One Bossy Disaster: An Enemies to Lovers Romance (Bossy Seattle Suits)

To say I’m the worst person ever is an exaggeration.

Probably.

Like, it’s probably a bit much to go ahead and walk the streets with someone ringing a bell behind me and calling “Shame, shame!”

Still. I feel like roadkill drenched in turpentine and set on fire.

Molly tugs at her leash, excited to be headed back to Alki Beach again, the place that always draws me back when the time comes to process my emotions.

I’ve been avoiding it the past few days because—

Well, because Shepherd.

Go ahead. Tell me it’s hilariously stupid and pathetic.

Although, to my credit, I’ve also not wanted to linger around there in the public eye and risk feeding our little image problem. I especially don’t want some idiot snapping pics of me looking pensive while jogging, heartache in my eyes.

There’s nothing worse than the entire world seeing you all moody while you’re sweatier than a melting popsicle.

But today, I decided I’m done hiding.

Life goes on, even when you’re a billionaire’s daughter stuck in a crazy, confusing thing you can’t define with Seattle’s most eligible bachelor.

The ocean air slaps my face, but it has that extra hint of summer warmth that makes it pleasant.

I’ve swapped out my running pants for shorts, perfect for keeping pace with an overactive pup who still likes to trip over her lanky legs.

I’m actually thankful one of us is oblivious to how messed up things are.

Molly tosses her head back in joy the minute we step onto the beach, trying to run headlong into the surf. I grab her leash tighter with both hands, holding her back as a group of harbor seals sun themselves.

I fall into my stride, my breath coming sharp and fast.

She’s used to this routine, thankfully, and she falls into a well-behaved pace beside me, her friends from the sea temporarily forgotten.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I really shouldn’t have stayed over at his place the other night.

I shouldn’t have gone there at all, knowing how helpless I get around him.

The man deserves better after sharing so much of himself.

I couldn’t be more wrong for him.

He’s fought and bled for his right to privacy.

What am I? Just an influencer who basks in the public eye, thriving on the spotlight. It’s the only way I know how to help the world.

For better or worse, our association makes me more popular—especially in the perverse way it is now.

But even if I wasn’t an influencer, he thinks I’m too young.

He may be right.

If the man could ever bring himself to take a second crack at marriage, he’ll want a wife. Someone who can do the whole wife thing instead of just floating around his life, warming his bed and going about her business.

Not great ground for something more.

Not that we could be anything.

For now, it’ll be a miracle if I can help nail the coffin shut on the same scandal he hired me to avoid, rather than catalyzing it.

Molly barks and looks up at me with concern.

“It’s okay, girl,” I say, stroking her head.

I swear, the dog was a therapist in her last life. Or a guardian angel, seeing how well she reads emotions.

My breath comes faster now as I stop dragging and push back into a run, wishing the wind could wash away the feel of his hands on my body, his scent that shouldn’t still be lingering, the feel of him inside me.

If only I’d left before the wine.

I didn’t need more baggage, more bitter memories to try and forget.

I already come by that honestly as a Lancaster.

Even if he’s hands down the best lover I’ve ever had.

Hot as hell, considerate, and devilishly good at working a woman’s body. Even better at leaving kisses that linger like a sting.

I only get a few paces before I stop, feeling like I’m buried under a ton of bricks.

Yep, this is bad.

It’s going to hurt like voodoo pins straight to my heart, isn’t it?

Walking into that office soon and acting like he never touched me.

Like I didn’t just lose myself in his eyes and come on him half a dozen times.

Like I didn’t bawl my eyes out after he told me about Serena and his family secrets.

Like I didn’t just slip dangerously closer to a mad, mad love for Shepherd Foster.

I have to concentrate on running, until the intensity passes.

I can’t even lie to myself.

And his dead wife, it made me jealous in a messed-up way.

Annoyed and hurt that he ever gave his love to someone so unfaithful.

Sad at the way he sounded when he mentioned her name.

So vulnerable. So soft. So undeserved.

She’s dead now, of course.

There’s no point in holding a grudge against a dead woman over a man I’m not actually with.

But between her and that douchebag she cheated on Shepherd with, he almost got convicted of a murder he didn’t commit. He certainly had the scabs ripped off a rotten start to life he just wanted buried.

They destroyed him once, and he’s built himself back up, but hearing him talk about it when it’s clear he doesn’t talk about it with just anyone…

It’s a lot.

Too much for my heart to handle.

Today, of all days, I’m aching and dizzy with bruises.

