LOVE, HATE, AND TERRIBLE DATES!

Chapter 1

Libby

Was eleven a.m. too early to start drinking?

My corgi rolled over and grunted as I climbed out of bed and headed to the kitchen. I pulled out a box of leftover pizza and a bottle of wine. Then I climbed back into bed to continue my three-day wallowing session.

I scrolled through Instagram. Pictures of my old life taunted me—cool parties, gallery openings, and a boyfriend. The screen paused on a picture of my now-ex. He was a budding social media influencer. His hobbies included lifting weights and sleeping around with Instagrammers who had Brazilian butt lifts and breast implants.

We were supposed to be the next social media power couple. Instead, I had just been used.

“After all I did for him!” I yelled at my phone screen. Not only had I propped up Trenton’s ego—I had also pimped him out to my followers. Granted, I didn’t have all that many of them, but I’d had more than my ex.

I took a swig of wine and navigated to his Instagram profile against my better judgment. “Ugh, he’s still with her.” I took an angry bite of pizza.

Trenton’s smug face stared up at me from his latest Instagram post. He was with that home-wrecker. My ex had promised me that she was just a fellow fitness influencer. Right. She was doing a lot more than lifting weights when I had walked into his gym to surprise him last week.

I chugged the rest of the bottle of wine.

The heartbreak was still raw. I had thought Trenton and I were forever. We had talked about getting married in the city sculpture garden.

I screenshotted the image and opened up a new post on my phone. Bad enough to get cheated on, but did he have to do it with someone shilling oat milk lattes? Guess his promises of “I’ll love you forever” are as fake as his abs and as fake as her butt.

“Screw you,” I slurred to my ex’s picture in my Instagram post as the likes started trickling in. “And screw the rest of the men in my life. Including my godfather.”

Chapter 2

Carl

It was supposed to be easy money. My mother’s great-uncle was the godfather to some poor indigent girl, and all I had to do was take her under my protection. In exchange, I would be given control of a prime piece of real estate in one of the hottest areas in Manhattan.

Done.

My brothers and I were already taking care of my younger half sisters. Libby would have fit right in with them.

Except that Libby was not a little girl like the feeble, elderly lawyer had made her sound. No, she was a grown woman—a fully grown woman—with tattoos, piercings, bright-green hair… and tits.

“She is your ward.”

I rubbed my jaw as I studied her Instagram feed. Along with random pictures of corgi-themed art, it was filled with pictures of her corgi and pictures of her with her corgi and pictures of her wearing clothes made out of trash that I supposed were meant to be some sort of corgi costume but really just made her look deranged.

I had gone to business school. I was not an artist. And I certainly didn’t waste my life on social media like Libby apparently did.

Scrolling through her feed, it was clear the woman was unhinged. There was a whole set of posts from yesterday about cheaters.

“Aww, did Carl find a girlfriend?”

“Go away, Liam,” I said as my brother pushed his way into my office.

Our older brother, Walker, was close behind him.

“Are you finally trying to make yourself more attractive to women?” Walker snickered.

Older brothers were the worst.

“I am already attractive to them.”

“Yeah, that bot that you were chatting with last night sure seemed real excited,” Liam said with a laugh, trying to grab my phone.

“Get out of my office,” I snapped at him.

“It’s adorable when he tries to act like Greg.” Walker elbowed Liam. “You need to try a little harder, little bro. You don’t quite have that ball-shriveling tone down.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I still have the photos of you from the weekend when everyone thought you were kidnapped but you were just tied up in a hotel room by some crazy woman who wanted her credit card bills paid off.” I lowered my voice to a soft snarl. “So if you don’t want those all over Reddit, I suggest you back the fuck off.”

“Jeez, man,” Walker complained. “Never mind. I take it back. You’re just as much of an asshole as Greg.”

“And to think we came over to help you shop for your new ward.” Liam shook his head.

I scowled.

“Come on, Libby can’t be as bad as Kiki,” Liam said, moving my papers aside so that he could sit on my desk. “She was trying to do a reenactment of the Salem Witch Trials and almost burned down my kitchen.”

I ran a hand over the back of my neck. “Libby is a twenty-three-year-old woman.”

My brothers were silent for a moment then exclaimed, “Holy shit!”

“Dude,” Walker said, shaking his head. “See, this is why none of us wanted to get mixed up in Mom’s family drama. It’s not worth it for a hunk of junk.”

