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“Oh, don’t worry about him. He’ll get what’s coming to him.” The malice shining in her eyes is unhinged, but I kind of like it.
“Oh?” I lean forward. “Pray tell, little omega. What do you have planned?”
She bites her lips and sends a nervous glance in Brady’s direction.
“Quinn,” he warns. “What did you do?”
Sighing, she takes a big gulp of wine before straightening her spine. “Nothing. Yet. But it turns out, my new boss also hates Mr. Mosley, and we’re going to slowly take his clients.”
“And why are you worried about that?” Brady looks at me.
I shrug. I wasn’t part of this plan.
“Parts of it may or may not be legal,” Quinn says quickly. “But my boss is going to do those things. All I have to do is be charming.”
Brady simmers on that for a moment, checking in with Austin, who nods. “Well.” He blows out a breath and sets his empty glass by his feet. Rising, he snatches a log and adjusts the fire in the middle of the table between the outdoor furniture. “Does your boss need a lawyer?”
“And muscle?” I add.
Austin groans. “It’s times like this, I wish I had done something besides becoming a chef.”
“Please,” I tell him with a shake of my head. “You can be muscle too. Don’t act like you haven’t kicked my ass a few times.”
Quinn laughs. “I’ll ask him if he needs a lawyer, but we’re not trying to kill the guy.”
“That’s too bad,” I say with a sigh.
She studies me, trying to figure out if I’m joking, and I simply hold her stare and sip my whiskey. I’m not kidding. If it comes to it, I’m sure we can figure out how to dispose of a body.
“You do that, but Dylan isn’t allowed to assist.” Brady lifts his gaze to meet mine, and for the first time in a long time, I sense approval and pride radiating from him. “He’s got a fight and finals to prepare for.”
My chest swells with happiness, and while I’m moderately disappointed I won’t get to introduce that Mosley fuck face to my fists, Brady is right. I need to focus, and luckily for me, I have everything I need right here. Support from my brothers. My omega.
Things are finally looking up.
I only hope this newfound peace isn’t a house of cards waiting to topple over.
Forty-Six
QUINN
Every day I go to work, it’s hard not to grin like a lovesick idiot. Everything is beyond my wildest dreams. All the orgasms. All the cuddles and snuggles. Delicious snacks and food. Dick. And, not to mention, Brady and Dylan are getting along.
“Okay, I have to ask. You’ve been glowing lately... Are you pregnant?”
I turn and glare at Erica, a second-year staff member who makes a point to be rude. “No, I’m not pregnant.” I haven’t really ever planned on kids. After the heartbreak with my dads and what happened to the guys, I can’t stomach the idea of bringing children into the world, only to watch their hearts break someday. “I’m just happy.”
“Mm. No, I think something is up.”
“Why are you so interested in my life?” Maybe I’m being rude, but I don’t care. Erica has consistently invaded my boundaries and asked a dozen questions that are nowhere near professional.
“Oh, I’m not. I’m just bored.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Well, maybe you can find someone else to be your entertainment because I’m not playing.”
Huffing, she spins on her heel and storms away. Whatever. She can be mad. She’s in a totally different department—tax—and it’s not like we’ll be working on projects together.
“Damn, girl. That was?—”
