Free Not Second Best by Christa Maurice

fair. Men got more chances than women.
    “I have to get going.” He stood up. “The wife expects me to be home for dinner.”
    “So unreasonable.” Tessa tried to collect the scattered remains of her cool. She needed to be able to walk out of here in an hour not looking like a basket case.
    “I’ll call Pete about that other thing.” Brian pulled open her office door.
    Brett leaned on the wall across the hall with his arms folded. His gaze flicked from her to Brian and back. The way he inspected her made her feel as though her clothes had vanished.
    “Hey, Brett, good to see you.” Brian held out his hand.
    Brett stared at it for a second before shaking it. “Yeah. You back from your honeymoon?”
    “Yeah, it was great. I thought you guys were out in WVA with Jason.”
    “They didn’t need me this week.”
    How could Brian not hear the growl in Brett’s voice? Tessa checked her clothes. A little disheveled, but not any more than if she’d been sitting behind a desk all day. Brett was probably fuming at the idea that Brian might be cheating on his precious Suzi.
    “Nice. Gives you a chance to get your ears back in tune. Did you come to see Tessa about something?”
    “Just wondering what she was doing this weekend.”
    “Oh, are you guys dating?”
    “No,” she said.
    “Yes,” Brett said just as quickly.
    “No,” she repeated through clenched teeth, glaring at him.
    “Ah.” Brian nodded. “Well, I’ll leave you two to not date then. And, Tessa, I’ll call Pete, and remember…” He tapped one long finger over his lips.
    “Client confidentiality.”
    “You’re the best.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “See ya.”
    Brett glared after Brian as the other man practically skipped down the hall.
    “What are you doing here?” Tessa folded her arms. He was supposed to be on the other side of the country, not standing outside her office suspecting her of trying to steal Suzi’s husband immediately after their honeymoon.
    “I could ask the same question.”
    “I work here.”
    “I meant here with Brian.” He walked through the door and shoved it closed. She needed to have the damn thing taken off the hinges so everybody would stop closing it.
    “He’s a client of mine. You are not.”
    “I thought I was more.” He crowded closer to her, but she wouldn’t give ground.
    “You thought wrong.”
    He flinched. “Is there somebody else?”
    “Knowing you? Several.”
    “You’re breaking up with me because you think I cheated on you? I didn’t. There hasn’t been anyone but you since we hooked up.”
    He sounded so sincere, but she’d seen guys on tours that sincere on the phone with their girlfriends while other women were naked in their beds. Sometimes, she’d been that other woman. “I’m sure.”
    “There hasn’t been.” He put his hands on her shoulders, and then moved them to her elbows as if she were a puzzle box he couldn’t figure out how to open.
    She shrugged, not opening her arms for him. She didn’t want him inside. Once he got in, it would be too easy to let him stay. Then the last few chances she had at something like a normal life would be wasted. “That was your choice.”
    “I did it because I didn’t want anyone else. I wanted you. No other woman in the world measured up.”
    It would be easy. Just open her arms. Make herself believe.
    Until the day he walked out. When she was even older, and all hope was gone.
    Tessa sighed. “Brett, you’re getting too hung up on me. We need to end this thing before it gets painful.”
    “Before? I think it’s too late for that, sweetheart.”
    Before the agony in his eyes could break her, she turned and walked to the window. Rock stars matured, on average, ten years later than regular men. They had two kinds of wives—party wives and permanent wives. She might be permanent wife material, but he was still at the party wife stage and, at twenty-three, pulling an emotional age of about thirteen. Not permanent