Page 92 of Hate To Be Mine

The look on his face when he’d seen Rico touching me? It was like something feral had been unleashed. Like he’d been ready to kill for me. That was pure man. Women were hardwired to want alpha. I wasn’t into the clubbing me over the head and dragging me back to his bungalow typically, but holy shit. If he would have tried, I couldn’t say I would have fought all that hard.

It had been hot.

And frustrating.

And it did piss me off a little that he thought he had to save me. That was the inner feminist making her opinion known.

No one had ever fought for me before. Protected me like that. And some twisted part of me had liked it, even as the rational part screamed that this was a disaster.

I finally drifted off sometime after four when the world stopped spinning and my brain quieted. Unfortunately, my dreams were a hot mess. I bounced from my father walking in on me riding Sebastian like a lady going for eight seconds on a bull to Sebastian being dragged away in an orange jumpsuit.

Knocking woke me. Loud and insistent and just way more than was necessary.

I dragged myself out of bed, my head pounding, my mouth tasting like regret. I threw on a robe and stumbled to the door.

Briggs Blackwell stood there, looking impeccable despite the early hour. Suit, tie, briefcase. Full attorney mode.

“Ms. Simmons,” he said. “I’m sorry to disturb you so early. May I come in?”

“What time is it?”

“Seven-thirty.”

I stepped aside, letting him in. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

I could not even begin to imagine what I looked like. Less Venus, more Medusa, I suspected. I didn’t bother washing off the makeup from the photoshoot last night when I fell into bed. I could feel my hair standing up. The amount of product that had been sprayed, squirted, and squeezed into my hair to keep it looking perfectly natural and wavy was insane. I was pretty sure I was going to need to go through the equivalent of a carwash to remove the remnants of the glam.

But my hangover told me I didn’t care what I looked like. I wasn’t trying to impress Briggs. I didn’t have the energy to want to look put together. I was a mess and I was ready to own it.

I made coffee, extra strong. I handed Briggs a cup and sat across from him at the small table. I sipped my coffee and stared at him. I knew I should make small talk or some stupid shit, but I didn’t want to. I waited for him to explain why he was trying to take my door down far too early in the morning.

“I wanted to check in with you,” he said, his tone gentle. “After last night. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Do you need anything? Feel unsafe in any way?”

I understood what he was really asking. And it irritated me. If Sebastian wanted to treat me like a damsel in distress, that was fine. He’d seen me naked and I would allow it. Briggs hadn’t and I didn’t like being seen as weak or a victim.

“Sebastian hasn’t been inappropriate with me, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Has he?” Briggs’s eyes locked on mine. I could just imagine him in a courtroom. He could definitely be intimidating.

“Has he what?” I snapped.

“Been inappropriate?”

I thought about Sebastian’s hands on my skin. His mouth on mine. The way he feasted on my body.

“No,” I said firmly. “He’s been nothing but respectful.”

Briggs sipped his coffee, watching me. “What happened last night, from your perspective?”

I told him about Rico. The unwanted attention, the pushy behavior, and how Sebastian rode in on his white horse and rescued me. Or something close to that.

“Sebastian was defending you,” Briggs said. It wasn’t a question.