“It’s prime real estate and a historic building. When I turn it into luxury apartments, it will be an asset in our portfolio. The best part is I won’t have to pay a cent to buy the building. Mom’s great-uncle’s estate will simply hand it to me. You’ll see,” I told them, standing up. “This is going to be one of Svensson Investment’s most profitable deals.”

But first, I needed to inform Libby that she was now my ward and things were going to start changing in her life. 

Chapter 3

Libby

“It is three in the afternoon. Why in God’s name are you still in bed?” I pushed myself up from the nest of blankets and clean clothes left over from doing laundry last week and peered around blearily.

Was I hallucinating from my post-breakup wallow, or was there a man in my apartment?

He made a noise of disgust and opened up my curtains, which were just old sheets that I had tacked up over the large windows in the bedroom.

“Oh my god, there’s a man in my room.”

He was young. Wearing a suit. Hot.

No. Not hot. I didn’t go for guys like him. Ever. I was an alternative, artsy girl who read tarot cards and made collages. I dated men with tattoos who made their own kombucha, not corporate finance types. Gross.

Oh my god, is he from the student loan company? The panic started to burn away the hangover. I hadn’t made a student loan payment in a year. Was I going to be arrested?

“Intruder! Stranger danger!” I grabbed a pillow and threw it at the man.

I was an artist, not a sportswoman, and the pillow landed harmlessly at his feet. The commotion roused Doug, my corgi, and he snorted then hauled himself out of the nest of blankets, took one look at the man standing in the middle of my messy bedroom, and hurtled off the bed at him.

“Untrained dog,” the man said, elegantly stepping back away from Doug’s clumsy attempts to cosplay a German shepherd. “Lives in filth. Sleeps all day. I can see why your godfather was concerned.”

“My what? He’s dead. That’s not any of your business,” I snapped. “It’s not filthy. I have a system of organization.”

His lip curled. He pointed to a pile in the corner. “That is not organization. That is trash.”

“That is art,” I countered, crossing my arms.

Cold gray eyes met mine. He adjusted his cuffs—French, of course—and walked toward me, placing his custom Italian leather shoes carefully so as not to step on the clutter on my floor that I was totally going to clean today.

“Also, how dare you come into my apartment?”

“My apartment,” the man corrected. He stopped in front of me.

I swallowed. He was tall. Like, really tall.

“No,” I croaked. “This is mine. I live here.”

“Yes, in a building that is soon to be under my management.”

“You can’t have this building. It belonged to my godfather…”

The man smirked. “Yes. Past tense.”

“That rat bastard! Seems like this week, I’m getting screwed by all the men in my life.”

Doug barked.

“Not you, baby!” I cooed to the corgi as he yapped at the handsome blond man’s heels.

“Your godfather was only looking after your best interests,” the man said in an annoyingly self-important tone. “He found your life situation very concerning. In his last will and testament, he left you to me as my ward.”

“I’m sorry—this is the twenty-first century, sir, not Victorian England. I am not your ward. I don’t need a guardian. I am a grown woman.” Was I drunk? Because it felt like I was still drunk.

“On the contrary, you are in desperate need of guidance.”

“Get out,” I demanded, pointing to the door. “Or I’m calling the police.”

He didn’t need to know that the police tended to steer clear of this particular building. No, not because it was a high-crime area; it was just that all the elderly women that had set up shop in this dilapidated apartment building had a habit of painting au naturel and got very excited when a police officer showed up in uniform.

“The will states—”

“I don’t care what the will states,” I said bitterly. “My godfather didn’t leave me squat. If he thinks I’m going to play along with his posthumous sexist bullshit, he can keep right on spinning in his grave. Evict me, I don’t care. I’ll move to an art commune in Vermont. Doug, make him leave.”

The corgi did his best to herd the blond man to the door. The man was not intimidated by the corgi.

Should have gotten a German shepherd or a mastiff.

“Fine. I’ll do it myself.”

I grabbed my mug of wine from the nightstand and hauled myself out of bed, stuck my feet in my fuzzy corgi slippers, and promptly tripped over some trash on the floor, arms flailing.

“Oof!”

Two strong arms caught me before I could face-plant on the floor.

“Your life is a disaster,” my nonguardian said, setting me upright. He turned on his heel.

“I don’t come into your house and harass you,” I insisted, hurrying after him.

