Chapter 2
Flashback to yesterday afternoon, when Briar found out her shiny new promotion had Wesley s fingerprints all over it. She cornered him in the hallway, all professionalism and gratitude. "Thanks, Boss, for the boost..."
Wesley's eyes lingered on Briar, who was rocking a bit more style than usual, a change from her usual work mode since she'd been shuffled to System Integration. "If you're really grateful," he said, "how about taking more off my plate? I'm over this overtime life."
She flashed that smile, the one that said she was game, and Wesley couldn't help but think she should glam it up more often.
In their old-school, state-run biz, the OGs had their tentacles in everything, trading gossip like stocks. Briar's promotion was old news by the time she got wind of it, the grapevine buzzing with chatter.
Back at her desk, the congrats rolled in, even from Sawyer Cole, the other department hotshot, and his sidekick, Liana Grace, who usually treated Briar like she was invisible. But a promotion's a promotion, and suddenly Briar was everyone's BFF, with calls for a celebratory dinner ringing out.
Despite her penny-pinching rep, Briar was feeling generous - promotion buzz will do that to you. "Let's do it," she declared, and the squad was all about hitting up Jeju Island Grill, the local spot that wouldn t break her bank. Her crew might not be the most efficient workers, but they were solid folks, and they weren t about to make her splash out too much cash for her own party.Wesley Chase swaggered out of his glass-paneled office, a grin splitting his face as he dropped the bombshell that had everyone buzzing. "Guess who just landed the South Ring District Police gig?" He announced, his voice a mix of smugness and pure adrenaline. "Let's blow this pop stand and paint the town. My treat. You all just pick the spot."
The room erupted, and the vibe shifted faster than a viral TikTok dance. With Wesley's wallet on the line, the squad upgraded their choice to the swankier digs of Aurelia Bistro - nothing but the best when the boss was footing the bill.
The System Integration crew huddled around a grand table, the air electric with celebration. Glasses clinked in honor of Wesley, who knocked back his drink like a champ, and then to Briar Hawthorne. Mrs. Quincy, the office's go-to for document dashes, was all smiles. "Big ups to our girl Briar on the big promotion!"
Grace, with a teasing wag of her finger, chimed in, "Hold up, it's Director Hawthorne to us now."
Mrs. Quincy's laughter bubbled over as she raised her glass. "My bad, my bad. Let's get lit for Director Hawthorne, y'all!"
Briar usually didn't drink much at work parties. But truth be told, Briar wasn't looking to just sip now. The sting of a fresh breakup after four years was still raw - she wasn't made of stone. Anyone would be reeling. She'd invested more heart into that relationship than into her Insta feed.
Two bottles of Budweiser in, and Briar's phone lit up with a number that didn't ring any bells. She stepped out, thinking business, but got hit with a blast from the past instead.
"Niece, it's your Uncle Jim. When are you gonna settle your dad's tab? He dropped a cool hundred grand on me."
Briar's heart sank. She didn't see that curveball coming - her father's debts tracking her down like a relentless follower.
The voice on the other end dished out a sob story, and there was no blocking that call. With a lump in her throat, she caved, asking for the account details. "I'll hit you up with Zelle," Uncle Jim said. "Just slide the cash my way."
Dialing her mom post-hang-up, Briar braced herself. She couldn't stomach a chat with her dad, not with booze threatening to spill her real feels. Her mom's voice, feather-light, floated through, confirming the debt. "If you can spare anything extra, sweetheart, maybe chip away at what we owe Uncle Jim..."
Briar could only hum in response, her heart heavy, before ending the call with a soft click. Briar Hawthorne, heart thumping like a bassline at a club, had just hit 'send' on her banking app, watching her hard-earned cash - a cool twelve grand - zip through the digital ether to Mr. Persistent Caller. He grumbled that it wasn't enough, but hell, that was every last dime she had scrimped together from her six-K-a-month gig. She was emotionally bankrupt, too, and hit 'block' on his number faster than a ghosted Tinder match.
Leaning against the cool wall, she realized she couldn't really hate Lance Goodwin, her ex, for ditching her when he landed his swanky job, or for turning his nose up at her less-than-glossy family sitch. Truth? Her family was drowning in debt, and tying the knot with her meant signing up for a million-dollar ball and chain - no chump change for most folks. It was a cold, hard dose of reality anyone would choke on before saying "I do."
So, no, Lance wasn't the bad guy. He just played his cards like most would. And those four years of sweet nothings and Netflix binges? Turns out love doesn't pay the bills.
Briar's throat was tight, eyes stinging with unshed tears, but she wasn't about to let them fall. No time for waterworks, not now.
She steeled herself and slipped back into the party like she'd just taken a bathroom break, not a trip through emotional hell. "Briar, there you are!" someone hollered. "Time for a round!"
Without missing a beat, Briar snagged a glass and knocked it back, reigniting the party flame.
With a squad of fifteen, minus Wesley Chase, the office crew made sure her glass was never empty, toasting to everything from eternal friendship to astrological kinship. Briar didn't push back - maybe a buzz was just what the doctor ordered to numb the chaos, to erase the day, to fade into a blissful blackout.
