“I’m talking to Aubrey,” she tells him.
To me, she says, “But he’s also very good at knowing what people want.
That’s what makes him a brilliant strategist.
So maybe he’d be a decent lay.”
“You’re going to stop that conjecture right now,” Brick growls, and Madi shrieks, like he just picked her up or tickled her or something.
“Uh oh.
Mr.
Possessive is getting jealous.”
I don’t mean to sound as judgey as it comes out.
Honestly, I’m the one who’s jealous.
Shame tightens my chest.
I hate that I resent Brick for stealing Madi’s attention.
What am I, twelve years old?
I should be able to share my best friend with the man who loves her.
“He knows I don’t want Billy.”
Madi’s voice is breathy, and I’m certain she’s talking to Brick not me.
They’re probably staring into each other’s eyes about to get naked again, if they aren’t already.
“Okay, I’m gonna let you get on with whatever is about to happen over there.”
I try to make my voice lighter this time.
“Can’t wait to hang out Thursday night!”
“Me neither!” she sing-songs and ends the call.
I drop into a seat that opens up at the next stop.
I’m not sure why I suddenly wish I’d worn something a little more tempting.
I’m in my standard first nice day of spring wear-a tight-fitting crop sweater, short-shorts, and Doc Martens on my feet.
But I don’t know what I’d rather be wearing to torture a guy like Billy-certainly not a pair of heels.
He’s already attracted to what he’s seen.
I don’t need to go changing into something I’m not.
But I could push the bounds here.
My imagination starts churning out all the ways I could tempt Billy White.
That’s right, Big Bad Bully.
I’m going to make you sorry you hurt my bestie.
Sorry for every uppity judgment you’ve made about young women from working-class families in Jersey.
I’m going to flip your world around and serve it to you backwards, and in the end, we’ll see who is bullying whom.
Billy
I unlatch the door when Grayson, one of our pack security guys, tells me Aubrey’s on her way up.
Then I return to my glass breakfast table by the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park reading the
Times.
She can see herself in.
She’s not a guest in my home.
She’s here to work.
But I’m sniffing the air in anticipation of her nutmeg and honey scent.
Sweetness and spice from the coffee shop where she works.
I never thought it would become one of my favorite scents.
After my showdown with my father, I’ve been looking forward to seeing her.
My father would fucking hate her.
She’s a human and proud of it.
Good.
Going against my father’s wishes is a win these days.
And it’ll prove to Madi I’m not controlled by prejudice.
I might even gain some leverage over Madi by getting closer to her best friend.
And I get to play Aubrey’s boss.
So many birds killed with one stone.
She struts into my place in a swirl of colorful chaos.
She’s mayhem to my order.
Pattern and color to my straight lines and monochromatic palette.
I would swear a warm breeze follows her in-the kind that promises pleasant weather after the nip and chill of winter.
My lip curls as I give her a cool glance from over my newspaper and take in her outfit.
“You look like…” I break off.
It’s in the high sixties today-a warm spring day but not hot by any means.
Why in the fuck is she wearing those short jean shorts?
And her midriff is bare.
Fate, does she have a pierced navel?
A silver ring.
Sexy as hell but would burn the fuck out of me if I railed her from the front.
She’d better not have a clit piercing, too.
“
What?” There’s a challenge in her posture and her gaze.
She didn’t come here as some eager-to-please contractor.
She’s here to fuck with me.
This mural idea is probably my most ill-conceived idea yet.
I need to take control back in this conversation.
I give her a grim, assessing look, noting the sketchpad tucked under her arm.
“Did you bring your concepts?”
“I look like what?”
She strides over her in clompy boots and stops in front of me, cocking a sassy hip.
I want to bend her over the table and teach her a lesson in subordination.
I’d unbutton those jean shorts and shimmy them down to her upper thighs.
Maybe caress that plump ass a few times before I spanked it.
“Like summer,” I mutter.
She raises her brows.
They’re sculpted into perfect arches.
I have the urge to trace one with my fingertip, which is…disturbing.
But I want to touch some part of her.
To put my hands on that bare waist and feel the texture of her smooth skin.
To pick her up again and measure her weight.
How would she feel straddling my hips and riding my cock?
Whoa.
I just went way too far with that thought.
My dick engorges with blood.
“Have a seat,” I say because there’s no way I can stand now without showing her effect on me.
Not that I was going to stand, anyway.
I need to establish some ground rules with her today.
I’m the boss.
She’s working for me.
She slides into the chair opposite me with more grace than you’d expect from a girl stomping around in a pair of military boots, looking like she wants to kick someone’s ass.
And she is just a girl.
Twenty-three years old.
A full decade younger than I am.
I’m basically dealing with an insolent teenager here.
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