Then I crashed into his very firm back.

“Ow!” I rubbed my nose.

“Blessed be!” Gardenia, my elderly roommate, greeted me. “Your Instagram account has been looking a bit basic, so I got you a little something to jazz it up.” She gestured grandly to the pink-and-white sculpture of a vagina that had caused the blond man to freeze in the living room.

“And who might you be, handsome?” Gardenia asked, switching gears.

“Carl Svensson,” he said, looking up to the ceiling to avoid looking at Gardenia’s very bare chest.

“Don’t mind me,” she said, grabbing his hand, “Just freshening up my henna tattoos. I’m attending a big recommitment ceremony in a few days. It’s going to be bangin’!”

“I just need to talk to Libby,” Carl said, still staring at the ceiling.

Gardenia nodded sagely. “Is he your new nude model?”

“What? No! I don’t do that!” I said, flailing my hands.

“Might do you some good. You need to spice up your Insta account.” Gardenia waved a finger at me.

“People like the pictures of Doug eating watermelon,” I protested, trying very hard not to think of Carl nude in my living room.

He’s not hot. Not at all. So just get it together. I took a gulp of wine.

The corgi padded around in a circle and sniffed the giant plaster vagina.

“This is going to be a cute post and feature a two-hundred-thousand-dollar sculpture and be sex positive,” Gardenia said, snapping a picture.

I inhaled the wine I was sipping. “You’re trying to sell that thing for how much?”

Carl swore under his breath.

“What man doesn’t want a vagina big enough he can stick his head in?” Gardenia demanded.

“I’m sure there’s someone out there who doesn’t want that,” Carl murmured while I yelled, “Doug, no!”

My corgi had stuck his head in the, er, birth canal, for lack of a better word. He jerked his head back and yelped, struggling. The large sculpture slid across the floor with a screech.

“Doug!” The corgi waddled backward, dragging the large pink vagina sculpture around the room.

“Now, this is quality viral content,” Gardenia said as I chased Doug around the room, trying to catch him.

“Doug, stop moving!”

He backed into Carl and yelped. Those gray eyes flicked from me to Doug to the large plaster vagina Doug was still attempting to struggle out of.

“Don’t act like you’ve never seen a vagina, a good-looking, strapping young man like you,” Gardenia said, slapping Carl on the thigh and making him jump.

“You can’t just do that, Gardenia,” I chastised as I reached down to pry the vagina off Doug’s head. I stood up, balancing the art piece on my hip.

The expression on Carl’s handsome face seemed apprehensive as he eyed the vagina.

“I wouldn’t put your head in this if I were you,” I told him. “You might get stuck.”

“Unless that’s your fantasy,” Gardenia crowed and elbowed him. “By the way, you are welcome to break in and surprise me in my bedroom any time.”

He tilted his head and regarded me. “Libby is the one who needs me.”

Uh. Is this, like, a sex thing? Please let this be a sex thing.

I set down the sculpture to try to get it together. You cannot be attracted to him. Look at how his hair is parted. Not only that, he’s clean-shaven. He is not your type at all.

“Your life is a mess. Do you even have a job?”

“I work,” I sputtered, waving to the living room that doubled as an art studio.

Carl scowled. “You need a job and better clothes.”

I perked up. “You want to take me shopping? I mean, I can always go shopping. I want this vintage eighties purple fur coat—”

Carl’s lip curled up. “Absolutely not. I am here to make you into someone respectable, not enable your bad habits.”

I ground my teeth in annoyance. It was the same argument I had had with my godfather.

I suddenly felt a little choked up. Even if he had disapproved of my life choices, Herbert had been the closest thing I had to family. Shit, my mom hadn’t even come to his funeral after dumping me on his doorstep when I was a toddler.

Maybe Carl would be like a family member. Maybe this could be a good thing?

But there was no sympathy in his cold gray eyes. Instead, disapproval wafted off him.

“You know what?” I said, hardening myself and crossing my arms. “Doug and I are fine. So thanks but no thanks, Carl. Now, if you don’t mind, get out of my life.”

Before he could lob a retort, someone banged on the front door of the apartment.

“I hope that’s the pizza guy with wine and a pepperoni pie,” I said.

“Your pizza guy delivers wine?” Carl was appalled.

“Only if you tip him,” I said, shoving past Carl and refusing to acknowledge his hard body as I wrenched open the door.

