Page 16 of Jealous Stepbrother
It’s less sterile fashion house, more organized chaos.
Bolts of fabric spill across work tables, sketches paper the walls, and racks of half-completed garments stand like strange metal forests in the open space.
Six people turn at once at the sound of Asher’s commanding footsteps.
“This is my core team, those I let close enough to touch my work,” he says, the words clipped, like the air between us hasn’t thawed one degree since breakfast, and at this point, I’m not even sure what he’s so furious about. “Zeke, Oscar, Kai, Damian. Morgan, and Talia. Everyone meet Scarlett.”
There’s a shuffle of nods and hellos.
Zeke, tall, wiry, dark blond hair pulled into a man-bun, offers a quick smile.
Oscar, inked from neck to knuckles, lifts his chin. Morgan, petite and sharp-eyed, gives me a warm, knowing nod, and Talia, with her striking sheet of platinum-silk hair, offers a polite smile.
Kai’s grin is lazy and dangerously charming, and Damian’s handshake is warm but brief.
I barely have time to process it all before I feel it—the glances.
They’re subtle but curious.
Well, more than curious in a couple of cases.
My skin prickles.
“So you’re our new intern?” Kai asks, his eyes lingering on my face. I catch more interested gazes.
Asher notices too. I know because his posture changes like a flipped switch. His shoulders square, his jaw cutting sharper, and his hand flexes at his side like he’s holding himself back.
“Right, clear the room, everyone,” he says abruptly.
Morgan blinks. “But…we just started the?—”
“I said,get the fuck out.”
A thick pulse of silence, then pencils and scissors drop and feet shuffle. But just before Talia reaches for the door, Asher’s hand shoots up.
And then his voice drops, ice-edged and lethal.
“Let me make one thing clear. I catch any of you looking at Scarlett in any way other than professionally, you get fired. You don’t invite her into your office studio alone. You don’t ask her to go for coffee or drinks or fucking dinner parties unless I’m present and have approved it. Is that understood?”
A chorus of “Yes, Asher” rolls back.
My eyes drop to the floor in mortification, heat rushing into my cheeks.
“You have your own assistants,” he adds, his voice still like a whip. “Scarlett works only for me. She answers only to me. Shedoesn’t get pulled into your projects or your brainstorms, she doesn’t get borrowed for fittings, and she damn sure doesn’t get treated like she’s part of your social calendar. You so much as think otherwise, you’re gone.”
A thick, awkward silence settles.
“You’re dismissed,” he says finally. “Go work from your own studios.”
Chairs scrape. Footsteps scatter.
The second we’re alone I turn to him, my pulse still skittering. “How…what—” I stop, because a tiny scream is threatening to claw its way out of my throat. I take several deep breaths, but the deranged, mocking glint in his eyes makes it worse.
He raises one eyebrow, waiting.
“You can’t do that!” I finally screech.
His head tilts, his brow knitting like I’m the one who’s lost my mind. “You keep saying things like that to me. Two problems, sweetheart. First, I’m your boss, which gives me the right to do whatever I want and makes you at risk of insubordination. Second, I’m also your brother, which gives me a helluva lot more of those rights.”