Stupid, again.

Absolute buffoonery for even getting this emotionally invested in him.

But how can I help myself?

I squint against the breeze and push harder.

Usually, I take my time, stopping often to admire the view.

Today, it’s only because my body makes me.

My legs burn. My lungs are disintegrating in my chest. My head—hoo boy, where do I even start?

Even Mol looks like she could use a break, her big pink tongue hanging out like a ribbon.

Reluctantly, I slow down and come to a stop at the lighthouse, walking up to the observation point so I can look across the water.

I instantly smile.

My mind sees him out there, fighting Mother Nature with all his raw, quintessentially grumpy Shepherd energy—and this time I wouldn’t even yell at him for risking his neck.

…no, that’s a lie.

I’d totally yell because no inner ragies justifies risking his life.

But I blink and he disappears.

There’s no one out there today except a few lonely fishing boats.

Molly rolls down beside me, catching her breath. I crouch down and dig my fingers into her fur, fighting this weird feeling of disappointment and the weirder urge to cry.

I’m not crying over this, I lie.

“Wow, someone’s beat today. What’s wrong, girl?” I say past my rock in my throat. I think I already know. “No harm in an early nap, huh? Let’s head home.”

Molly looks up at me and stretches.

Those trusting, bright-blue eyes I adore so much glow brighter than the silvery water.

You know what the worst part is?

Shepherd got along with her so easy.

It was nothing like the date-destroying disaster I’ve been fearing ever since I got her. Men and hyperactive dogs usually don’t mix, and it’s one more reason I haven’t put myself on the market.

But Shepherd, he just took every playful lick and rude paw like they were already old friends.

I wonder if Molly’s feeling sad because she knows we won’t be seeing him again, and whatever beautiful, messy thing might’ve happened isn’t meant for this life.

Scratching her ruff, I pick myself up with a heavy sigh.

I pretend to ignore the stupid, hollow feeling in my chest as I turn Molly around and jog back home to get ready for my next round of misery in the office.

The good times never last.

It’s time to grow up and face the freaking music.

So, being an adult is hard—and also weird.

Everything feels shockingly ordinary at work today.

In the days since we last saw each other, absolutely nothing unusual has happened.

He’s holed up in his office and I’ve stayed in mine, mostly with Mark, who hasn’t been the biggest pest in the known universe, even if he’s a bit of a chronic suck-up by nature.

He’s actually given me plenty to do and we’ve worked well enough together through his massive slush pile of charity queries.

Also, a certain someone—probably Hannah, or maybe her minion Rebecca—squashed the rumors so effectively that people only stare at me now when they think I’m not looking.

Progress.

Carol gives me a few sympathetic smiles whenever we pass by. She ducked in to congratulate me on a fantastic presentation—and apparently on the fact that the product team is already working to adapt one of their prototypes to conservation tracking.

I’m modest as always, taking the kind words in stride.

Except there’s that little bit of pride inside me that feels good because it was a great proposal.

I worked hard on it, and it feels good to have that work acknowledged.

“So, in case you wondered… a lot of people feel bad that they were wrong about you and Mr. Foster,” Mark says encouragingly at lunch. There’s a splat of mayo beside his mouth as he bites into his wrap.

The sun beats down on our heads, warmer now at midday.

“Yeah?” I force a smile, knowing he’s just trying to make me feel better.

“For sure! I mean, it’s pretty obvious there’s nothing going on now.”

Oof. Now I know he’s just buttering me up.

Or maybe my heart just forgot that every juicy piece of gossip eventually turns boring.

“I’m glad people are figuring it out,” I say again.

“You think it just won’t fizzle, huh?” His eyes shine with concern. “Listen, I don’t think you have anything to worry about. People will forget about it soon, if they haven’t already.”

He gives me a sympathetic smile, but I think he’s forgotten the fact that if he’s still talking about it, it’s unlikely anyone else has forgotten just yet.

Ugh.

This day is dragging.

“You’re killing it with the queries, by the way,” he tells me.

I try not to glare at him.

Silence is to Mark like bug spray is to mosquitoes.

“Thanks. They’re not so bad once we found a groove.”

“Oh, yeah. I wish I always had an assistant this good.”

I bite back the urge to tell him he’s the assistant, technically.

Then again, he’s actually on payroll.

The work is a necessity, and definitely not as exciting as being out in the field searching for endangered animals. But if my time at Wired Cup taught me anything, it’s that even corporate grunt work contributes to a good cause.