Sleep it out. A reset. Tomorrow, she'd hustle harder, earn more.
Life had to get brighter, right?
As the night wound down, Wesley Chase, called for a Uber and shared the ride. Welsley's place was the same direction, and they were drop her home first. She was tipsy but tame, curled up in the back seat like a sleepy cat, her cheeks rosy from the booze and the buzz of the night.
Mid-drowse, her phone buzzed - a message from her dad, short and gut-punching: "Did you give the money?"
She replied with a simple "Yes," her heart a lead weight in her chest.
Then a long pause as her dad fumbled with his words. What he sent back was brief, but it hit hard: "Sorry, Briar."
She could almost see him, rewriting his message a dozen times over, trying to find the right words. But in the end, all he had for her was that apology, and all she had was the hope that tomorrow would be a little less heavy.Briar's dam of pent-up emotions burst in a hot mess of tears, each one a silent testament to the heartache she'd been lugging around like last season's handbag. There she was, huddled in the backseat of a ride-share, head tucked into the sanctuary of her knees, wishing she could just vanish. She was a hot mess, a total feelsplosion, and she didn't want her ugly-crying to be anyone's soundtrack for the night.
Wesley Chase, her boss-slash-unexpected knight in a tailored suit, was all "WTF?" from the get-go. "Hey, talk to me. What's got you like this?" he asked, his voice slicing through the thick tension in the car. The driver threw him a knowing glance that screamed, "Dude, your move," and Wesley found himself in an emotional minefield with Briar, who looked like she'd lost a fight with a rainstorm.
"Don't cry, Briar, talk to me. What's up? We'll fix it, whatever it is," Wesley was all about fixing things, but Briar was in full meltdown mode, ignoring his words and letting the tears flow.
It wasn't until Briar was practically hyperventilating that she dared to peek up at Wesley through red-rimmed eyes. The booze and the feels were doing a tag-team on her, urging her to bare her soul, but she clung to that last shred of chill, telling herself not to go full-on dramatics. She turned to the window, trying to hide her face from his gaze.
Wesley got the hint. She wasn't ready to talk, and maybe she just needed to cry it out. He ditched the pep talk and moved in closer, offering his shoulder as a makeshift pillow. "Let it out then," he murmured, playing the part of the strong, silent type.
In the tiny universe of that car, hierarchy was out the window. It was just a guy and a girl, and it was totes legit for him to be her shoulder to cry on. Briar felt the warmth from his bod and edged closer, her tears anointing his shirt like some sort of sad baptism.
Then came the head-stroking, Wesley's hand making soothing circuits, his voice a low rumble of comfort. "I got you. Just say the word."
Wesley was all soft edges and gentle strength that night, his vibe as comforting as a weighted blanket. Briar, always the one to keep it together, finally let herself lean into that warmth, craving the break she so deserved.
Their breathing's all over the place, and things are getting kinda hazy. It's hard to tell when it started, but as Briar's tears slow down, she's suddenly aware of Wesley's jacket around her, his cologne wrapping her up.
Next thing she knew, she was all snuggled into his neck, wrapped up in a full-on Wesley hug. Maybe he was just trying to warm her up, but man, did it feel like more. Briar Hawthorne was a walking contradiction, wrapped in baggy overalls all day that hid her killer curves - a body that could make a grown man weep, and Wesley Chase was no exception. As their bodies pressed close, her warmth seeped into him, and he could map out every contour of her figure with his hands tied behind his back.
She was the kind of woman who could make a saint swear, with a chest that demanded attention and a waist so fine it could make poets pen verses in her honor. Wesley, with his sculpted body and disciplined mind, was fighting a losing battle against desire.
The air between them was electric, charged with a tension that begged to be broken. Wesley was all about control, but Briar, with her intoxicating presence, was peeling away his layers of restraint one by one.
She was tipsy, yes, but not senseless. This woman knew how to handle her liquor, always keeping a sliver of sobriety tucked away, even when the world spun around her. And in that moment, she was acutely aware of the effect she had on Wesley - the bulge in his pants was a dead giveaway.
In a move that was so unlike her, Briar looped her arms around Wesley's neck, pulling herself impossibly closer. Wesley tensed, a statue in her embrace, his mind screaming for distance, but his body betraying him with its heat.
Briar, emboldened by liquid courage and the thrill of the moment, let out a low, teasing chuckle. Her words were a tangled mess in her mind, but her body language spoke volumes. She wanted to push away from the heat of Wesley's body, but damn if she wasn't locked in the sweetest of prisons.
Their lips were a whisper apart, their breaths mingling, a silent acknowledgment of the line they were about to cross. Her eyes, still glistening from tears she'd shed earlier, were like dark pools reflecting his stormy gaze.
Wesley's voice was a husky whisper, "You're drunk, I can't take advantage of you..." But oh, how his body sang a different tune. That single, tentative kiss she planted on his lips was meant to be innocent, a brush of a petal against skin. But Wesley, he wasn't having any of that simplicity. He took that kiss, and he owned it, pouring years of hidden longing into it.
