“I wanted to keep channeling some hate for the bastard.”
My brow furrows. “I thought you liked him.”
“I do,” he says. “But you—not him—have a piece of my heart.”
I sniff. “Tiff’s made you sappy.”
“No,” he says. “She just helped me see the beauty around me.” I sniff again and he pushes up from his chair. “All right. Enough of this. Time for you to call it a day.” He grabs my bag, my coat, and moves to the door. “And I don’t want to see you here tomorrow, either.”
“But—”
He pulls open the door, shoves my stuff into my arms, and orders, “Go home, kid.”
I’m nearing the elevators when I hear my name and turn back.
“You know what this means, right?” he calls.
I shake my head, eyebrows dragging together. “No.”
“You’re both expected at family dinner Saturday.”
Thirty-Eight
Jace
“Why doI feel like I’m about to be dragged down into the hills and made into a human scarecrow?” I mutter as I open Marie’s door and help her out of the car.
She grins up at me. “Probably because of the trio of giant hockey players currently gathered on the porch glaring at you?”
I tap the tip of her nose. “Got it in one.”
Her hand finds mine. “It’ll be fine, handsome. They look scary and they can obliterate six-foot-six, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound guys on the ice but?—”
“Not helping, cookie.”
A giggle and I can’t lie,thathelps.
That she can laugh and joke with me, that her fingers are wrapped tightly around mine, that she leans into me as we walk. That when we pause to climb the couple of steps up onto the porch at Jean-Michel’s daughter, Chrissy’s, house, she tugs me to a stop, rises on tiptoe, and presses a kiss to my jaw. “I can handle a couple of hockey players.” She winks. Then tugs me forward again. “Trust me.”
“I do.”
She stills for a heartbeat then her eyes are flashing to mine over her shoulder.
Our gazes only lock for a moment but the intensity of emotions in hers takes my breath away.
Then she’s looking forward, drawing me alongside her, and saying in a stage whisper, “And Jean-Michel has the money, power, and connections to bankrupt you, even despite thelarge”—a smile in my direction that has my dick twitching at a seriously inopportune time—“size of your bank account.”
“Cookie,” I warn.
The pregnant brunette grins and steps forward, unceremoniously pushing the hockey players and Jean-Michel to the side. “Hi”—she extends a hand—“I’m Chrissy.” We shake. “And I know you know my dad, Jean-Michel. This is Rome, my fiancé.” A nudge to the brown-haired man who tugs her back against his chest. “And my best friend, Rory.” I’ve barely noticed the blonde, she’s so dwarfed by the huge, bearded man who has her tucked close to his side. “Her husband, King. And I think you know Attie?—”
A cough from the curly-haired brunette.
“Er, Ats,” she corrects with a smile at the other woman. “I think you two have met?”
I nod, reach out and shake Agent Phillips’s hand. “We have. Nice to see you again.”
“Cam,” I hear and glance over at the thinnest of the trio of hockey players. He has a possessive edge to his expression and hovers close to Attie—but doesn’t attempt to crush my fingers when we shake hands. “Jace,” I say.