Money doesn’t just allocate itself to the world’s million good intentions.

Someone still has to read emails and reduce charities, people, and dreams into figures that fit neatly in a spreadsheet.

That’s what nonprofit work is. I get that.

But there’s something disheartening about it just the same, being the person pushing the buttons and preparing the big decisions made by the higher-ups.

I rub the back of my neck and tilt my head to the sky. “Thanks anyway.”

“No, thank you, Dess. What you’re doing is awesome,” he says, leaning closer.

His floppy hair falls into his eyes.

Bleh.

I guess he’s cute, in a younger dad bod way, but looking at him after Shepherd Foster is like comparing a pug to a Doberman.

The worst part is, I keep scanning my phone, hoping for a text.

But after a single quick message to say he’ll meet me tonight to see Meghan, there’s been nothing.

Fine, whatever.

He’s been so caught up with meetings and work and life.

Definitely too busy for a life with me and the trouble that brings.

I genuinely don’t blame him.

So here I am with Mark, finishing my sandwich and hoping this doesn’t get too awkward.

“Any chance you’d consider staying on after you’re done with Young Influencers? You could do a lot of good for Home Shepherd,” he says. “Like full-time, I mean. I’m sure you’d snag a position, easy. Though if you’re like me, you won’t get paid all that much.” He laughs, though he doesn’t sound like he finds it funny.

Weird.

Is he still hitting on me now that I’m basically the office slut?

When we’re alone, sometimes it feels like it, but he’s always careful to maintain this personal distance. I’ve also seen him being this awkward with other people, too, so I guess it’s just his nature.

Just his way of gladhanding and sucking up.

Mr. Nice Guy until he’s not.

I’ve known the type, and I wonder what kind of teeth might come up if you rubbed Marky Mark the wrong way.

But staying diplomatic with people like him is just part of the corporate world, and that means it’s part of the nonprofit world, too.

It’s not what you know but who, after all, that determines success when there’s big money at stake.

“You never know,” I say noncommittally. It’s more polite than hell no. “Well, lunch is almost done. Should we head back in and tackle that big cat sanctuary inquiry? You know, the one from Dallas, North Dakota?”

I legit wonder why there’s apparently a very good large cat sanctuary in small-town North Dakota.

I also wonder who names their small town next to Canada ‘Dallas.’

We settle back in, making small talk about their proposal as we go through it.

I spend the next few hours watching the clock until finally it’s time to leave.

Before Mark can ask what I’m doing tonight and I need a new excuse to blow him off for drinks, I grab my coat and haul butt out of the building.

Shepherd texts me just as I’m leaving. Meet me out front in the car.

It’s not another date.

No more steamy, emotionally-charged sex that shouldn’t be happening.

Just a date with destiny, and the tougher challenge of talking Meghan Tea down.

My stomach knots as I step outside, raincoat slung over my arm in the afternoon sunlight.

Ready or not, I’m going to see him again. For the first time since we literally slept together and I slipped out the next morning.

No, that’s not quite accurate.

Since Molly and I slept in his arms. In his bed. After the best naughty nibble ever.

Huge distinction.

Somehow, having Mol there for the afterglow makes it more heart-wrenching.

A company car, black and sleek, stops at the curb.

Shepherd opens the back door for me.

I push inside and fasten my seatbelt as the driver pulls away and Shepherd punches the privacy visor up.

“Here. Before we get into the Meghan crap,” he says, handing me his tablet before I have time to figure out how I should be behaving around him now.

At first, I’m not sure what I’m seeing.

There’s a flashing red dot in the middle of the screen. He zooms out to reveal the San Juan Islands just north of Seattle and Anacortes.

“Whales?” I let out an undignified squeak.

“Not just your humpbacks or orcas. There’s a pod of sei whales up there. A small EPA research ship confirmed a few fishermen’s sightings today,” he explains. “If you’d like, we could take my yacht out to observe them.”

Oh, God.

Does he know he’s blowing up my heart?

I’m gaping at him, mouth open, utterly gobsmacked.

He must have remembered that time I told him how much I wanted to see sei whales.

I have to find some words.

But that’s kind of normal when he wants to see me, I guess, especially outside of work again.

Shepherd wants to spend time with me.

And what he’s proposing definitely isn’t another secretive little hookup disguised as something else.

Damn this man.

Hope blooms in my chest like cascading wildflowers.

Deep breath.

