My head jerks toward her. “Oops?” I repeat, my eyes narrowing. “Fuckingoops?”
As much as this little stunt has pissed me off, I gotta hand it to her—no one has ever managed to out-prank me. Though, I’ll be fucked if I tell her that.
“Gotta run. Good… luck.” Blake sniggers again before walking off.
Left speechless and wearing a ruined suit, I somehow develop a sliver of respect for the damn woman.
“Sorry, I’m late. I got held up,” I announce as I walk into the room and hold my hand out to Ryder Jackson, the lead singer forThe Perfect Losers.
The guy is a legend—hard to track down, hard to get an audience with, and even harder to get a conversation out of. Even though Frank said all cases need to be handed over or put on hold, I’ve been working toward getting Ryder as a client for too long now to cancel. Plus, his music is some of the best I’ve ever heard. Ryder’s edgy look—pretty boy mixed with emo—has the women going nuts for him. He’s tall and lean, his dark hair cropped short around the sides.
He looks up, a smile on his face as he takes me in. I managed to change my suit and wash my face, but that glitter is stuck the fuck on, and I can’t get it off. The larger pieces I was able to pick off quickly, but the smaller pieces? They’re gonna be there for years to come.
“I had a little, uh, mishap,” I reply, feeling completely unprofessional, and the imposter syndrome starts kicking in, all because ofher. “I was, uh?—”
“He was playing with his coloring pencils and glitter when he should have been working,” a voice says from behind me.
This fucking woman.
I groan and tilt my head to the ceiling, clenching my jaw. When I look back down, Ryder is staring at Blake, interest clear in his gaze.
Oh, fuck no.
I snap my fingers in front of Ryder’s face. “The help is off limits.”
“Ignore him, Mr. Jackson.” Blake chuckles and holds her hand out. “He doesn’t know how to share.”
“I know how to share very well, Miss…?”
Ryder takes her hand, kissing the back of it, and my jaw clenches again, teeth grinding so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if they could hear it from space.
“Adams. Blake Adams,” she purrs, a coy smile on her face, one I know is entirely fake and only for his benefit.
The urge to rip her hand away from Ryder’s is intense, but I ignore it. I’m only trying to protect him from the soul-sucking bitch that’s standing in front of him, not because I’m jealous that he’s touching something that belongs to me.
“If I’d have known someone as beautiful as you would be working with me, I would have hit Theo up sooner,” he murmurs, the charm well and truly out in force.
“I think I threw up in my mouth,” I say with a groan. “If we can get back to the task at hand?”
“Of course,” Blake says, a smirk on her face.
“Not you,” I growl, pointing to the door. “This is a private meeting. Go do something useful… somewhere else.”
“Aw, come on, man,” Ryder whines. “I could do with something nice to look at.” He winks at Blake, and I’m about ready to punch the fucker.
“Blake,” I bark. “Out. Now.”
Her head whips around, her eyes blazing with defiance, but I stand my ground.
Blake, sensing I’m not messing around, huffs, says goodbye to Ryder, and leaves the room.
Turning back to Ryder, I say in a low dark tone, “Miss Adams is off limits. You don’t look, you don’t touch, you don’t even speak to her. Are we clear?”
Ryder starts laughing, probably expecting me to join in, but I don’t. I don’t find this amusing at all.
Finally reading the room, Ryder stops and tilts his head in acknowledgment.
“Good.” I clap my hands together. “Let’s start with the reason why you think you need a lawyer.”
