Page 31 of Just a Friend for the Lion
I accepted the match.
Then, I sent her a message and asked her out.
Like a moron.
And she ignored it.
Flat out ignored me.
Which only made me want her more.
Because clearly I’m a glutton for punishment, and my Lion is a damn masochist when it comes to this woman.
And now? Now we’ve got this ridiculous Date to Mate Fall Equinox Singles Mixer thing Uncle Uzzi is throwing in some creepy Bridgerton-ass mansion on the Hudson.
Black tie required.
Magical ambiance guaranteed.
And you know who’s gonna be there?
MJ.
Single.
Untethered.
Unprotected.
Surrounded by a bunch of horny, pumped-up supernatural freaks all sniffing around like they’ve got first dibs.
Hell.
Fucking.
No.
Did I mention it’s black tie? I mean, of fucking course, it’s black tie. Because why wouldn’t it be?
I look like a pissed-off undertaker as I stand in front of the mirror in my office, adjusting the stupid collar of the tux Uncle Uzzi had hand delivered to my garage.
Like I’m supposed to be grateful he used magic to get my measurements right.
“Fuck,” I mutter, yanking the bowtie loose again. “Wearing a monkey suit is not my idea of a good time?—”
“I resent that,” Tony growls from the doorway.
Shit.
Right.
That’s why Shifter-owned companies need better not-so-human resources departments.
Which actually is why I just hired one.
“Not you,” I mumble. “I meant the actual monkey suit. The tux.”
Tony, one of my new hires—massive, quiet, and literally a Silverback Gorilla Shifter—crosses his arms. “Still offensive.”
