I wonder what his job title is?
Princess hunter?
That almost makes me laugh.
“Lyssa?” my stepfather says.
“What?”
“Stop daydreaming. Mr. Lanrey is waiting for you.”
Right. Him.
OK, Lyssa. Let’s do this.
I take a deep breath, walk over to Mr. Lanrey—who is waiting just outside the office door—place both hands on his shoulders, grip his suit coat tight, and knee him in the balls.
“Ugggghhhhhhhhhh!” Lanrey moans. “Oh, my fuuuuuuuuck! My fuuucccccckkk-kkiiiingg GOD!”
It’s a really terrible moan too. Like… not one becoming of a gentleman who dresses like an accountant-slash-waiter and is hired to turn wild princesses into demure ladies.
My stepfather comes storming through the office, pushes me away from Lanrey so hard, I fall to the floor and hit my head, and then starts making excuses for me.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. She’s… you see why we need you. She’s just so wild and out of control, and—”
I stop listening because Mason is picking me up off the floor. “You OK?” he asks.
I suck in a deep breath, trying to get a handle on the adrenaline flooding through my body, but that makes me start to shake.
I let out that breath and say, “I’m fine,” as I brush his hand off my arm.
“No,” Mason says. “You’re bleeding.” And then he swipes a fingertip over the back of my head and shows me blood. “Does it hurt?” he asks.
“What do you think?” I ask, taking a step away from him.
“Hey,” he says, taking hold of my arm again and gripping it tight. “I’m on your side, OK?”
“Are you sure about that?” I ask him. “Because you’re on his payroll.”
We both look at my stepfather, who is staring at us. Watching our interaction.
“I’m afraid I can’t do this,” Lanrey says. “I knew your daughter was a troubled child, and I’ve worked with many troubled young ladies. But she’s the first to physically attack me.”
I growl at him, baring my teeth. Wild Thing.
Mason growls back, shaking me by the arm. “Knock it off, Lyssa. Just stand still and be good.”
My stepfather is shaking his head. “Mr. Lanrey, you’ve already been paid—”
“He’s been paid?” Mason says. “He didn’t even do his job. Why haven’t I been paid?”
“You’ll get your money, Mr. Macintyre,” my stepfather says, then turns back to Lanrey. “Mr. Lanrey, as I stated—”
“Consider yourself refunded,” Lanrey says, glaring at me. His face is all red and his eyes are still watering. “I do not work with animals.”
Hmmm. Well, there you go. I’m an animal.
“Your car can take me back to the city now,” he says, then walks to the front door and pulls on it.
I smile. I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s inappropriate, especially when I just humiliated this man. But I don’t care. I smile because he’s locked in and the door doesn’t budge.
And then I start giggling at the irony. Giggling like a stupid little schoolgirl who smoked pot on her way to class and is now having a fit.
“Stop it,” Mason grows at me. He’s still holding on to my upper arm, so he tugs on it again.
“I’m sorry,” I say, smiling at him. “It’s kinda funny though, right? They lock me in and then he’s—” I giggle again.
“Lyssa, I’m not going to repeat myself,” Mason hisses. “Shut. Up.”
I huff out a sigh and make a face at him. “I don’t have a lot of joy in my life, OK? Why can’t I laugh when I find something funny?”
“Because you’re laughing at his expense, that’s why. Jesus Christ. Who the fuck raised you?”
Everyone looks at my stepfather. He tilts his chin up, then sucks in a deep breath of air, walks over to the door, and unlocks it.
Lanrey rushes through like I’m gonna chase him down like a wild dog.
I almost laugh again, but Mason Macintyre is on to me now because he preemptively whispers, “Don’t you dare, princess. Don’t you dare.”
“Lyssa,” my stepfather says, looking at us in again. “Go upstairs to your room.”
I yank my arm out of Mason’s grip and say, “Go fuck yourself,” to my stepfather.
But I do leave. And I do go upstairs.
But I do not go to my room.
CHAPTER NINE – MASON
Baylor walks to the office door and says, “Mr. Macintyre, please. Come into the office.”
“So we can discuss my payment, I hope,” I say under my breath.
“You’re going to get paid. I told you, I have cash. You’re the one who refused it.”
“Because I don’t need cash, Baylor. I need a fucking wire transfer.”
“You can transfer it—”
“Look,” I say, losing patience with this asshole. “We made these terms. I explained them to you when I accepted the job. I have my reasons and you don’t need to know why I want a wire transfer instead of cash, OK? This is just how it is. So transfer the fucking money.”
“It’s Sunday,” he says.
“So what?”
“I only do transfers through my bank so it won’t go through until tomorrow anyway. I don’t understand what the big deal is?”