Page 3 of Unwillingly His

The foolish man had me listed as the executor of his estate and trustee to his precious daughter’s fortune, a leftover detail from an early friendship from our college days that had long been relegated to the trash bin.

Well, one man’s stupid fuck up was another man’s opportunity.

Aware of the suspended silence in the courtroom, I pinched her chin between my fingers and leaned in, whispering close to her ear so we were not overheard by the keenly interested crowd, “You’ll pay for that.”

Her back stiffened.

Before she could pull away, I wrapped a firm hand around her upper arm and spun her in the direction of the exit.

The courtroom erupted in excited chatter and camera phone clicks.

Dammit.

I loathed public spectacles. As of late, it had been my errant children’s romantic exploits keeping our family name in the tabloids. Now it would be mine.

“Mr. Manwarring,” the judge called, stopping me.

“Yes, your honor?” Even though he worked for me, I kept my tone light and polite. This was still his courtroom, and I needed to keep up appearances.

“Did you want to press charges for assault? Or I can hold her in contempt of court? Maybe a few days in a cell will fix her attitude, or I could?—”

I raised an eyebrow to stop the judge’s eager-to-please mouth vomit before others in the courtroom caught on to his obvious bias towards me.

Stella sucked in a breath of air, and I turned to look at her.

The anger in her eyes had melted into fear, with a delectable hint of loathing as she turned her glare on the judge.

“Well, Stella, do you need a few days in a cell?” I asked casually. “Or do you think we can straighten out your attitude problem on our own?”

Her hazel eyes flicked back to me.

Then her lips parted, as if she were going to say something.

Instead, her gaze fell to her shoes.

“Good girl,” I rasped against her light brown hair before turning back to the judge. “No, your honor. I think it was just a momentary lapse in judgment. She is, after all, just a girl who lost both of her parents. I’m sure with some proper guidance, she’ll behave.”

Stella sucked in an indignant gasp as she attempted to wrench her arm from my grasp.

I held firm.

The judge nodded. “Very well.”

With her arm still securely in my hand, I squeezed a little harder, as a warning.

Then I marched her through the wooden double doors of the courtroom and down the hall.

“Let me go,” she growled under her breath as we passed several curious onlookers.

I pushed her over the threshold of the nearest conference room. “Careful. You are in no position to be making demands.”

Then, I turned and locked the door.

CHAPTER 3

LUCIAN

These conference rooms were used for holding prisoners for final conversations with their attorneys before trial. Which meant the walls were thick, the locks secure, and there were no cameras.

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