“No, you don’t.”Branson is back in his human form and pacing.“You have us to take care of you now.”
“That’s not your decision to make,” Paul is saying.“She is mine.”
“No, she fucking isn’t.”Elias balls his hand into a fist.He thumps the wall, denting it.“Shut the fuck up, little man.I am telling you, Maisey no longer works for you, do not call her, do not even utter her name or I swear I will hunt you down, track you, find you, and then you’ll be sorry you ever fucking existed.”He ends the call and tosses the phone onto the sofa as though it’s just stung him.“Asshole.”
“Elias,” I say, shaking my head.“I need a job.”
“If it’s for the money, we have plenty,” Elias says, snarling.“And if it’s because you want to write, go freelance.I won’t have another man trying to lay claim on you.”
“I work for him.”I rub my brow.“I...”
“You don’t need that son of a bitch.”Branson slips his arm around my waist and squeezes me close.“And you’ve got to understand we can’t tolerate someone who speaks to you like that, someone who thinks he can be so disrespectful to our woman.”
I gulp and the full extent of what my new threesome relationship means dawns on me.I really do have the protection of two fiercely protective men who have skills someone like Paul could never comprehend.
“I like to write,” I say.“It’s one of my passions but...”
“But?”Elias frowns.
“I don’t like Paul, and I haven’t enjoyed any of the assignments he’s given me.They’ve all been dull and virtually impossible to make interesting.I’d much rather be freelance and write what inspires me.”
“So there we are.Problem solved.”Elias nods and folds his arms.
“But I have rent to pay and—”
“Money is not an issue,” Branson says.“Shifters accumulate money in all kinds of ways but we rarely spend it.I alone have enough to cover your rent for fifty or so years.”
“And the same goes for me.”Elias reaches for a pair of pants and pulls them on.“So, freelance it is going forward.Block Paul’s number, I don’t want him to contact you again.”
I nod and pick up my phone.I block Paul and try not to think of the fury that will grip him when he finds out.He would be wise never to show up at my apartment.
“Food.”Branson rubs his hands together.“What shall we eat?I’m starving.”
The clock shows two p.m.
I’d had no idea we’d all slept for so long.
“I’ll order something,” I say.“Pizza?”
“Sure.”Branson grins and nods.“Plenty of it.”
I pick up my phone and dial my usual pizza place.After ordering four extra-large, all extra meaty, I hang up and make coffee.
