Page 40 of Her Billionaire Bargain (Kensington Square)

I was kind of afraid I’d end up doing the same with Shelby. I wasn’t even sure why. Was it the challenge of her? That I admired her absolute militant devotion to being a good parent? Or that she was fucking hot, especially when she unconsciously rubbed her calves together and her sundress inched higher on her ridiculously toned thighs?

Probably some combination of all of the above.

Under an hour later, Shelby and the soft-sided briefcase stuffed with paperwork she’d had me drive her home to pick up were stationed at the glass-topped table on the terrace off my bedroom. Berry, Bob, and I were racing around the backyard, chasing the football and each other with an exuberance that soon had me yelling, “Uncle!”

The post-rain humidity had me whipping off my T-shirt to mop the sweat off my face. It was only after I idly glanced up at the terrace that I realized my own ulterior motives.

I wanted Shelby to check me out. And she didn’t disappoint me. Her head was peeking over the high railing, just enough that I could see the high bun she’d shoved her long hair into with one of the pink hair bands around her wrist.

When Berry and Bob were off poking at the koi in my pond, I approached the terrace and called up, “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

Her blondish-brown bun disappeared from over the railing and I swallowed a laugh.

I knew I looked good. I rode my bike and spent enough hours in the gym to make sure of it. I didn’t even work out obsessively for the sake of my body. I needed to work off the stress. I had a fucking intense job. I also had a lot of energy I wasn’t expending in other vital ways and that adrenaline built up if I didn’t find constructive ways to burn it off.

Speaking of burning off energy, Bob was not going to need an extra walk tonight with the way he and Berry were still tearing around the yard. He kept finding sticks to bring her to throw and he insisted on fetching every one—until he finally sprawled in a patch of shade, tongue out.

“Get up, Bob. Bob, fetch.” Berry tossed the football and it very nearly landed in the koi pond.

Bob didn’t even lift his head.

“He’s a low energy dog,” I explained when she propped her hands on her hips and stared at him as if he was malfunctioning. “He pretty much expended it all already.”

“What’s expended?”

“Used up.” I pulled my shirt back on and crouched down so I was closer to her level. “Do you like to play games? I have a vintage Ms. Pac Man pinball machine in the house.”

She frowned. “What’s vintage?”

“Old but cooler.”

“Hmm.” She bit her lip, revealing a gap between her two front teeth. “What else do you have to do?”

I tapped my chin. “I have a PlayStation.”

Her eyes lit up.

“Alice, no PlayStation until your homework is done.” Shelby’s voice carried down to us from the terrace. Clearly, she’d heard every word of our conversation.

Berry rolled her eyes, but she dipped her head down first, effectively hiding the bit of sass from her mother’s watchful gaze. “I don’t have my homework with me.”

“You could help me with some paperwork,” I offered.

“Like what?”

“I’m a lawyer, and I need to make lists of what forms Isis—my admin—needs to send some clients. There are certain ones that have to be sent and signed before we can close cases, and if she has a list of what is still outstanding—needs to be done—it goes quicker.”

She seemed to think that over before nodding. “Sure. In your office?”

“Yeah. My home office.” I rose and offhandedly ruffled her hair. I looked up to see Shelby watching us. “That okay?” I asked Shelby.

“Sure.” She shrugged and went back to work.

Berry and I went inside, pausing just inside the threshold. “Shouldn’t we put Bob to bed? Does he have one?” She looked back to where Bob was still flat out on the grass.

“He has about five,” I said dryly. “All over the house. He rarely uses them.”

“Should we call him in though? Is he safe alone out here?”

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