Page 103 of #Bossholes

I push open the door slowly and take a hesitant step inside. Maverick is sitting behind his desk, his head resting in his hands. Wyatt is sitting across from him, his arms crossed, staring a hole in the center of the desk. Brantley has his back to me, his eyes glued to the Nashville skyline, and he makes no attempt to turn around as I close the door behind me.

In fact, none of them have even glanced my way.

Shoot.

What did I mess up now?

I swallow. Hard. “I brought you guys some coffee.” My voice wavers as I slide the cardboard container on the end of Mav’s desk.

Wyatt’s gaze snaps up to meet mine, and I take a step back. His green eyes have turned to stone. Ice is radiating from his pores, chilling me to the bone.

He’s fucking pissed.

At me.

And I have no idea what I did.

“Did you enjoy your break?” Wyatt’s head cocks to the side as he assesses me, every single word dripping with disdain.

I clasp my hands in front of me, my fingers twisting around each other, and I try to smile even though my heart is threatening to bust out of my chest. “It was fine.”

“I hope he paid you well.” Brantley still hasn’t turned around. His shoulders are rigid, his spine straight as an arrow, and his jacket is missing. Correction, it’s balled up on the floor in the corner of the room.

What the heck is going on here? Paid me well? Who? And for what?

My pulse is pounding in my ears, and I try to take a few breaths to take the edge off, but it doesn’t work. “I don’t know what you're talking about.”

“Don’t you?” Maverick’s glare is searing, burning right through me.

“No, I don’t.”

Brantley finally turns, his face an unreadable mask. “Come on, Kinsley. You can drop the act. We all know what’s going on.”

Well, that makes three of them because I have no freaking clue. None at all. But instead of responding, I cross my arms and look between them. Either they can tell me what’s going on, or I’m going back to my office and pretending this bizarre conversation never happened.

Everything was fine before I ran out for coffee.

Surely, there hasn’t been another scheduling error. I’ve double and tripled checked everything before putting it in our calendar. And no one would be paying me for that. Well, except the three of them.

“You want to play this game?” Brantley takes a step forward, the corner of his lip going up into a sneer. “Well, someone has been leaking information to the press about two of our cases. Cases involving our biggest clients that are now entirely compromised. They’ve also handed over pictures of the four of us. Unless they knew where we were at all times, they wouldn't have been able to get those images.”

“What kind of pictures?” My brows draw together as I try to wrack my brain. When could someone have taken pictures of us together? We haven’t exactly been discreet, but we haven’t been obvious either.

And I’ve been under the impression we weren’t trying to hide our relationship. If they were concerned about their reputation, they could have been more conspicuous. This is on them as much as it is me.

But then there’s the info leak.

Why are they just mentioning it to me now? Why are they coming at me like I’m responsible?

Then it hits me, right in the face, like a ton of bricks.

“You think I’m the leak?” My voice wavers, and my hands shake. Not because I’m scared, but because I’m pissed. They can’t be serious. I’ve done nothing but work my ass off. I tried to keep things professional after our night together. I freaking tried, and they insisted on spending more time together.

Maverick lets out a tortured sigh and pushes away from his desk. “We know. Everything has been traced back to your computer. And Wyatt saw you meeting with Thomas this afternoon.”

“What?” My voice rises about five octaves, and my fingers flex at my side. I’m itching to wring their necks, but I doubt it would help my case. Although, it sounds like they’ve already made up their minds. Without asking me a single goddamn question.

I thought they were better than this. Hell, I thought we were stronger than this.

---