a personal vendetta against me and my girlfriend aren’t important. He just needs to be gone. The motherfucker still needs to pay for hurting Kay too.
“There’s video all over the internet of you looking ready to throw down with the guy.” I barely restrain a very Em-like snort at him using the phrase throw down. “There’s already speculation about if you’re a hotheaded jock.”
It’s times like these I wonder if maybe I shouldn’t have decided on using a family member as my agent. With Brantley’s law background—specifically in contracts—it made sense for him to be the one to handle mine, but I’m starting to question that decision. There are days it feels like he forgets I’m more than a client to him.
“Does it not matter at all to you that that same video shows Kay getting hurt trying to protect me?”
Last night in bed, I did my best to drive home—
Yeah, sure, if you mean plowing your hips into Kay until she came twice was your method of “driving” your point home.
Shut up, I tell my inner coach. But, yeah…he’s not wrong. *self five* Anyway…
I knew before I’d be able to get on the plane to Dallas, I needed to make sure, given last night’s revelations, that Kay wouldn’t make any other misguided attempts at protecting me that could put her in harm’s way. Seeing her hospitalized like that is not an experience I would like to repeat—ever.
“That is correct,” Brantley concedes, his face twisting in that I have a plan way it does when working on finding loopholes in the contracts he helps negotiate. “The media is loving that particular angle of the story…”
I hold my breath. Where is he going with this?
“Maybe if you played up your relationship on your Inst—”
“No!” I bark. Fuck, why would he go there? He’s been hot and cold when it comes to Kay, and the frustrating thing is I can’t figure out why. It also makes it impossible to keep up with what he wants. One second he doesn’t want me with her then the next it’s okay that we’re dating if I can use her to my advantage. Not happening.
“I don’t get it.” I curl my hands over the brim of my hat, my head falling back from the added weight as I look at the ceiling like it has the answers.
“What don’t you get?” I don’t buy the veil of innocence he pulls over his features.
“First you don’t want me to have a girlfriend, and then you do.” He goes to answer, but I cut him off with a slash of my hand. To be honest, his opinion doesn’t matter here, and I do have one critical point to make. “When, or better yet if Kay decides she wants to put parts of her life—our life on social media, it will be her call. I’m not going to use our relationship because you want to play up the whole ‘media darling’ thing.”
Color works its way up Brantley’s neck and onto his face. For all his merits, and there are a lot, his biggest fault is how poorly he takes not getting his way. Growing up with a silver spoon in his mouth followed by a career as a high-powered attorney, Brantley Roberts has grown used to the old adage: What Brantley Roberts wants, Brantley Roberts gets.
“You’re young, on the cusp of starting a career doing what so few are able to achieve. Why tie yourself down now?”
And we’re flip-flopping again. I’m going to give myself whiplash trying to keep up with his ever-changing opinions.
I despise this tactic. Yes, I’ve more than earned being called Casanova, but all that changed when a tiny blonde with rainbow highlights accused me of bringing her a coffee in an effort to have her blow me. From that moment, I knew I had to up my game if I wanted to prove to her I was playing for keeps.
“I love her,” I state simply.
“I get it. Really, I do.” There’s another careful pass over his hair. “But you thought you were in love once before and look how that turned out.” The reference to Chrissy/Tina has me close to snapping, my spine going ramrod straight in an effort to maintain my cool.
“This is what I don’t get. A girlfriend is bad, a girlfriend is good—I need you to make up your mind here.”
Brantley regroups, his shoulders rolling back, his stare calculating. “Why this girl? Why chose the one girl who is going to prevent you