Instead of pizza, there was yet another man in a suit. Unlike Carl, though, he didn’t fill out his clothes. Their fabric hung off him, and his hair was less Ivy League preppy and more used-car-salesman greasy.

“Libby Gilbert,” he said, extending a manila envelope to me. “You’re being sued by Trenton Desoto for damages resulting from the slander posted on your social media accounts.”

Chapter 4

Carl

“Oh my god!” Libby said in disbelief, hands shaking as she untied the string around the envelope. “I’m being sued. I can’t be sued. I can’t do this! I don’t have any money to hire a lawyer. I don’t have any money to pay my credit card bill. Oh my god, Doug, what are we going to do?”

“You’ll flee to Canada,” Gardenia insisted and pulled out a suitcase covered in what looked like shellacked gummy worms.

What the fuck? This woman is absolutely insane.

“You,” I said, cutting through her hysterics, “are a disaster.”

Libby froze and turned to face me.

“As well as disorganized,” I said, ticking off the adjectives with my fingers, “you are ill-prepared and impulsive. I would say that it’s a wonder how you’ve made it this far in life, but looking around, it’s clear that you haven’t made it far at all.”

“I have a dog and an apartment,” she shot at me.

“And a swell roommate,” Gardenia added.

I focused my gaze on Libby so I wouldn’t have to stare at the elderly woman’s naked torso.

“You have nothing,” I told Libby, “and what’s worse is that you can’t even seem to acknowledge the fact.”

“Oh, so you want me to stand here and thank you for gracing me with your presence and offering to be a finance-bro version of Marie Kondo?” Libby said hotly. “As if. I like my life the way it is. I don’t need you.”

“The fact that you just got sued proves my point. You should be on your knees begging for me to help you get your life together. Instead, you’re sitting here arguing with me while what is left of your miserable little existence goes up in flames around you.”

“Screw you!” Libby shouted, waving the envelope at me. “You come in here with your suit and your briefcase and your money and you think that you’re superior to me.”

“Yes,” I said, “I am, if only for the fact that I didn’t just have to pull my overweight corgi out of a shoddily made sculpture of female genitalia.”

“This is a two-hundred-thousand-dollar art piece,” Libby insisted.

“I’ll give you a discount though, Carl,” Gardenia offered, “because you’re hot.”

“He’s not hot,” Libby hissed at the elderly woman.

“Yes, he is,” Gardenia stage-whispered. “You should bang him.” The elderly woman cupped one bony hand to her mouth. “Libby has piercings in her—”

Libby clapped a hand over the elderly woman’s mouth.

“You’re not wanted here, Carl, so get out. I have to deal with this lawsuit.”

“If you were my ward, I’d deal with it for you,” I said.

She wavered slightly.

Maybe the property could still be mine.

But Libby set her head stubbornly. “I’d rather stick my head in this vagina sculpture.” She stuck her tongue out.

It was pierced.

I wonder how that would feel against your…

Don’t. Your brothers were right. She is not worth the trouble.

“You know what?” I said to Libby. “Fine. Exist in your own filth and inadequacy. Don’t come crying to me for help when you inevitably crash and burn. When I see you living in a box on the street, I’ll be sure to toss you a dollar. Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have other messes to clean up.”

Chapter 5

Libby

“Oh my god, I can’t believe that jerk-face sued you!” Brea, my best and only friend from art college, poured bourbon on two large bowls of ice cream. My friend liked sweets. And booze.

She sprayed a dollop of whipped cream from a can on top of each bowl and added unicorn sprinkles. Because things couldn’t be so bad if there were unicorn sprinkles, right?

“He’s just mad because you called him out for cheating on you with Ms. Butt Lift.”

I felt like I was dissociating as I ate my ice cream and scrolled slowly through Trenton’s Instagram feed. My ex and Ms. Brazilian Butt Lift were all over social media, talking about how I was jealous of their success. They even had the audacity to paint me as a crazy ex-lover, not a girlfriend, not someone who Trenton had said he was going to marry. Just some booty call who didn’t know her place.

“I hate him,” I seethed.

“You’re going to win the lawsuit,” Brea declared. “What you said was true. He did cheat on you. His abs are fake. He uses makeup to make them look that defined, and her butt is big, and oat milk is nasty.”

Brea petted the bowl of ice cream. “Nothing is better than dairy, isn’t that right?”