“Of course, if you have more pressing concerns, forget I asked.” Shepherd clears his throat, staring at me intently. “I thought you’d like a chance to see them well within the boundaries of our state. I’d like to assess how practical it might be if we refine our product designs to include submersibles for underwater observations.”

I grin. “Sure, sure. That makes sense.”

“What are you implying, Miss Destiny?” He quirks a brow. “I have no ulterior motive.”

“You’re such a bad liar. But I love it.” I reach across and touch his leg, marveling that I’m allowed to do that.

This level of physical contact, at least in the privacy of the car, still makes me feel like I’m getting away with something impossible.

And there goes my heart again.

But I really need to be less happy about this.

Sei whales or not, it’s only going to hurt more when it comes to a bone-crushing end, won’t it?

Yet, I can’t stop my dumb mouth from saying, “It sounds amazing. When do we leave?”

There it is.

That small signature smile of his that shames the summer sun.

The lines of his face soften just enough before he snaps back to being all business.

“We’ll discuss the logistics later. Are you ready for this meeting?” he asks sharply.

I’m a little thankful reality smacks me in the face.

“I don’t know. As ready as I’ll ever be?” I fiddle with the buttons on my blouse.

Maybe I should’ve changed into something prettier. The restaurant Meghan chose—on Shepherd’s generous dime, of course—is one of the hippest and most expensive newer places in Ballard.

I don’t usually worry about whether my business casual is business-y enough to be intimidating. But this whole situation has me on edge as we dart through Seattle traffic in silence.

If this goes badly, there might be such a blazing fire to put out that there won’t be any sei whale excursions at all.

“You look fine,” Shepherd says as we pull up to the place, almost like he can read my mind.

“Thanks.” Another deep breath.

I should probably do something about my lung capacity, given how often I’m needing to breathe lately.

“You ready?” He grabs my hand and squeezes so tight.

I want to cry.

But for him, I need to be brave.

“Yeah. Let’s do this.”

The restaurant is a high-end Italian place with intimate lights hanging over tables and tasteful ambient music playing in the background.

I spot her immediately.

Meghan Tea shines at a table in the corner, sitting with a garishly dressed woman beside her.

I wonder if it’s her lawyer.

I didn’t know she’d be bringing company, but since it’s me and Shepherd, I guess it’s only fair.

As we approach, the older woman stands and jabs her hand at Shepherd first, then me.

“Hi, hi! I’m so glad you two could make it.” She kisses the air beside my cheek. “I’m Adriana Cerva, Meghan’s mom and manager.”

Meghan, surprisingly, barely looks up when we sit. Her usually perky, whip-sharp demeanor seems subdued.

Even her newer fire-red hair hangs limply around her face, and her lips are pursed in a way that’s hard to interpret.

But it doesn’t look like a happy face.

“Hey, Meghan,” I venture, trying to feel her out for hostility. But she just glances up briefly, gives me the slightest smile, and then looks down at the menu again.

She’s not reading it, though.

Her eyes are too still, almost like she’s staring right through it to the center of the Earth.

Okayyy.

Not what I expected.

To be fair, we’ve only met once or twice in person, very briefly at social media marketing conventions. Pretty normal, considering we’re on opposite sides of the influencer fence.

But I’ve seen her videos plenty with how much algo love she gets, even if they make me roll my eyes.

She’s not like this in her content.

She’s always perky, brash, and ready to swing her sarcasm around like a brandished sword.

Then again, with something this serious and her mom-manager along for the ride, maybe she’s just playing it cool. I’ve heard of outrageous people having a professional side.

Maybe her mom even told her to rein it in or something.

“Food first, right?” Adriana says with a fake laugh that slides down my back like a cheese grater. The frosted blonde tips of her hair look bleached almost white.

The woman is a talking mannequin trying to cling to her youth.

That’s my first impression.

Shepherd and I just order espressos as Adriana picks the most expensive pasta salads and cocktails for herself and Meghan.

She makes idle small talk as we wait, doing everything she can to drive home the fact that her daughter is famous, and she’s the whole reason for making Meghan Tea a national sensation.

Jeez Louise.

If she flashes her Chanel bag at me one more time…

Beside me, Shepherd’s face is pure ice.

That cool, hard edge he wears that makes it plain he’s not impressed by her act in the slightest, even if he stays perfectly polite.

It’s a level of badass indifference I can only aspire to.

Of course, Adriana doesn’t like it.

The less he acknowledges her bragging, the louder and more obnoxious she becomes.

