We take what we want, chew through the bullshit, and keep going long after the pretty boys are panting for air.
Endurance? Check.
Durability? Double check.
The kind of focus that makes lesser Shifters nervous? That’s the Badger way, baby.
And let’s not forget the sweet tooth.
Honey’s not just our namesake—it’s our addiction.
Sticky. Golden. Irresistible.
Kind of like the right woman—soft where you least expect it, but wild enough to bite back when you taste her.
So yeah, I might not breathe fire or howl at the moon.
But when I sink my teeth in, I mean it.
And once a Badger decides something—or someone—is his?
There’s no force on this Earth, mortal or magical, that’s prying her out of his claws.
But I don’t have time for a love life. I’m way too busy with work.
And no, no one asked for your opinion.
I’m fine spending my holidays alone, fuck you very much.
I’m the CEO of Rogers & Reed Investments, a third-generation, family-run firm, and I take my job seriously.
Too seriously, according to my little brother.
But Bobby can take that theory and shove it up his plaid-pajama-wearing ass because my too serious nature is the reason this company still exists.
Spreadsheets are my comfort zone.
Profit margins, my love language.
And if that makes me a Scrooge in an Armani sweater, so be it.
“Yo, Eb!”
The door slams open like the heralding of my impending aneurysm, and there he is—Bobby Rogers.
My brother.
My business partner.
My personal migraine wrapped in human form.
“For God’s sake,” I mutter, glancing up, “what the hell are you wearing?”
He’s standing in my office doorway in neon-green Bermuda shorts, flip-flops, and a Hawaiian shirt that looks like it lost a fight with a paintball gun.
He grins. “What? You forgot? It’s Rita Farraday’s Christmas Luau tonight! You know, our biggest client? She invited both of us.”
I stare at him.
