Page 52 of Irish Brute
Samantha, though, is continuing her arguments. I think I regret the day she first applied to law school. “What difference does it make, if I’m wearing a skirt or not? You’ve been gonemore nights thanIhave the past four weeks. We’ve eaten, what, one dinner together? And you were on your phone the entire time.”
“You’re right,” I agree. “I’ve been busy too. But not by choice. And that changes now. Even if I have to go out after dinner, I’ll be home for the meal. It’s the least I can do for my wife.”
She crushes the skirt in her hand. But she seems to have run out of arguments. For now.
I lean over and kiss her on the forehead, taking care to find the patch of tangled white lines from her scars. “You’ll find a dozen more skirts in your closet,” I murmur against her hair. I step back before she can knee me in the bollocks. “If you’d prefer different styles or colors, you may call Gallagher Samson and have them charge more to my account. But there’s a note in your file not to send anything black, white, or gray.”
She stomps down the hall without another word.
I can’t wait to see what happens tomorrow night, whether she follows the new rule or breaks it.
I figure, I win, either way.
21
SAMANTHA
“If you turn to page twenty-seven, you’ll see the relevant language.” As I wait for Trap to catch up, I switch on my desk lamp.
“Where am I looking?” Trap looks frustrated on the video feed. We’ve been going over this insurance contract for more than an hour.
“The paragraph with the heading Subrogation. You have the right?—”
I cut myself off as Braiden strides into my office. He’s confident as a lion, all lean muscle behind his sharp-toothed smile. He’s wearing yet another of his expertly tailored suits, complete with a flawless white shirt.
He holds the pink flowered skirt in his right fist.
“Shit,” I say.
Trap looks up from his copy of the contract. “What’s wrong?”
Braiden moves behind me. “Nothing serious,” he says.
He’s lying. What’s wrong is very serious. Braiden set a rule, and I broke it, and now I have to pay.
When I don’t come up with a diversion quickly enough, Braiden smiles at my boss and says, “Samantha just remembered we had plans for dinner. Our first Valentine’s Day together.”
Trap’s gaze goes to the corner of his screen. “I didn’t realize how late it is.”
“Give my best to Herself,” Braiden says like a perfect gentleman. But he reaches across me to end the call before I have a chance to wrap things up.
“You can’t do that!” I yelp.
“I just did.” He spins my chair around, trapping me with his body.
“Trap Prince is myboss.”
I’m thoroughly pissed. It’s one thing for Braiden and me to play in the privacy of this castle he calls home. I’ll admit that his bossy arrogance turns me on. I enjoy fighting with him. Losing to him.
However, my professional life is completely separate from those games. He doesn’t have the right to embarrass me in front of the man who pays my salary.
Braiden apparently thinks otherwise. With a deceptively mild voice he asks, “What time is it?”
I glance at the clock on my computer screen. “6:07.”
“6:07,sir,” he prompts.
I snort my opinion of his bossy honorific.