Meghan dips her head further with every outlandish claim, still freakishly quiet, barely picking at her food.

“I remember when I was friends with Hank Hodges. You know, the actor?” she says, waving a hand. “Very attractive man. Very attractive. This was before he was married, of course.” The implication hangs heavy in the air. “We still call each other every now and then on our birthdays.”

I take another sip of my coffee, desperately waiting for someone to get to the point.

What I can’t stop looking at is Meghan, wondering how she can be so silent when she’s the whole reason we’re here.

Her videos were cruel, mocking and nasty, loaded with horrible implications.

But right now, I actually feel a tad sorry for her.

Adriana doesn’t seem to notice her daughter’s silence.

When she’s not talking, she’s gorging herself on the spread in front of her like a starving squirrel, bruschetta and stuffed olives and fresh mozzarella.

“How about we get down to business and free up our appetites,” Shepherd offers when they’re finally about to move on to the dessert menu.

Thank God.

“Ha, I was waiting for this.” Adriana wags a finger. “I’ve heard about you, Mr. Foster. A ruthless corporate shark. And I guess you know a thing or two about negotiating like the Italians do with your past and all.” She waves a hand.

Oh my God.

I try hard not to choke on my coffee.

“I’m Irish,” Shepherd clips. “No doubt you’ve had your own experience with negotiations, though, considering your role in your daughter’s business,” he says smoothly. “However, we’re not here to discuss my past, business or otherwise.”

Adriana cocks her head sharply. Her bleached hair flops.

“No? Oh, okay. So we’re here to talk about the present, then. Your relationship with her, right?” She points at me.

“I have a name,” I throw back.

“Destiny, Destiny. Of course. Such a pretty name for a gorgeous girl.” Adriana practically sneers. Meghan slumps lower in her chair, that neon-red hair falling across her face like she wants to disappear behind it. “My bad. How could anyone forget?”

Holy hell.

I’ve never wanted to rip at anyone’s hair and find out if it’s a wig so badly.

“Meghan said she might consider retracting the very personal claims made on her channel recently,” I continue, refusing to let her get to me.

Adriana’s sneer disappears as she cranes her head at Meghan like a snake.

“Is that what you said, sweetie?”

Meghan jerks up in her chair.

“You’d know, Mom,” she whispers. “You wrote the message…”

“Oh, yes, that’s right.” Adriana’s pink nails tap the tablecloth. “Well, as it happens, I would like to discuss this a bit more. There’s been an interesting development.” She reaches into her oversized bag and pulls out a set of glossy photos, then slides them across the table to us.

At first, I wonder why I’m looking at X-rated photos in a fine restaurant.

Then I recognize Shepherd’s ass mid-thrust, and a spill of blonde hair beneath him.

Oh, no.

Oh, shit.

These photos weren’t anywhere online. I didn’t know they’d been taken.

The canopy of leaves is too thick and dense to capture everything, but there’s just enough skin to know what’s going on.

No plausible deniability.

And that’s not even the worst part.

Anger vibrates through me.

It’s like I’ve been defiled, having something so personal stolen and laid out here like we’re discussing a flipping movie script.

Except no one should ever be subjected to this.

I try to find the words to even process this, but I never get the chance.

Shepherd’s knee knocks against mine as he flicks through the photos, his expression deathly blank and unimpressed.

When he moves, I jump.

He throws them back at Adriana so hard they go spinning.

“Why the fuck are you doing this?”

“Like you don’t know,” Adriana snarls. “You’re not a stupid man, Foster—even if you’re inclined to make bad decisions with your dick.”

“Obviously, I don’t know, or I wouldn’t have asked.” He leans back in his chair, arms folded, still observing them both with arctic disdain. “I find it odd that you’d show a complete stranger pornographic material in public.”

Adriana’s face flushes, blotchy through her makeup. “So, that’s how you want to play it? Fine. Whatever, Mr. Man. If you aren’t willing to discuss a little settlement that could keep this nice and quiet and private, well, maybe I’ll just have these pictures blasted out to everyone who wants a copy. I’ll ruin you for screwing a subordinate.”

I tense and go numb.

Beside me, Shepherd’s icy gaze locks on Adriana like a sniper.

She doesn’t seem to notice the danger she’s in as she turns her attention to me.

“Look, I know what it’s like, sweetheart. When you’re young and gorgeous, men make you think you need to give your body away to get ahead. But I can still save your reputation, little lady. If I tell the world he forced you into this to get ahead, your name is cleared, and maybe you can even get him to cough up some damages.”

