“Um, do you have an appointment?” she stammered.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I strode for the door and whipped it open.
Marty was sitting behind his desk, his cell phone pressed to his ear. When I walked in, he nearly fell out of his chair in shock.
“I’m going to have to call you back,” he muttered into the phone before placing it on the desk. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, pulling his tie tighter, clearly trying to collect himself.
“There a good reason you’re following my woman around town?” I growled, placing both hands on his desk and leaning in close.
“Your woman?” he questioned.
“Layla,” I replied through gritted teeth, resolving to spread that shit wide. I wanted everyone to know she was mine as soon as fucking possible.
“I’m not following her.” He scoffed. “It’s a small town, and anyway, I’m her lawyer.”
I grabbed him by the tie, pulling him so we were nearly nose to nose. “You were her nan’s lawyer,” I corrected. “Past fucking tense. There is absolutely no reason for you to approach Layla again. You see her? You walk the other way. You get me?” I demanded.
“I get you,” he stammered, fear evident in his wide eyes.
I shoved him back into his chair. “Good. ’Cause I hear otherwise, our next conversation is gonna go a lot differently.” I turned on a heel and strode from the building.
As far as I saw it, it was high time for a beer.
“Walker,” Gunner greeted from behind the bar a little later as I strode into Mad’s, our local bar owned and operated by the club.
I took a seat at the bar as he slid a beer my way. The place was relatively quiet this time of night, and I knew Gun got bored until things picked up. I wasn’t in a hurry to go home to my lifeless apartment and figured I’d come for a beer or two.
Spending a childhood in foster care followed by constant travel in the military had made me unfamiliar with putting down roots. My apartment was a place to crash and occasionally cook, nothing more.
“Paid a visit to Marty,” I grunted, still vibrating with the need to hit something.
Gunner raised a brow. “Is he still alive?”
“Unfortunately,” I muttered. “Layla told me he’s still bothering her. I didn’t take well to that.” I shrugged. I knew I wouldn’t need to explain further.
“He get the message?”
I nodded, taking a swig of my beer. “Think so. Thing is, something about that whole situation struck me as way off. I went to his office. He’s got a fucking setup fit for fucking New York City or Beverly Hills. Where’s he getting that kind of money? Far as I can tell at this point, the only clients he can get aren’t even in their right mind.”
“That’s fucking weird,” Gunner agreed. “We’ll keep an eye on it.”
I nodded again, ready to put the whole thing out of my mind. I had much better things to occupy my mind.
Chapter 7
LAYLA
Aloud yowl greeted me as I walked in to the house that Friday morning after dropping Riley off. I’d skipped the gym with the excuse that I needed to get some work done, but in reality, I felt that maybe a break from Cash was a good idea. I hadn’t planned on him, on anyone right now. The man was potent, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that just yet. “Hey, buddy,” I greeted Oscar, bending to scratch his ears as he weaved in between my legs. I couldn’t seem to break the habit of talking to him despite knowing he couldn’t hear me.
He followed me down the hall toward the home office I was still in the process of putting together.
I sat in front of my computer, attempting to ignore the unpacked boxes and general chaos that was my life, and got to work.
For a few hours, as I threw myself into the only thing that felt familiar, I could pretend that I actually knew what the hell I was doing.
Sort of. Maybe.
Hours later, my stomach grumbled, reminding me I’d skipped lunch. I had a habit of getting lost in my work. If I was going to pick Riley up early as I’d planned, I’d have to get a move on.