Page 44 of Falling for the Pucking Bad Boy

“But you didn’t tell them to fuck off either.” My stomach clenches at what he could’ve done or did, and it’s messing with my business vibes. He can’t be here. “Like I said…I’ll give you a few minutes, but not now. I have to get through tonight.”

Wells stares at me for a moment, looking as though he wants to argue before he gives me a nod. “Alright. I’ll be in the lobby waiting.”

Thank God.

Wells is about to pivot and escape from the room when Marshall’s voice cuts through my resolve like a sharp knife, and I almost whimper in defeat.

"Everything alright?"

This is going to go badly.

He arrives at my side, eyes briefly touching my own in question, and I’m not alright. But he’s not going to know that because I’m not putting my ass on the line.

"Yep,” I say, forcing a smile that doesn't reach my eyes. "Everything's fine."

“Who’s your friend?”

“Just some guy who wanted—”

“Her boyfriend,” Wells cuts in. And here we go.

I never thought of myself as someone who could commit murder, but as I turn to look at Wells, feeling the air shift around us, it occurs to me that there's a lot about this night I couldn't have anticipated.

“Boyfriend?” Marshall repeats the word as if tasting it for the first time. And he would be because I’ve never mentioned one before. “Didn’t know she had one? Ex?”

Wells smirks at the little jab that he’d be some crazy ex, stalker asshole who’d show up unannounced, and, well…Marshall isn’t far off the mark.

“Current,” Wells asserts, an almost territorial emphasis infusing the word. “You must be the boss that’s always touching my girl. Is that HR-appropriate?”

Marshall's recovery is quick; he doesn’t falter a bit. “It is when they like it.”

Wells’s jaw clenches, and he spins the bill of his hat to face back. I know he’s close.

He’s close to throwing down with Marshall right here and now, consequences be damned, and everything I wanted, everything I worked so hard for will be gone to shit.

My mind races, desperate for an intervention to steer us away from the edge we’re all balancing on.

“Guys,” I interject, the word sharper—more authoritative—than intended. "This isn't the place."

“I don’t think backward hat guy is going to want to throw down with me,” Marshall replies confidently. “I use guys like him to beat other people’s asses.”

Wells chuckles, a deep and dangerous sound that I’ve never heard before, and it sends goosebumps shooting frantically up my spine. “Rory, you really might want to get your boy here.”

I step between them, confident that a fight won’t go down while I’m standing in between them, and look up at Marshall with an apologetic look. “Would you excuse us for a minute? I’ll be right back.”

“I came to get you because I wanted you to meet someone. Make it quick.”

I nod and quickly escort Wells from the room without looking like I’m desperately trying to kick him out.

Which I’m sure he’s used to.

Once we're out of earshot, I stop and turn to Wells, his presence—a mix of pissed off and jealousy.

"Do you have any idea what you've just done?" My whisper is a thread of frustration about the million questions I will need to answer from Marshall. “That’s my boss, Judson.”

“I know.”

My face skews because he just flatly stated he didn’t care. “My boss.”

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