Page 31 of Knot Your Business

Her eyes widen at my outburst.

After a long moment, she nods and squeezes my hand.

“Sorry,” she murmurs.

I shake my head. Something clearly has her on the defense. Jasper, maybe? Though my asking about some random asshole of an Alpha that goes to the same school as her couldn’t really be related. Jasper hasn’t ever stepped on UCLA’s campus as far as I know, and that asshole Alpha sure as fuck doesn’t run in the same groups as my lover.

She clears her throat and gets into the short line.

Fifteen

RYLAN

“Fuckboy Extraordinaire?” she asks, her lips flicking up for a heartbeat, glancing over her shoulder.

I cock an eyebrow and purse my lips. She can’t honestly think he looks like anything other than an absolute asshole.

She giggles. “Yeah, all right. I can see it. I’ve just never stopped to really label him as a fuckboy. Though now that I think about it…”

She trails off as the barista calls us forward. I tuck my hands into my pockets, watching as she orders a cortado. Really? I expected her to be more of an iced coffee drinker. She starts digging through her purse, and I grunt, urging her aside before she can get any weird ideas in her head.

The barista smiles at me.

“Flat white, please.”

She nods, and I hand her cash to cover the tab and a small tip along with my name for the order.

“Pick a spot,” I instruct Violet.

She takes in the room, her eyes moving carefully over each zone. Without a word, she crosses to the far bank of windows and drops into one of the low-back lounge chairs wedged into the corner. I take her in rather than following right after her, leaning against the counter as I wait for our drinks to be ready. She’s in a set of ripped up jean shorts and a light blue shirt that complements her warm skin and dark hair. The light catches on that industrial piercing in her left ear, and as she turns back toward me, I can see a small gold hoop daith piercing in her right one, along with two more typical piercings mirrored in both.

“Rylan,” a different barista calls out, setting two nondescript white mugs on the countertop.

Grabbing both, I cross the room and settle into the chair beside Violet, placing both cups on the small table between us. She’s quick to take a large drink, not flinching at all at the heat of the coffee.

I adjust my legs, giving my half-hard dick a bit more room. That should not be so fucking arousing.

“So why does F.E. think he can use you to get a good word in with your dad? And why does he even care?” I ask again.

She sighs and rolls her eyes. “Because dumb guys like that think that being friends with me will get them easier access to my father’s company. And there’s a long-held belief that if you can get into Fallon Capital, you’ve got it made. At least in the finance industry.”

I tense.

Wait.

Fallon Capital.

“Johnathan Fallon is your father?” I ask, suddenly cautious.

She scrunches her nose. It’s fucking adorable.

“The one and only,” she mutters.

This is going to be a fucking mess if we’re not careful. Johnathan Fallon is practically God on the West Coast, the CEO and owner of the largest financial conglomerate outside of the big tycoons out on Wall Street. The company funds the recording studio Mark owns, at least partially. Enough that he’s often the one called to run the sound on fundraising events hosted by the company in LA.

I clear my throat and take a sip of the coffee.

“Not as glamorous as the world thinks?”

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