“I love Cool Runnings!” Thatch exclaims. “Such a good underdog story.”
I roll my eyes. “Guys, seriously, let’s focus here.”
Trent laughs. “How’s it feel?”
“How’s what feel?” I ask.
“For once, we’re the snakes, and you’re the wrangler. Usually, it’s the other way around.”
“Shitty,” I admit. “Goddamn motherfucking awful.”
“Just think,” Milo says with a smirk. “This is probably how you always make your sister feel.”
“Lena?” Harrison questions, like a dog with a bone. He’s been chasing my sister since the moment she turned eighteen.
“Don’t!” I yell, with my index finger pointed in his direction. “Don’t you dare start about my sister!”
“What? She’s fucking hot. I’d definitely do—”
“I will end you, motherfucker.”
“Oh, come on, Cap,” Milo says with a laugh. “He’s just trying to get under your skin.”
“Says the little-sister fornicator himself.”
Milo snorts and throws up both of his hands. “Just Evan’s little sister. Christ, it’s not like a blanket thing! I don’t have a problem, for God’s sake.”
“If you’d done that shit with my sister, you would have,” I say. “It’s one of the sacred rules. You don’t do the little sister.”
Milo rolls his eyes. “Says the guy who taunted me mercilessly about Maybe. Pretty sure you went as far as saying you’d fuck her. Which, I swear to God, if I ever hear you say again, I’ll end you.”
“Calm down, honey.” I waggle my finger toward him. “I didn’t actually mean any of that bullshit. I just ran my mouth because I knew it made you feel guilty and uncomfortable. The sister rule is the one even I, a self-proclaimed dog, do not break.”
“It’s true,” Quince agrees. “I mean, ex-girlfriends are no fucking problem for him. But sisters are off-limits.”
“I didn’t know she was your ex-girlfriend!” I exclaim. “God, how many times do I have to explain that?”
“You didn’t know or didn’t remember?” he retorts, and I stare at him like he has two heads.
“Isn’t that the same fucking thing?”
“Boys, boys, for fuck’s sake, keep your voices down in my book club,” Thatch chimes in above all of us.
“It’s not yours,” I snap back, but it’s no use at all. The whole room is in chaos, and I guess, in some way, I’m the cause.
“Like I was saying,” Thatch speaks over me. “We all need to grab a copy of Can’t Handle This and be ready to discuss next week. Consider the Billionaire Book Club now in session, boys.”
The Billionaire Book Club. An entity established in its entirety for the sole—secret—purpose of getting my dick wet.
Fuck me.
I’ve really done it now.
Ruby
At a quarter to eight, I step off the fancy elevator directly into the lobby of Caplin Hawkins Law. The marble floor seems a little less intimidating now that I’m seeing it for the second time, and the light above my desk glows in a way that actually beckons.
Cap’s door is closed and his light is off, so I head down the hall to the kitchen with my lunch, place it in the otherwise empty refrigerator, grab the bag of French roast coffee from the shelf over the sink, and meander my way back down the hall.
With his apparent caffeine addiction, it seems like good practice to get a pot going in anticipation of the boss’s arrival.
My pencil skirt feels tight and my heels foreign, but I knew I’d have to upgrade my wardrobe to the land of adulthood at some point. As much as I prefer jeans, tees, and Converse, I don’t think a judge would appreciate that attire very much—especially if it were being worn by an attorney in his courtroom.
I drop my purse on the desk, throw my coat over my chair, and turn to shove Cap’s office door open in one smooth motion.
But it all comes to a halt when I see his sleeping face, his long body stretched out on the couch.
Full lips, ruffled hair, and a little bit of scruff on his cheeks, he and his handsome features, even at rest, are just as powerful as ever. I’ve never seen a better-looking man, from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. His body is firm and lean without being lanky, and his face is surely the eighth wonder of the world.
In a way, it’s really no wonder he’s so goddamn cocky.
He stirs slightly, and I panic, backing through the door with the container of coffee tucked to my chest like a reining horse does during a competition.
Shit. My ass is tucked, my feet are scrambling, and I have officially learned my lesson about assuming the boss is not in just because of a freaking light.
I’m almost out the door when he wakes fully and sits up, his caramel eyes landing squarely on mine and holding.
“Ruby?”
I stop my backward progress and try to smile, but I’m pretty sure I look more constipated than anything else. “Good morning,” I murmur, trying to keep the embarrassed scratch out of my voice.