I stare at her, my mind stalled.

Screw this.

“You’re sick,” I grind out. “He never forced anything. I’d rather hang up my whole career than make a penny your way.”

“So self-righteous. Sad.” Adriana tsks, shaking her head. “One little word. That’s all it takes to make this go away and turn you back into Little Miss Perfect again. I’m sure your father would appreciate it, wouldn’t he? What does he think of this sordid business?” Her lip curls as she says the words.

She’s doing it.

She’s actually using my freaking family against me.

It takes a special kind of fire-breathing bitch to harness my worst fears so effortlessly and without shame.

I’m already halfway out of my seat, about to tell this woman where she can shove her blackmail and her head, when Shepherd moves again, grabbing my wrist.

“I have a very low tolerance for bullshit, Miss Cerva,” he says, his words falling like icicles. “Not with me, and especially not with a smart young woman with a bright future ahead of her.”

I fully straighten, but I hold my fire just long enough to fix them both with a steely stare rather than the torrent of abuse that’s trying to claw out of me.

Don’t do it.

Don’t give her ammunition.

“As for your ‘proof’?” Sarcasm drenches Shepherd’s words. “I fail to see how these photos correspond to me or Miss Lancaster. Your habit of spying on strangers isn’t my business, aside from the corporate espionage that must’ve been necessary to facilitate this. Now, I’m used to ugly rumors. I’ve only dealt with them my entire life. Miss Lancaster, though, there’s no good reason she should have to suffer the same frustrations—and she won’t. I will only say this once. Leave us the fuck alone before you wind up in court, selling your damned purse collection for legal fees.”

That “fuck” gives him away.

He’s still got his professional voice on, but he’s spitting nails.

Who can blame him?

“Don’t even try to deny it. It’s you and Destiny, clear as day,” Adriana insists, her voice jumping an octave.

People in the restaurant are looking at us now.

Shepherd cocks a brow, staring at the crazy woman until that smarmy look on her face melts. I’ve never wanted to kiss him more than right now.

“Prove it,” he growls. “That burden is on you.”

Adriana levels a slow look and sighs.

“I was worried you’d react this way. So blustery and unreasonable. So stupid. Since you want to be a tightwad, there’s one more way we can both walk away with our dignity intact. You restart Young Influencers, and this time you choose Meghan. Do it, and I’ll come down with a bad case of amnesia. I’ll forget all about your love life and Meghan here will happily take some videos down.”

Speechless.

I’m flipping speechless.

My eyes flick to Meghan. She’s hunched in her chair, looking like she wants to be anywhere but here, and that small germ of pity sprouts into real concern.

Something isn’t right.

It’s like she’s a puppet, helplessly chained to her psycho mom.

“Even if you could prove it,” Shepherd says, “and I’m not saying you can, but if you could, that would be interesting, wouldn’t it? I’m awfully certain I could prove criminal blackmail if this winds up in court.”

Adriana has a smug smile on her face. “How interesting. So you wanna see who has the fastest lawyers in the old west? Game on!”

“No game, Miss Cerva. Just very serious questions about how you obtained those photographs, and what your business was spying on private citizens in protected wilderness with proprietary technology.” He pauses to let his words sink in.

I see the moment they sink in, and she actually has a flicker of fear.

“Criminal questions,” Shepherd says slowly.

Her smile vanishes.

Her garishly manicured nails press the table, almost hard enough to break, scratching the tablecloth.

Shepherd turns to Meghan this time.

“Think real hard before you follow her lead,” he bites off. “If you two have any sense of self-preservation, you’ll pretend we never spoke today. You’ll be smart. Shut up, get out, and never breathe another word to me or Destiny again.”

I think Adriana might have been struck mute.

Her breathing turns loud, rattling as she stares up into Shepherd’s face.

Even Meghan looks up, her eyes wide and uncertain, almost bugging out of her head as she looks between us painfully.

“Miss Lancaster, let’s go.” Shepherd stands and pivots.

With his arm in mine, he steers us out of the restaurant, leaving them gawking behind us.

Even with my back turned, I can feel Adriana’s glower, and when I glance back—a big mistake—she fixes me with a look I recognize.

I’ve seen that look before once, on a family friend I loved like an adopted uncle who wound up doing the unspeakable to my father and Eliza.

It chills me to the bone.

This so isn’t over.

This is a crazy narcissist who’s just had her pride shredded, and I know she’d rather die than let it go.