“What if I don’t win?” I wailed.

“Think positive,” Brea said firmly. She jumped up and went to my closet. “You’re going to go in there like a boss babe. Platform heels. Miniskirt. Push those boobs up.” She threw an armful of clothes on my bed. “Where are your heels?”

“I have Doc Martins,” I said uncertainly. “They have a pretty thick sole.”

Brea came out of the closet, combat boots in hand. “Guess they’ll have to do.” She then returned to the closet and pulled out a fake-leather dress.

Though I had tattoos, I didn’t particularly like letting everyone see all of them, and that dress was pretty revealing. 

“We’re fighting back,” she insisted, shoving the dress at me.

I slowly put it on. It was a little snug. I had been hitting the pizza and wine pretty hard lately. And ice cream, of course. Not to mention pleather was not the most forgiving material.

“Tits up,” Brea instructed, snapping pictures. “Give me your best warrior roar.”

I growled—or tried to.

“You sounded like a kitten. Be a tiger! You’re going to strut into that lawyer’s office tomorrow and tell them that you’re not going to budge a single inch. Demand an apology from Trenton and a payout for emotional distress!”

Brea showed me the pictures. “See? You look badass.”

I did look like a boss bitch who was about to strut in there and get shit done.

“We’re posting this,” Brea said, grabbing my phone, “so that all your adoring fans can see that you’re not going to be intimidated.”

“You mean my meager few thousand followers.” I tugged up the top of the dress.

“Don’t be down on yourself,” Brea instructed. “This is the start of a juggernaut powerhouse social media fan base. They all love your pictures.”

“They like pictures of Doug,” I corrected.

“You keep pimping that corgi out!” Brea pumped a fist. “You’re out here making money.”

“Eh, sort of.”

“Be the girl boss. Let me hear you!”

“I am a boss.”

“Louder!”

“I am hot, and I am a boss!”

“Yas, girl!” Brea hugged me. “Don’t let those boys boss you around.”

“You’re right,” I said, determined. “No one is the boss of me, especially not Carl.”

“Ooh, is Carl the hot guy who’s in charge of your life now?”

“He’s not in charge of my life,” I said, annoyed.

Thinking about Carl, with his arrogance and his stupid suit, made me furious. I was tired of being jerked around by men who thought they were better than me.

“I’m putting on my dark lipstick and all the eyeliner. They’re not going to know what hit them.”

***

For all my preparations, I was the one who felt intimidated when I walked into the conference room at the slick Manhattan law firm.

I felt out of place in my combat boots and big hair. My pleather dress kept riding up as I walked, and I pulled it down as I slid into one of the high-end French chairs at the long wooden table.

“Ms. Gilbert. Chester.” One of the lawyers, a pudgy, balding man, offered his hand to shake.

The chairs next to me were empty. Across from me was Trenton, glaring at me, arms crossed.

I can’t believe I ever wanted to get married to this joker.

“Is your legal counsel on their way?” Chester asked.

My palms were sweaty, and I wiped them on the pleather. “I don’t have legal counsel. I’m representing myself.”

The lawyer glanced at his cocounsel, his eyebrow quirking slightly.

I’m not an idiot. I’m in the right, I reminded myself. I crossed my arms and leaned forward, hoping the tattoo sleeve made me look more intimidating than I felt.

“Let’s begin with our demands,” Chester said, sliding a sheet of paper over to me. “Trenton is asking for half a million dollars for damages to his reputation as a fitness instructor. He lost out on a large deal with a household sports brand because of your allegations that his abs were fake.”

“They are fake,” I insisted. “He had me do the makeup on his abs.”

“There is no proof,” he said. “All his pictures look perfectly natural.”

“Of course they do. Because I’m a very good artist, if I do say so myself. I’ll get on the stand and testify.”

“They won’t believe you. We’ll make the jury think you’re a jealous ex,” another lawyer piped up.

“I’m not jealous! Trenton is a cheater; he was sleeping around.”

“You two were never in a relationship,” Chester said.

I was shocked. “Yes, we were. I posted about it.”

“She’s a stalker. I barely knew her,” Trenton declared.

His lawyer shushed him, took the paper back from me, and crossed out the number and wrote a smaller one.

“We’ll make you a better deal,” he offered. “In addition to the reduced settlement, you must post a public apology on your account and sign this nondisclosure statement pertaining to Trenton’s activities as an Instagram influencer.”

