The Billionaire's Brat Wants Me

I know what you're thinking, and yes—yes, I texted Trent to come over.

And why, you ask?

Because from the way Tasha texted earlier, I could already tell she knew what she was doing. I work with her. I've seen how quick her mind is. She's smart. Very smart. Too smart for me to take this kind of risk.

So yeah, I called in backup.

When I opened the door and saw Trent standing there with that damn smirk on his face, it was like the weight pressing on my chest eased up all at once. He glanced past me, eyes narrowing at the Mercedes E-Class parked out front, and that smirk only grew wider.

"I'm guessing she's already here," he said.

I nodded, trying not to look too relieved. "Thanks for coming, bud."

Trent clapped me on the shoulder like he'd just done me the biggest favor of my life. "What are friends for?"

I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding, then stepped aside so we could both walk in.

Tasha was on the couch, laptop open, notes scattered across the coffee table. She looked up when we came in, blinking once, twice, like she wasn't sure she was seeing correctly.

"Oh," I said quickly, slipping into the kind of calm voice I only used when I was nervous. "I forgot to mention—my friend was already on his way over."

Her brows pinched the tiniest bit, confusion flickering in her eyes. She didn't say anything, just stared at me.

"That's why," I added, a little sharper than I meant to, "I wanted to know if I could decline."

I tried so hard to keep my face straight, to keep it professional, but deep down? I was fighting the laugh threatening to break out. Because even though she hid it well, I could see it—the flicker of disappointment, the tiny crack in her expression. She wasn't thrilled.

Trent's smirk returned, sharp as ever. "You must be the team leader."

Tasha blinked, then gave a small nod. "Tasha."

"Trent." He pointed a thumb at himself before striding into the kitchen like he owned the place. He swung open my fridge, crouched down, and pulled out a bottle of water without asking.

I saw Tasha's eyes follow him, just for a second, like she couldn't believe how casual he was about it.

"Oh, that," I said, trying not to grin. "He's like... my brother."

Trent twisted the cap off the water, took a long gulp, then lowered the bottle. "More like brothers from different parents."

Tasha gave another small nod, but this time she dropped her gaze to her laptop, fingers moving across the keyboard as if to remind herself why she was here.

Me? I couldn't hold it anymore. The smile I'd been burying finally tugged at the corner of my mouth. Because this—this was exactly why I'd called Trent.

Not just for backup. But for balance. For the reminder that I wasn't alone in this mess.

---

I slid back onto the couch, sitting closer to Tasha this time. Not close enough to be weird, but close enough to make a point. If she was half as decent as I believed she actually was in the office, then she wouldn't try anything with Trent right there.

And it worked.

We started working. She opened up a document, spreadsheets, a couple of charts that needed fixing. I leaned forward, pretending to scan. Trent sat behind us, legs stretched out, scrolling lazily on his phone.

For a while, it was quiet. Too quiet. Then Tasha leaned slightly toward me, tilting her laptop so only I could see.

"Here," she said, pointing at a highlighted formula. "This part… I don't think it's calculating correctly. What do you think?"

I glanced down, caught the way her finger hovered near the screen a little longer than it needed to. Subtle. Too subtle. The ring on my finger was right there, plain as daylight. She knew I wasn't married yet, but she also knew enough to understand what it meant. What it stood for.

Which made me wonder—why keep pushing?

So instead of answering, I leaned back and called, "Yo, Trent. Can you take a look at this?"

Tasha's eyes snapped up to me, narrowing just a fraction.

Trent looked up from his phone. "Huh?"

"We studied the same thing," I explained.

Tasha exhaled slowly, jaw tightening. "It's… unprofessional to show sensitive information to someone who's not part of the—" She stopped herself, breathed out again, then muttered, "Fine. Sure."

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop from laughing. I knew that tone. That wasn't professionalism talking anymore—that was her irritation spilling out, even though she wasn't wrong.

Trent leaned forward, squinting at the screen. "Yeah, she's right. The formula's broken. Switch out the range here."

Tasha pressed her lips together and made the adjustment.

That was basically how the entire afternoon went. Every time she tried to get me to focus solely on her screen, I found a way to pull Trent into the conversation. He didn't even know what he was doing—half the time, he was just tossing in random comments, drinking water, or making jokes.

But I could feel it. Even though she wasn't showing it outright, underneath all that calm composure, Tasha was fuming. She'd try to stay neutral, voice steady, but her fingers would tap a little faster on the keyboard. Her sighs came out sharper. And her smiles? They were thin, stretched, not real.

By the time an hour had passed, she closed her laptop with a quiet snap.

"Well," she said, sliding it back into her bag, "I think that's enough for today."

"Yeah," I said, standing as she did. "Thanks for coming."

She gave me a polite smile, eyes flicking once toward Trent, then turned and walked out.

I watched from the doorway as she got into her car, the Mercedes pulling away down the street. The second she was gone, I stepped back inside and shut the door.

Trent was waiting for me, arms crossed, smirk plastered across his face.

The moment our eyes met, we both burst out laughing.

"Did you see her eyes?" Trent managed between laughs.

"I thought she'd lash out or something," I said, wiping at my face.

"She's gonna get your ass fired," Trent shot back, and we both doubled over again.

It took us a minute to calm down, but eventually we dropped onto the couch, still chuckling.

"Seriously though, bro," I said, leaning my head back. "Thanks a lot."

Trent smirked, twisting the water bottle in his hand. "It's nothing." He paused, grin widening. "Besides, I can see why you needed backup."

I gave him a look.

"What?" he asked, raising his hands. "She's hot, man."

I groaned. "I wonder what would happen if Marina found out you said another woman is hot."

Trent's grin faltered, then returned. "Good thing she'll never find out."

We chuckled again, the kind of easy laughter that only comes from knowing someone too well.

"By the way," Trent said after a moment, "how did you know she was the one texting you?"

"Uh?"

"In your text. You said she texted you. But last week, when I asked, you told me she didn't have your number."

"Oh." I scratched the back of my head. "She doesn't have mine. But I have hers."

Trent raised an eyebrow.

"She's my team leader. I'm supposed to have it," I explained.

"Yeah, sure," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I believe you."

"Wow," I muttered.

We both laughed again, but underneath it, I felt that warmth spreading through my chest. Because really, I was lucky. Lucky to have a friend who was actually like a brother. Lucky he showed up when I needed him most.

Because honestly? I had no idea how I would've made it out of today unscathed without him.

---

To be continued...