Badly Behaved

I thought I hit a dog?

What the hell?

“What the hell?” my mom drawls.

“Yeah.” I force a laugh. “False alarm. I... ran over a ball.”

“Two big balls,” Beretta whispers, and I flip him off.

“Okay well, next time save us the heart attack and run over anything that places itself in your way, rather than jumping out into the road.”

Beretta’s brows jump. “Savage.”

I frown, yeah, she’s dead inside.

“Get home and be quick about it. Do not make the man wait on you. I’m sure you have yet to shower. After all, it is only ten.” My mother’s voice is slightly teasing, but she can never hide the disapproval completely, not that she has ever tried.

“Ah, yes. Sleep, my one and only.” My finger hovers over the ‘end call’ button. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Remember all of your training and do as you must.”

“Yes, Mother. Any means necessary, got it.”

“And Jameson?” I can picture her standing at the edge of her desk right now, her fingers running over her pearl necklace laying perfectly over her collar.

Kill them with Prada and pearls, she loves to remind me.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t be late,” my parents say in unison and then the call drops from their end.

I straighten, my hands finding the framing of the door, and look from Arsen, watching me from in front of my hood, to Beretta, who still stands in my way. “I have to go. Stay out of the road.”

“I was simply getting a ball overthrown by an eight-year-old. You should work on not getting distracted while driving.”

“You should fuck off.” I widen my eyes like an asshole.

“Every other day, Trouble, at the very least.” He flashes me his naturally perfect teeth. “So, who’s Tanner?”

“A bodyguard who tails my sister when the parentals are feeling extra dickish.”

“Nice.”

“Not really, now move.”

He grins but stays planted in the same spot.

I shake my head, sitting back in the seat, and I cut a quick glance around again, realizing they’re missing a piece. “Where’s your third wheel?”

“His... parental is feeling extra dickish.”

My head snaps toward him and I can’t help the small chuckles that escape. This pleases him.

“So, this ‘man’ you’re meeting, who is he?” He folds his arms over his chest, eyeing me with a coy gleam in his hazel eyes. “Better question, does he know you’re attracted to three assholes with respectable taste in clubwear?”

“Ha! Goodbye, Beretta.” I close the door.

He doesn’t stand there and trail my car to find out which house I end up at, which makes me assume they realized where I live before today, but claps his hands, ready for the ball to be thrown his way.

Just like that, their game resumes.

I pull into the garage and step inside, heading for the shower right away. I’m in no hurry, so I throw a deep conditioning treatment on my hair. By the time I’m out, fully dressed, and ready, it’s time to leave again.

Before I know it, I’m gliding into a reserved parking spot, slipping from my car, and climbing a half dozen steps toward a seventeen-story glass building with a wicked ocean view.

Walking into Admiral Law is equivalent to the swimwear segment of a beauty pageant, all eyes on me, judging and sizing me up at a glance... as they do every time I stroll in. They know why I’m here, or at least they know it’s not for a conference or consultation.

It helps that it’s only the main partners and their assistants here on the weekends and not the full staff. Regardless, I’m here every week, a rewind and repeat mirage of myself with the ever-requested flushed lips, ‘look at me’ big barrel curls, and borderline Elle Woods wannabe wardrobe—gag. Add in how I’m the only body allowed to slip right past the Valde desks, and crystal-clear understanding is the result.

Still, I enter with my head held high, smile bright and never waver, as my mother coached.

Okay, I guess the entire process is full-on pageant mode—thank you to my fifth-grade nanny for the small, horrifying experience.

As I tap my knuckle on the large russet double doors, it’s instantly opened from the other side.

Anthony smiles, reaching for my hand. “I’ve told you, sweetheart. You never have to knock.”

My lips curve and I offer a one-shoulder shrug as I allow him to lead me closer.

He kisses my cheek, his lips lingering there a moment before he draws back to take me in further. “You look stunning, as always.”

“Your suit’s not so bad either.”

A deep, low chuckle leaves him, and he leads me toward the cherrywood table in the corner. “That’s nice to hear, considering it only comes off for bed.”

I pull my lips in, and he nods, his chin falling slightly, but his eyes stay on mine. “I’m sorry, that was... inappropriate.”

A demure grin slips over his face, but I don’t buy it.

He’s a successful, respected, and incredibly handsome twenty-nine-year-old man with a hefty bank account. There’s no way he’s timid with a woman.