Page 3 of Finding Lord Landry

I jabbed the button on my app. “What would Chaska say about getting rid of unwanted pests?” I gritted out.

“Every creature has its purpose, but not every purpose belongs in your space. Approach with respect, for even the smallest intruder has its role in the great web of life. Seek balance first: understand what draws them, and gently remove what invades. If they persist, guide them away with firmness but without cruelty. Harmony is not in the destruction of others, but in creating boundaries that protect your peace.”

I snapped my fingers and pointed at him. “Boundaries.”

Landry pulled his jogging tights off the floor and began tugging them on. He’d been in the middle of a run last night when I’d texted him to ask how he wanted to RSVP for the Baxter-Hicks gala. Instead of responding with the answer, he’d asked if he could stop in to take a leak and get a drink of water.

I should have known it would end up with the two of us naked and spent. It always did.

“It’s only four weeks. I can self-service for that long. Unless…” Landry gave me a piercing look. “Are you planning on sleeping with other people on your retreat? Is that it?”

My heart gave an annoyingly wonkythump. “That… is none of your business.”

“Chaska Inira,” he said in that stupid, singsong way he always said the man’s name. “I’ll bet you want to get into his ceremonial robes, don’t you? Who wouldn’t? I’ve seen pictures, you know. He’s an attractive man.”

“He’s married to his purpose,” I said loftily.

“So are you,” Landry pointed out. “Doesn’t keep you from getting some on the side.”

I took in a deep breath. “I do not have plans to sleep with my guiding light, no. And looking after the five of you could hardly be considered ‘purpose.’ More like ‘circus.’”

When I’d accepted the role of executive assistant to five billionaires who called themselves “brothers,” I’d assumed they’d settle down with age. That my job might even—gasp—become boring. Now, between babies, horses, business and recording contracts, and watching each of those idiots fall in love, my days were busier than ever.

Landry reached for his shirt. I took one last appreciative look at his chest, shoulders, and abs before the fabric separated me from them.

“Why can’t you give me a straight answer?” Landry’s voice was tight with frustration. “You’re so fucking cagey.”

“I’m going to San Cordova to focus, Landry. To anchor myself for the year ahead. To learn new techniques in mindfulness and meditation. No, I do not plan on asking the faith healer—or anyone else for that matter—to put his dick in my person while I’m trying to focus on myself.”

Landry made a little growling noise in his throat. If my dick hadn’t been spent already, it might have perked up at the sound.

I walked around the bed and poked the center of his chest with my finger. “But I’m also not making any promises to you about who I am or am not sleeping with. That wasn’t the deal.”

“It was literally the deal.”

“No. I said I wouldn’t sleep with you again if youhadslept with other people. I didn’t ask for promises, and I didn’t give any.”

I started to pull my hand away, but Landry grabbed my wrist and held on. The warm strength of his grip made my stomach tighten. “Don’t go,” he said softly. “Please don’t go.”

Oxygen suddenly became scarce in the room while red alert beacons flashed in my hindbrain.Do not let a man keep you from following your dreams, I reminded myself.What do you want?

Him,my stupid fucking heart cried.

Peace, my hindbrain insisted.Focus. Success. Growth. Mindfulness.

Dick,my still-sore ass added helpfully.

Our eyes met and held. Landry leaned in.

For a split second, I thought about it. Thought about giving in, agreeing to stay with him, and trying to turn this enemies-with-benefits thing into something real and good.

But then I remembered why that would be the worst idea ever: I knew Landry Davis. Knew everything there was to know about him.

He was a professional supermodel andunprofessional playboy. He was charming and intelligent. He loved his friends.

But he was also allergic to taking things seriously, being responsible, or following through on anything, as evidenced by the number of times he’d begged me to rebook his missed flights, post his bail, or fly across the world to solve whatever international incident he’d stumbled into that week. “I was bored,” he’d say with a shrug, back when I bothered asking why.

He also happened to be competitive as fuck… which was why I couldn’t trust his sad eyes or any of the stuff he’d said to me at Christmas about wanting a relationship.

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