Your Fierce Love (The Bennett Family 7)

“So, which one’s the bitch and which one’s the sidekick?”

Their faces fall simultaneously, and I don’t feel one ounce of guilt.

“What did you just call us?”

“Ah, you’re the bitch. I recognize the voice.” I have to admit, Blake has exquisite taste in women. This particular one could stride down the runway herself. Leggy, blonde, huge boobs. What the hell am I thinking? He has terrible taste in women. She’s a viper.

“You don’t talk to me like that.”

I’m not catty often, but when I am, I have a damn good reason. I’m pissed.

“I talk how I want to anyone who insults the Bennett family and me. They’re good people. The best people. And you don’t pick on kids. Anyone with a shred of decency knows that.”

“Please,” the bitch says with a smirk.

The sidekick tilts her head to one side. “Insipid and potty-mouthed. My, hasn’t Blake gotten himself quite a deal.”

“You two must have very sad lives if you’re wasting such a beautiful evening gossiping about others instead of enjoying yourselves.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Blake is a great man. If all you’ve wanted from him were presents and money, you missed out on the best.”

Both women snort, and then I realize I’m stooping to their level. Instead of wasting my time here, I could be chatting and laughing with the clan. Without another word, I leave the bathroom, feeling a lot calmer. I have to admit, letting out the anger is a good thing. It brings relief.

I walk at a brisk pace to my place. The table is empty because everyone is mingling during the break. Our glasses have been refilled with champagne, and I immediately attack mine.

Blake drops in his seat a few seconds later, kissing my forehead.

“What took you so long?”

“Ran into some unpleasant people.”

“Are you okay? Do I need to punch someone?”

“No. You just have terrible taste in women.”

“What?”

“Look over my shoulder, two rows back and three tables to the right.”

I saw them return to their table shortly after I did. Blake looks and groans. Then he focuses on me again.

“Yes, I’ve made some questionable choices in the past.”

“Questionable implies there might be some chance of redemption.”

He smiles. “Bad choices. That was one of the worst.”

“Now we’re talking.”

He slides a thumb under my jaw, shifting to the edge of his seat, closer to me.

His smile grows more pronounced. “I’ve never seen you mad. It’s a good look on you. You’re fierce. Maybe I should get you mad more often.”

I huff, pulling away. This man is clueless, but I’ll show him the right ways. “Don’t. I don’t like to get mad. It’s a waste of energy. Then I get mad at myself for being mad. Like now. Instead of enjoying this evening, I’m—why are you laughing?”

“Your monologue is adorable. You ramble even more than usual.”

“Thanks, you’re really winning points right now.”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to win points.”