Her sigh made her bangs flutter. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I don’t see what the big deal is, but I won’t callthat Akiraa slut again.”
His rage was usually a slow-boiling thing, but it was explosive when prodded. Red covered his vision, and he thrust out his hand. “Give me your phone.”
Kati scowled. “What, why?”
Normally, he was careful about his size around his little sister, but now he straightened to his full height, uncaring that he loomed over her. “Give it to me.”
Apprehensive, she dug into her pocket and pulled out a pink, bejeweled phone. He tightened his fist around it, easing up only when the plastic gave a threatening crack.
It was a struggle to speak coherently past his anger. “When Ben and Connor were younger than you are now, I told them if I ever heard them call a woman a whore or a slut, I would be the first in line to smack some sense into them. Clearly, I was remiss with you. Since you don’t understand what the issue is, I’m taking your phone. Maybe that’ll help you figure out what the big deal is.”
Her eyes widened with dismayed alarm. “What? You can’t do that! How am I going to call you if I need something?”
Actually, a valid point. Kati had been amongst the first of her peers to have a cell phone, not because he was so cool, but because his overactive imagination couldn’t help but play all the ways she could be hurt and in need when she was away from him. “I’ll give you my old flip phone,” he improvised. Since he was pissed, he continued. “It has no texting capabilities.”
Frustrated tears filled her eyes. “You’re being so mean right now. You’re not my dad, Jacob.”
Jacob had to control his flinch. Talk about rubbing salt into a wound. Kati had ripped his raw spot open, stuck a splinter in it, and then dipped it in kerosene.
If she had slapped him, it would’ve hurt less. “That may be true,” he rasped. “But it’s still my job to raise you into a decent human being.”
A tear slipped down her face. “I am a decent human being.”
“Then act like it.” He gestured to the box. “Keeping this from me. Being so disrespectful to a person you barely know. Think, and once you understand what you did wrong, maybe you can get your phone back.”
Looking nothing like the almost adult she was, Kati choked out a small scream. “You hate her anyway! I don’t understand why you’re taking her side.” She ran out of the kitchen before he could respond. Her feet thudded up the stairs, and a door crashed shut.
Jacob gave a humorless laugh and massaged his neck. Hate her? Please.
He couldn’t hate her if he tried. She was going to make the return of this heirloom of hers painful, and he couldn’t work up concern over that because the reckless, insane part of him he could never quite silence was excited. Excited over the prospect of seeing her legs, her eyes, her cynical smirk, the languid way she moved. The husky way she laughed when she was teasing him.
No. Hating her wasn’t his problem. Figuring out how to resist her if she put her hands on him again? There was the problem.
Chapter Four
A.M. Enterprises owned and operated high-end bars and nightclubs in some of the most sophisticated places in the world: London, Dubai, New York, Miami. Little surprise had been expressed when Akira had set up headquarters in San Francisco—her flagship establishment, a thriving rooftop bar, was near Union Square.
People expected her office space to be as sleek and swanky as her bars, and to a lesser extent, her family’s old business. The London headquarters of her father’s former business, the Mori Corporation, had defined high-tech and impersonal. She could well remember sitting quietly in her father’s office while he ignored her, unable to get comfortable on the piece of modern art doubling as his sofa.
Since she both enjoyed crushing expectations and being nothing like her father, Akira had found an old mansion in lower Pacific Heights that had been restored to its turn-of-the-century charm. The grand staircase, European stained glass and intricate woodwork gave her a sense of history, while the marble floors and HVAC system catered to her and her staff’s comfort.
She strode through the double doors of her office, each step soothing the raw, vulnerable part of her that so rarely managed to break free of the defenses she’d built to hold it in.Mine. I built this.Built it with her brain and her ambition and yes, her body, because her body was a part of her. No shame. This was who she was.
Jacob could go fuck himself if he didn’t like it.
Everyone, she corrected herself hastily. Everyone could go fuck themselves if they didn’t like it. Jacob didn’t need to be singled out for fucking.
Actually…
Releasing a low growl under her breath, she struggled to retain the zen-like pleasure her business gave her.
It was too early for her assistant to be in; too early for most of her staff, actually. She loved the hours before the normal workday started. She could deal with East Coast and European markets in peace.
She sat down in her large desk chair and gave it a second. A second for the zing of pleasure, for the sense of purpose to take over and tell her whether she would reach for the phone or boot up her computer. To tell her how she could make the world dance and shift.
Her mother had sneered at her profession. It didn’t matter that Akira’s bars and clubs were expensive, exclusive venues. They would always be dens of sin. Akira would always be a useless, partying slut.
Stop thinking about her.