“I’m not signing that.” I scowled. “How about instead, Trenton posts a public apology to me and gives me a big payout?”

“I told you not to try and negotiate with her!” Trenton jumped out of his seat and pounded his fist on the table. “She’s mental.”

“I must be, for ever being in a relationship with you!” I shrieked.

“I’ll see you in court,” he yelled at me while his lawyers tried very hard not to roll their eyes.

“Fine,” I shot at him. “Because I’m going to win.”

“You’re not going to win,” Chester told me simply, with that total corporate-sociopath vibe that made me hate any man wearing a suit. “You can’t even afford a lawyer. We can make a fairly solid case that Trenton lost several sponsorships due to your social media post. You will lose and have to pay damages and lawyer fees. Take the plea bargain.”

I shook my head.

“Look,” the lawyer said with a sigh. “We’ll even reduce it to you having to make a heartfelt public apology and pay lawyer fees. How about that?”

“Fuck that,” I said hotly. “Go ahead and take me to court. You can’t squeeze blood from a stone. I’m up to my tits in debt. So sure, take my student loans and my credit card bills.”

Trenton was shocked. “What about your godfather’s money?”

“Didn’t leave me a dime.” I leaned back in my chair, glad for the first time since he’d died that my godfather hadn’t believed I was worth leaving an inheritance to.

See, the universe works in mysterious ways.

I smirked at all the men with their fancy watches and corporate titles who were probably wondering how they were going to be paid. “Guess law school can’t beat poverty.”

“She has assets,” Trenton insisted.

“What? My crappy fifteen-year-old MacBook that you have to hold the charger in place for or it shuts off? Be my guest.”

“No.” Trenton said slowly, “She has the dog. A corgi.” He gave me an evil smile.

I never hated anyone as much as I did my ex at that moment.

“You cannot take my dog. He’s a family member.”

“He’s property and an asset,” the lawyer said. “Corgis run several thousand.”

I couldn’t lose Doug. He was all I had left. I didn’t care what it took.

I blinked back tears. “Okay,” I said. “Okay, I’ll write your stupid apology. And—” My voice cracked. “Maybe there’s a payment plan?”

“I think we can—” the lawyer began.

“No,” Trenton snarled. “We’re going to court. I’m taking your stupid dog.”

“You can’t take Doug,” I cried.

“You’re going to pay for what you did to me.”

It was too much. I had to get out of there. I was going to break down sobbing, and I did not want to cry in front of all these men in suits.

I pushed back my chair, grabbed my bag, and rushed out, trying to find a bathroom.

I was going to lose Doug. I saw the writing on the wall. All those lawyers who didn’t care about the lives they ruined, who just wanted to win—they were going to ruin me.

I couldn’t find a bathroom; instead, I stumbled into the lobby and collapsed behind a large potted fern. Doug was my only family member. Doug was always there for me, with his wagging little corgi butt and cold dog kisses in the morning.

I’m going to have to flee the country, I decided.

But with what money? Maybe I could steal a car. Then Doug and I could flee to Mexico.

But what if I was hunted down? I wasn’t going to survive in prison, and Doug wasn’t going to survive in doggy prison.

Maybe I could elaborately fake his death?

I wish. I could not fake Trenton’s death.

That fucking asshole. Last time I got into a relationship.

I sniffled. I needed wine and a binge session of romantic comedies.

Also a lawyer.

But I didn’t have money to pay a lawyer. I barely had money to pay my rent. Lawyers were, like, hundreds of dollars an hour. Guess you should have listened to your godfather after all and earned a law degree. Also probably should have listened to him about Trenton.

My godfather had not approved of Trenton, but then, he had never approved of anything I had done.

Who cares what he thinks? You have bigger problems.

I slowly gathered my things and peered around the plant to see if the coast was clear.

It wasn’t.

Important Italian leather shoes made sharp clicks on the marble floor as a handsome man in a suit crossed toward the reception desk.

Is that…

“Carl Svensson, here to see Chester. He’s handling the Aiken case.” There was that same imperious tone.

“And you are?” the receptionist asked.

Carl gave her a cold smile. “Tell Chester I’m here to shut down his case.”

Chester, the head lawyer from Trenton’s case, huffed out into the lobby a few moments later.

Carl’s eyes were an unyielding steel.

“We’re not dealing with your brother’s company outside of scheduled meetings,” Chester blustered.

