Page 15 of Playing With Her

“I’m happy for you, Mom.” She pulls out of my arms and moves toward Isabelle. The two of them hug while employees walk in and out of the kitchen to see the news and gather around, waiting their turn to celebrate no longer seeing Noah Boudreaux at the end. My phone vibrating in my pocket pulls my eyes away from the woman who owns me.

“Hello.” Sylvester’s name flashes on the display.

“Brother, I know you probably got the news already. I wish it were me there to deliver it face to face to Isabelle. Sadly, I’ve got a case that’s busting my balls.”

“Watching my woman and her mom celebrate right now. I’ve never seen Amelie happier besides when we saw our baby today. Fuck, that was amazing. A case is kicking your ass, or your secretary is making you sweat?” I prod, trying to get to the truth. He’d do the same to me. Hell, he did not long ago, when I was a miserable shit, brooding and closed off, working more than my usual trying to keep any and all heat away from Amelie while getting things together to bring Four Brothers to New Orleans. It all worked out in the end. Not sure how I managed it, yet I did.

“A bit of both. She’s on some tangent about needing to save the whales and dolphins, wants me to take on philanthropic work. I don’t have the heart to tell her that for every company you take down for illegally killing wildlife, four more appear. Add on the other cases, plus digging around in your parents’ accounts without leaving a trace, and I need a damn vacation.” I chuckle. It’s hard not to. Sylvester Sterling’s dick is all in knots over a woman who’s nearly a foot shorter than him, younger by nearly fifteen years, and the best part about it is, she doesn’t see that Sly is panting for her like a dog in heat.

“From the bill Four Brothers paid this morning, I’d say you can buy a small island, spend a month there, and still have plenty of money.”

“And what would I do with my secretary? Leave her to the fucking sharks in this building? Don’t answer that. I don’t want to hear your opinion. Congratulations, man, I’m happy for you.” Sly knows his secretary is who he wants; it’s coming to terms with it more than anything.

“I appreciate it. You going to be around this weekend?” I ask. Parker and I spoke earlier today. Papers need to be signed. I want Amelie to meet the rest of my brothers, and a weekend away isn’t a bad idea either.

“Yep. You coming home?” I don’t think of New York as home anymore. The only home I’ll ever need isn’t a place; it’s a person.

“We are. I’ll let you know the details as soon as I’ve got them laid out.” We hang up. There’s another way I’m ready to celebrate, and it’s with Amelie, any way I can have her.

TWENTY-FIVE

Amelie

I’m standingin Boston’s New York brownstone a few days after the news came out. Mom is happier than ever, as she should be, though there’s still a lot left up in the air. Only time will tell what’s going to happen. For now, Dad is behind bars, as is his attorney. The judge was somehow released on bond. Make it make sense. So, when Boston suggested I go along with him on a work trip to New York City, it was hard to say no. Mom practically shoved me out the door. For someone who says she loves me, she sure doesn’t want me around as much anymore. All Boston’s doing, I’m sure. His mission to drive me up the wall and smother me to no end can get annoying even if it’s coming from a good place. Still, I came willingly, wanting to get away from the press. Today is the day. Boston and I are hosting a lunch of sorts, with all of them, and I do mean every last one of his friends who are thicker than any blood could possibly be. Parker and his wife, Nessa. Ezra and Millie; I’m unsure if they’re married or engaged. Don’t judge me. There’s four of them and one of me, well, five if you count Sylvester, who is single yet taken, so says Boston. And Theo, who no one knows whether he’s dating or not. All five of them live within walking distance. A part of me feels bad that Boston has given up a lot of his roots to settle in New Orleans, which has me coming up with a scheme of my own.

My second trimester is treating me amazingly. My energy levels are back, my libido is more insatiable, though I have no idea how that was even possible. I only know that it is, and if Boston doesn’t get his ass downstairs soon, I’ll be meeting them on my own. The game plan is to meet up here, let the guys go over a few things for work, then we’ll walk to a restaurant nearby. The grumble in my stomach is yelling at me to eat a snack. No problem. Now that my morning sickness is out of the way, my appetite is back in full force. I take out the tray with assorted cheeses, crackers, and salami, my favorite these days. Boston did most of it since he had it prepared as well as the fridge stocked before we even walked through the doors.

“Hmmm,” I moan, taking my first bite, not even bothering to make a plate or wait until the tray is on the counter. I lift the saran wrap and sneak my fingers inside for the salami and mozzarella. Crackers be damned. I just need something now. Boston’s child demands food on the regular, and if he or she doesn’t get it, well, I’m left hungry, angry, and with a killer headache. This pregnancy hasn’t been smooth sailing like some others I know, but I’m alright with it. I’m better than most, and I’m still able to get up, work, and get on with my daily tasks. I finish that bite, this time with more patience. I make another little sandwich with crackers, leaning over the sink because of the crumbs that will to no doubt fall when I bite into the goodness.

