Handle With Care (Shacking Up 5)

“Screw you, you … you … homeless-looking bastard.”

“You need some new material because that’s getting real old.” I sit forward and rest my elbows on the table. “Look, Armstrong, I get that you’re not happy about this, and if you can’t tell, neither am I. But let’s be real, the only thing you’ve done for this company is drag its reputation down the drain. How many millions of dollars have gone into paying off the women unfortunate enough to have been subjected to you? Are there reports on that, or have we paid someone to get rid of those as well?”

Armstrong waves his hand around dismissively. “There’s no proof any of that is true. It’s all hearsay.”

“Really? So it was hearsay when everyone heard you getting blown by someone who wasn’t your bride at your wedding? And was it also hearsay that you slept with our cousin’s fiancée and got her pregnant?” I’m grateful Griffin gave me the CliffsNotes play-by-play on my brother’s antics over the past year, since it provides ammunition for this fight.

Armstrong sneers. “It’s not my fault; she came onto me.”

I’ve had it with his mouth. I push out of my chair and stalk around the table.

“Boys! That’s enough!” G-mom slaps a palm on a table. “Lincoln! Sit down right now!”

“Don’t worry, G-mom, I’m not going to break anything important.”

Armstrong grabs the woman in the coffee-stained gray dress by the shoulders and moves her so she’s in front of him, acting like a human shield.

“You are literally the biggest pussy in the world. Don’t think I can’t knock you out even with your pretty little shield.”

I realize half a second too late that I’ve very much said the wrong thing. That my words are no less offensive than Armstrong’s by objectifying and demeaning said shield.

Before I can issue some kind of apology and retract that statement, the woman in question snarls at me. Then she proceeds to pull some kind of self-defense maneuver. In less than three seconds, she has Armstrong on his knees in a headlock.

“In accordance with clause six-nine-six, appendix D of my contract, I’m invoking the right to use self-defense in the event of unwarranted physical contact.”

Who is this woman?

Armstrong raises his arm as much as he can, considering his position. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I thought he was going to punch me.”

“I’m waiting for her to let you go, and then I will,” I say with a smile.

“Armstrong, you know better than to make physical contact with Wren!” my mother says. “And Lincoln! This is not how we conduct ourselves!”

“Should I give you a few minutes to sort this out before we continue?” Christophe asks.

“Are you kidding me with this?” Gray Dress woman—whose name is apparently Wren—shoots me an angry glare and motions to my mother, grandmother, and Christophe. “We’re in the middle of reading your deceased father’s will. Have some decorum and stop acting like toddlers fighting over a damn cookie.” She releases Armstrong from the headlock and points a finger at my face. “Sit down, both of you. This isn’t a playground, and you’re not challenging each other to a thumb war behind the slide.”

I glance around the conference room and realize everyone, including my g-mom, is looking at me like I’ve lost my damn mind. That’s what being around this family does to me.

I don’t argue with Wren. I may not like this situation, but the last thing I want is to give my g-mom a heart attack or make a bad situation worse, which is exactly what’s going to happen if I keep pushing. So I back down, for now.

But I will most definitely be dealing with my brother later, when I can get him alone and remind him that his mouth and my presence will be the least of his problems if he keeps up the tantrums.CHAPTER 4BROTHER’S GRIMWRENLincoln rounds the table and takes the seat next to his grandmother, who’s glaring at him. Gwendolyn’s expression is slightly pinched—which is saying something because most of her face usually doesn’t move. Christophe seems shaken, whether by my actions or the sibling squabble, I can’t be certain.

“I want cookies.” Armstrong drops back down in his seat.

I exhale slowly through my nose. My underwear are sticking to my crotch since they’re covered in my one-sugar, one-cream coffee. Armstrong has not apologized for spilling it on me, so I’m done being nice. I turn to look at him. I’m sure my annoyance is obvious.

“What? You mentioned cookies and now I want some. Do we have any? Gluten-free and sugar-free, preferably. Also, low-carb. I don’t spend all that time playing squash to mess it all up with too much sugar.” He motions to his lean physique.

“Can’t we duct tape his mouth shut until we’re done here?” Lincoln says.

Penelope elbows him. “Enough, I won’t say it again.”