Carl blinked and inclined his head slightly to look down his straight nose at the smaller man.

Chester’s voice trailed off.

“Done?” Carl asked quietly. “Good.” He opened up his briefcase and handed Chester a manila folder. “Tell your client to drop the case, or these pictures of him will be released soon as part of a documentary about the frankly un-family-friendly behavior of your client.”

“This is blackmail,” Chester sputtered.

“It’s hardly blackmail to have journalists produce a docuseries about a publicly traded company that manufactures some of America’s most popular children’s toys,” Carl said. “If that information also ruins the client’s marriage and impacts his ability to have custody of the children he’s already neglecting, then let the chips fall where they may.”

“This is illegal and unethical.”

“Get off your high horse. We both know that Aiken’s original lawsuit was bullshit and funded because he was jealous that my brother rejected his sister’s advances,” Carl said calmly.

“My client will not stand for this threat.”

“Tell him to have fun while his stock collapses and his marriage implodes.” Carl turned on his heel. I caught a whiff of masculine scent, like desert air on a cold night.

“Wait!” Chester ran after Carl.

The taller man paused and looked over his shoulder. He was like a Greek statue, except clothed. Because I totally did not want to see him unclothed. Nope, not at all.

“Let me just…” Chester waved his phone.

Carl was aloof and impassive, not at all acting like he had just threatened a man with personal ruin.

Chester paced around the lobby, talking in a frantic whisper while Carl waited.

“All right,” Chester said. “He’s dropping the case.”

Carl gave him another cold smile. “I’ll let our lawyers know to expect a letter with the good news.”

Normally, I would hate that type of underhanded knife-in-the-back manipulation.

Except that was exactly what I needed to save Doug.

Chapter 6

Carl

I was about to step onto the elevator when I felt someone grab my suit jacket sleeve.

I looked down, expecting to see one of the lawyers, probably come to snivel and beg for the photos on behalf of their client.

I loved to win—loved to have the upper hand, loved the checkmate, loved seeing the realization on the faces of people who wanted to take down my family as they realized I was fully in control of the situation, and I was calling the shots.

Instead, there was Libby.

“Are you my new stalker?” I asked her lightly. Then I noticed her tear-streaked face and her disheveled appearance.

A possessive rage rose in me. Why? I had no idea. I didn’t even like her. “What happened?” I asked softly.

Libby shrank back from my harsh tone.

I grabbed her before she could run off.

“I, um…” She wiped at her eyes, smearing her eyeliner. “They’re going to take Doug.”

“Who is Doug?”

“You met him,” she said. “The corgi. My ex is going to sue me for Doug.”

“I see,” I said, releasing her. So she hadn’t been attacked. “You two weren’t even married. No judge is going to give some random person your own property for no reason.”

Libby scuffed the toe of her boot on the marble floor.

“He’s suing me for slander because I might have made a post about him, but it was all totally true!”

“Ah,” I said, clasping my hands behind my back. “So you made an unwise, immature, impulsive action and now are facing the consequences. Might I suggest a lawyer?”

“I can’t afford a lawyer.”

“That is just too bad,” I said in a slightly mocking tone.

“I don’t need a lawyer. I need you. Please,” she begged, “I saw you in there. You were amazing! That lawyer rolled right over. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You’re right. I am amazing,” I said smugly.

“So you’ll help me?”

“Let me think about that.” I looked up at the ceiling for a moment then back at her. “Thought about it, and no.”

She glared at me. “Has anyone ever told you you’re a dick?”

“Has anyone ever told you your life is a disaster and you might want to consider, I don’t know, allowing someone with more experience at having their shit together offer a little guidance? Oh, right.” I tapped the side of my head. “I did. In fact, I think you told me to go fuck myself.”

I leaned over her. “Unfortunately for you, I’m not interested in helping you or your little corgi.”

***

“Honestly,” I muttered as I walked down the hallways to the large conference room at Svensson Investment. “As if I’m going to drop everything and help her after she refused to even consider being my ward.”

Maybe you should find a new name for that. “Ward” sounds like you are going to end up betrothed in a few months then have to ask the King of England permission to marry.

I did feel the slightest, barest hint of guilt. Maybe. Or I could just be hungry.

Libby had looked so sad, crying about that stupid little corgi. The possessive, protective part of me had wanted to turn around and confront the lawyers and her ex, to flay them then and there and be the hero.