“Amelie, will you grab the door? I’ll be right down,” Boston interrupts my moment with food. How does he know anyone is at the door? I didn’t hear a doorbell. I grumble and take the last bite, stuffing it in my mouth as I dust off the crumbs from my hands and off the sink, then do the same to my face as I make my way to the front door. I should be annoyed that I’m meeting all his friends face to face for the first time without him. The truth of the matter is, I’m not. I’ve met Sylvester, talked to the others a handful of times, and Boston has a relationship with them that’s so close I feel like we’ve already met.

“Hey, guys,” I say with a smile on my face after making my way to the massive wood door, unlocking the deadbolt and lock on the knob, twisting it, and flinging the door open. Only to stand in front of who I know as Governor Wescott. A sense of déjà vu hits me. Here is another irate-looking man. Oh, joy. Lucky freaking me.

“Where’s Boston?” he demands. I cross my arms over my breasts, hip cocked out, foot holding the back of the door open, letting him know that he will not be let in. Over my dead fucking body. Boston protected me. Now it’s my turn to protect the man I love more than myself.

“He’s busy.” We’re in a deadlock of who will blink first. He may be a wealthy politician, but I’ve dealt with far worse. My own father was the definition of crooked, and while I don’t know the entire story of why the man in front of me is a vile piece of shit, I’m knowledgeable in the fact that Boston has a relationship with most anyone. Even if he doesn’t know you, he’s at least cordial.

“Make him unbusy. Are you the slut of the week for my son? I can see he has good taste. Nice tits, curves, and a mouth made for sucking cock.” How I remain stoic, unlike my normal self that would unleash a slew of words right back in his face, along with a swift kick in the tiny balls he so clearly sports, is a damn miracle. I also know his type. He thrives on making people tick. Belittling them with each word is how he works. Too bad I had my own version of hell in the form of a father. Governor Wescott isn’t anything to write home about. A bully in his own respect, throwing out words to make you feel worse about yourself.

“Like I said, he’s busy. I’ll let him know you stopped by.” My arms drop from my chest. He must see that I’m going to close the door, because as I go to shut it, his foot is at the ready, pushing it back open so hard that I’m almost knocked on my ass. Except it doesn’t happen. Boston is at my back, cushioning my blow, and judging by the growl coming from him, I’m going to have to diffuse this situation, fast.

“Governor Wescott, I do believe you’re trespassing.” My eyes move downward, seeing he is certainly standing within the foyer of Boston’s house. “I’d suggest you leave. Now,” Boston grounds out. The vibration from his chest hits my back.

“I paid for this place. I’ll damn well stay here with your little two-bit whore if I want to!” Jesus, can’t anyone come back with something original? This is getting tiring. Slut, whore, it’s all the same for men who think they’re better than anyone else, especially when it’s them who are those names.

“Leave now.” Boston starts to move me out of his way when we’re saved by the miracles of all miracles. Sylvester is front and center, followed by Parker, Ezra, Theo, Nessa, and Millie in the background, probably because their men knew Boston wouldn’t leave his door open to invite the man who makes everyone’s life a living hell.

“Governor Wescott, so nice of you to drop by my client’s home, which he purchased with his own money. You wouldn’t happen to know about his inheritance that’s suddenly missing, would you?” Boston’s body locks up behind me. I let out a small squeak. Holy shit. Surely, the governor wouldn’t take money that wasn’t his, right?

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Wescott tries to brush it off, turning around to face Sylvester. I wish he’d take a long walk off a short bridge.

“I bet. It was good to see you, Wescott. I’m sure we’ll be seeing more of you, too.” Sly shrugs his shoulders and takes a step closer until Boston’s father has no other choice but to walk by, and with the space Sylvester is taking up, it’s Wescott who has to squeeze by.

“You’re on my radar, Sterling. Watch your back. Boston, I suggest you leave New York, take your trollop with you, and never return.” Well, then, I’ll give him an A for effort. Can’t say that’s been used on me in the past month or so. These men are something else.

“I do believe you just made a threat. Probably not your wisest move, with witnesses are all around. The governor running for presidency and all,” Sly inserts. Wescott must get the memo. His mouth is firmly shut. He should probably see about gluing his lips together permanently. Everyone watches as he walks away.

“Well, that was interesting. I guess both our fathers are rays of sunshine on a cloudy day,” I joke to lighten the mood.

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