Page 25 of By His Rule

It doesn’t matter how many times I vent about the mortifying experience that was my interview for Callahan Enterprises, or how many porn star martinis Tatum plies me with, the frustration and disbelief never leave me.

He was such an asshole.

How dare he sit there and say those things to me?

I don’t care who I am. Tate’s friend or not, no one should be spoken to the way he spoke to me today.

It’s infuriating.

But the memory of what happened isn’t as infuriating as being forced to look him in the eyes again just a few hours after the event.

“Lorelei,” he greets, his stare holding mine firm as the air thickens around us.

Well, if this isn’t the perfect fucking way to end my disaster of a day, then I don’t know what is.

“Brilliant,” I mutter.

“I’m sorry,” Tate says, her concerned stare burning the side of my face as I keep my eyes on Kian. If it wasn’t already bad enough, he’s got my kitty in his arms. “I had no idea he’d be here.”

He’s lost his gray suit jacket and has his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing his strong forearms.

Thick veins run up them, covered in what I consider the perfect amount of dark hair and irritatingly tanned skin, considering he spends all his time locked in his fancy office at the top of the Callahan building.

Add the ginger fur ball into that, and…goddamn, he’s pretty.

“Drink, Bro?” Kingston asks, swaying as he moves through the kitchen.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough for a school night?” Tate asks lightly.

“That’s the thing about being the boss, baby. No one can say shit.”

Kian scoffs.

“You know it’s true. Remember that night we?—”

“Your wife is right. You should probably stop and call it a night.”

“Pfft, you’re meant to be the fun one,” Kingston sulks, making a detour and placing his hands on Tate instead of a bottle of whiskey.

His hands look massive as they span her growing belly.

“Missed you,” he slurs sappily.

“Christ,” Kian mutters.

“You could just leave,” I point out, turning his attention back to me.

“So could you,” he counters. “You are known for walking away when things get too much, after all.”

My lips purse and my nails dig into the underside of the stool I’m sitting on.

“You being the thing that’s too much.”

“Missed you today, baby,” King groans from my other side as Tate gasps in a way I’m all too familiar with.

I glance over in time to see him back her up against the counter, lift her onto it, and then step between her thighs.

My chest aches with jealousy, and everything beneath my waist knots with desire.

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