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“Ah, no, I’m …”
John makes a noise of irritation. “This is Stella, not Maddy. Jesus, I think it’s pretty fucking clear she’s not Maddy, you asshat.”
Okay, that hurt. I can’t pretend it didn’t. I shoot John a glare as he ushers Scottie and Whip inside, but I don’t get to say a word because Scottie turns and pins me to the spot with his weirdly intense gaze. “We finally meet, Ms. Grey.”
Oh, shit. I’m not supposed to be in contact with John. And here I am. In close, personal contact. I open my mouth and find my voice gone.
“Did you seriously tell her not to talk to me?” John says, putting it all out there.
Scottie gives him a passing glance and Felix blows spit bubbles.
“Yes, I’m Stella Grey. I know you said not to engage with John but—”
“Yeah,” John drawls, “that plan went out the door when she stole my ice cream.”
I round on John, who is now a dead man. “Hey! You had your paws all over my mint chip. I just took it back.” Each word is punctuated by a poke to his ribs.
John skitters back with a yelp. “Jesus, calm down with the stabby finger. And we both know that’s not true, Stella Button. Need I mention the—”
“Utter another word and I will bite you like a rabid ferret.”
John gapes at me for a second, then bursts out laughing—full, shoulder-shaking laughing that cause tears to well in his eyes.
I huff out an annoyed breath. “I’m serious. Fear my wrath, rocker boy.”
He laughs harder. “Make it stop,” he rasps through his tears. “My stomach hurts.”
“Ass-nugget,” I mutter, which makes him hunch over.
The coo of a baby has me pausing, and I realize we have an audience, one I’d totally forgotten about. Heat rushes over my face and prickles my skin. Oh, fucking hell. Mortified, I elbow John and slowly turn to face Scottie and Whip.
Whip grins wide and pleased and, to my horror, he’s recording John laughing. “Sorry,” he says to me, “but that had to be saved for posterity.”
I have no idea why the sight of John losing it is that big a deal, but I’m too focused on Scottie to care. “Sorry,” I say to my employer. “I really didn’t mean that.”
Scottie’s dark brow wings up. “That would be a shame, Ms. Grey. If anyone needs to be taken down by a woman emulating a rabid ferret, it’s Jax.”
God, I really did say rabid ferret. I want to slink away and hide.
John sobers then. “Hey,” he says outraged, “what did I do?”
“Shall we print up a list?” Scottie murmurs without any heat. Then he turns to me. “Rest assured, Ms. Grey, my intent was to spare you any irritation. It was certainly not to keep you from meeting Jax.”
“She calls him John,” Whip points out, still weirdly happy.
“It’s my name.” John flicks Whip’s ear and then dances out of reach when Whip reaches to smack his head. John glares at Scottie. “And you, Mr. Traitor, keep this up and I’m telling Sophie the stroller you bought is not Parent Guideline approved.”
Little Felix makes an indignant squawk.
Scottie pales, his arrogant brow wrinkling. “An utter lie. You wouldn’t stoop so low.”
“Try me.” John sniffs, his chin lifting. “Bad enough you tried to pound my door down.”
Whip snorts. “Interrupted, did we?” He appears fairly pleased at the notion.
He earns another ear flick. Whip is about to say something when the elevator door opens and two people get out, clearly arguing.
“The fact that I smiled at the Uber driver and wished her a nice evening does not mean I was hitting on her,” says a big, blond guy, clearly Rye Peterson. The sheer perfection of his thickly muscled arms is enough to identify him. There is a Tumblr dedicated to “Rye Peterson’s Arms.”
The woman with him is Brenna. Just like on the night of the party, her long hair is in a high, sleek ponytail that she flips over her shoulder. “The fact that you took her number makes you a total liar.”
His hands lift in exasperation. “What was I supposed to do? Toss it back to her? Then I’m all over social media as Rye the asshole who was mean to some woman. And you know it.” He leans in, crowding her space. “I mean, are you or are you not my publicist?”
Brenna gives him a cool look. “As your publicist, I’d advise you to keep your dick in your pants.”
His smile is dark. “Sounds a lot like jealousy to me, Berry.”
“Berry?” Whip repeats, breaking their silence. “You got a pet name for her?”
Both of them freeze, Brenna turning a shade of raspberry pink. I empathize. It sucks how easily we redheads blush.
Felix coos in the silence. Brenna smooths her skirt and heads our way, her heels clicking on the marble. “Felix Tiberius, my man.” She lifts his tiny fist and baps it against her palm.
