the morning sun. It was hot and nauseating.
It did nothing to quiet the echo of his voice in the hallway. My Tessa.
The hood of Hardin’s car was cold under his thighs, a stark contrast to the low simmer in his veins. He sat outside his dad’s mansion, the gravel driveway crunching under the weight of a single thought.
The front door opened and Landon stepped out, headphones dangling from one hand. He didn’t notice Hardin at first, his attention on untangling the white cord.
“What’re you doing here?” Landon’s voice called, laced with a familiar, wary surprise.
Hardin looked up, the movement feeling heavy. The sprawling, manicured lawn of the mansion seemed to mock his disheveled state—jeans, a rumpled t-shirt, three days of stubble. “I need some advice.”
Landon stopped walking. He looked at Hardin like he’d just spoken in a dead language. “Advice?” A short, disbelieving laugh escaped him. “You want advice from me?” He started walking again, moving past the car towards the sidewalk.
“Yeah,” Hardin said, the word scraping out. He stared at the perfectly edged flowerbed. “I’m that desperate.”
Landon stopped. He turned around slowly, the headphones held loosely in his hands. His expression was unreadable. “Oh, insults. Great.” He shook his head, a thin smile that held no warmth touching his lips. “I thought you were an imposter for a second.”
His hands shoved deep in his pockets. “Look, bro, I know—”
“No.” Landon cut him off, his voice sharpening. He turned back around fully to face Hardin, his posture rigid. “Stepbro. I’m not your brother. You made that very clear.” He took a breath, his gaze steady and hard. “And if I was Tessa, I’d never speak to you again, Hardin. It’s unforgivable.”
Hardin’s jaw tightened. He got up from the hood of his car, his own frustration boiling over. “What, you think I don’t know that?” The words were a raw shout, echoing slightly in the quiet, wealthy street. “I know I fucked up. I know she won’t return my calls or my texts.” He looked down at the gray concrete of the driveway, focusing on a tiny crack. “I found out she kissed some guy, and… I told her I kissed Molly.”
The confession hung in the air, ugly and small.
“You kissed Molly?” Landon’s question was flat.
“No.” Hardin dragged a hand over his face, the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours pressing down on him. “I said I did. That’s the point.” He finally looked up, meeting Landon’s eyes. The judgment he saw there was expected. “I said it to get back at her. And I realized how stupid that was.”
“Yeah.” Landon’s single syllable was heavy with a decade of unspoken history. It wasn’t agreement; it was an indictment.
Hardin looked away, a muscle jumping in his cheek. The silence between them stretched, filled with the distant hum of a lawnmower two houses down. It was too much. The vulnerability, the scrutiny. He couldn’t stand there under the weight of his own mistakes.
“Oh, fuck this.” He turned on his heel and stalked toward the driver’s side door of his car. The metal handle was cool and familiar under his palm.
“So you’re just gonna run away?” Landon’s voice followed him, not loud, but carrying perfectly in the still air. “Like you do from everything?” A beat passed. “Where are you going?”
Hardin’s hand was on the handle of his car door. “London, I was going to take her with me. I’ll see you next year.” He said, yanking the door open.
“Hardin, do you really love her?” Landon called out, his voice stripped of its earlier sarcasm.
Hardin stopped. He turned, his frame rigid against the sleek black paint of the car. “No bullshit.” Landon said, taking a step closer on the gravel.
“Yes.” The word burst out of him, harsh and immediate. “Of course I fucking love her. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before.” He looked away, his throat working. “I just wish I didn’t fuck the whole thing up.”
He got in his car, the engine snarling to life, and sped down the driveway without another glance. Gravel spat against the manicured hedges.
Tessa sat at her desk, the steady tap of her keyboard the only sound in the small office. She was writing up reports on a new batch of acquisitions, forcing her concentration onto publisher summaries and ISBNs. Her phone buzzed, skittering on the polished wood.
She glanced at the screen. A text from Landon.
Hardin came to see me.
Told me he loves you.
He says he didn’t kiss Molly. I believe him.
Tessa stared at the three lines of text. The words blurred slightly. She typed back, her fingers numb.
Thanks, Landon.
She exited the messages. Her home screen wallpaper filled the display: a photo of her and Hardin from months ago, taken on a rare, easy day. They were on a picnic blanket, turned toward each other, mid-laugh. The sun was in his hair, and his ocean-blue eyes were crinkled at the corners, She was smiling so widely her cheeks hurt in the memory.
She looked at it, breathing in slowly through her nose. She shut the phone off with a decisive click and placed it facedown on the desk.
“Focus,” she mumbled to herself, turning back to her laptop. The cursor blinked mockingly in a field of text she could no longer process.
A knock came from her office door, followed by a voice. “Knock, knock.”
She looked up, the sterile office light glinting off her computer screen. In the doorway stood Trevor, a tentative smile on his face and a blue file folder clutched in his hands. His knuckles were white around the edges.
“Hey,” she said, her voice feeling scraped out.
“Hi,” he replied, shifting his weight. He took a step inside, letting the door swing shut softly behind him. “You’re probably going out of town for break, so I just wanna say happy holidays. And happy birthday. It’s your birthday, right?”
“Tomorrow,” she corrected softly, swiveling her chair to face him fully. The grief over Hardin was a fresh, open wound, but Trevor’s awkward kindness was a clean bandage.
“I made you something.” He held the blue file out to her.
She took it, the cardboard cool and smooth under her fingers. “What’s this?” She flipped it open as he cleared his throat, a nervous, sharp sound in the quiet room.
Spreadsheets, graphs, and printed car listings fanned out before her. “It is a cost-analysis breakdown of your weekly Uber expenses versus owning a used car,” he said, the words tumbling out in a rehearsed, factual rush.
“Okay,” Tessa said, looking up from the pages to his face. His expression was earnest, brows slightly pinched behind his glasses.
He laughed, a short, self-deprecating sound. “I know. It just turns out you’re wasting a lot of money. I did a little research, and I found a 2013 Toyota Corolla in town in excellent condition. I went down to the dealership, negotiated terms. You put no money down. You only pay a hundred and fifty bucks every month. Vance also agreed to put your auto insurance on the company policy, so that’s free.” He took a breath, the words accelerating. “It’s, of course, if you wanna do it. I just love crunching numbers—”
Tessa stopped him mid-sentence. She stood, the file falling onto her desk with a soft slap, and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. He stiffened for a half-second, surprised, then carefully patted her back.
“Oh my god,” she murmured into his shoulder. She pulled back just enough to kiss his cheek, a quick, warm press of her lips. “Thank you.”
She pulled back fully from the hug, her hands dropping to her sides. He looked at her, his smile small and genuine, blinking behind his lenses.
“Bye, Tessa,” he said, his voice softer now. He turned and walked out, promptly smacking his shoulder against the doorjamb with a solid thump. “Ow. Right. Bye.” He corrected his course and disappeared down the hall without looking back.