You can’t save people from themselves, I reminded myself as I walked into the conference room where my older brothers were arguing about whether they should invest money into a Svensson space program. The minute you start bailing people out, they take it as a license to do something even stupider the next time.

Case in point? My older brothers.

Oh, they all liked to think that they were big bad billionaires, that the world was their oyster just because of their sheer awesomeness.

Not.

The only reason the lot of them weren’t in jail or chained to shady gold diggers was because of yours truly. I was the Svensson brother that made all this possible. When the next youngest, Liam, had drunk-posted a racy photo of himself on his Instagram, I had spun it in the media and turned it into a call to action for body positivity. When the next oldest, Walker, had accidentally driven his car into the garage door of the girl he had just dumped after hooking up with, I had had the damages fixed and upgraded her living situation. While those two were the worst offenders of the Manhattan Svenssons, Mike and Beck, the next oldest, had had their share of issues, mainly stemming from their lack of tact and the fact that they had no issue insulting people whose intelligence they thought was beneath theirs—or in Beck’s case, flying off the handle and firing his employees. Yeah, I’d had to do quite a lot of damage control to save them both from being canceled.

My brothers were all morons, except for Greg, who was an asshole. And the oldest.

“I don’t want any of you going to the moon,” Greg snapped.

“We could put Belle’s name on a moon crater,” Liam offered. “I bet she’d totally forgive you then.”

“You puked in my car last week,” Beck reminded Liam. “You shouldn’t be trusted in a multimillion-dollar spaceship.”

“No one is starting a space program,” Greg snarled.

“Fine,” Liam said, “I’ll strap a thousand helium balloons onto a lawn chair and make my own spaceship.”

Greg sucked in a breath.

“Kidding, kidding,” Liam said.

“I say let them go for it,” I told Greg. “There are more Svenssons where they came from.”

My father, the leader of a polygamist doomsday cult, had had a number of wives and football teams’ worth of sons. All my half brothers now lived in the small New York town of Harrogate, while our younger sisters lived here in Manhattan.

“You’d miss me.” Liam wrapped his arms around me. “Poor baby Carl.”

“I am not a baby.”

Walker made a heart shape with his hands. “I’ll always remember how you used to be so small I could stuff you in a pillowcase and swing you around.”

My fucking older brothers.

“And I’ll always remember the time I spent five hours carefully removing the superglue that one of your slighted girlfriends put in your hair after hooking up with you,” I told Walker.

“Okay, so see, one, that was supposed to stay between us,” Walker said, making a What the fuck? gesture. “And two, she wasn’t my girlfriend. She was one of the many women I had on rotation. I told her that.”

“Well, she obviously didn’t get the memo,” I told him.

Walker patted his hair. “To be fair, my hair has had a lot more volume since that incident.”

“Are you all done?” Greg said, scowling. 

“Change your mind about the space station?” Mike asked.

Greg’s lip curled back. “We have more important matters to attend to. Carl,” he barked at me. “Pull up the Instagram account.”

I tried to keep my expression neutral as I pulled up Artemis Investment’s Instagram on the large screen at the front of the conference room. There was a photo of Belle and her other female cofounders.

For all of the trouble my brothers got into, nothing was going to be as bad as that ticking time bomb right there. Belle and Greg had been circling each other, engaged in a cold war after Greg had, well, acted like Greg, and Belle rightfully wasn’t going to take it.

When they finally did each other in, I hoped I was in another city.

“She is trying to earn the Women in Finance award,” Greg said. “Belle wants the accolade so that people think their firm is cutting-edge because they’re able to attract female candidates.”

“To be fair,” Walker said, “they are all female.”

“We’re going to make Svensson Investment more attractive to women in finance,” Greg declared. “We’re going to hire more than they would be able to absorb. As an added bonus, we’re going to snatch the best candidates before Artemis can hire them.”

“The Tech Biz awards are in six weeks,” I said, navigating to the magazine’s website. 

They named a number of firms in various “best of” categories. The Tech Biz rankings were prestigious. Investors used them when looking for a firm to manage their money.

While Svensson Investment had good returns, we didn’t have as many women working at our firm as we really should have.

“Too bad you ruined it with Belle,” Beck said. “If you had played your cards right, you could have had her come work here.”

A chill settled over the conference table. Belle wasn’t just a sore point with Greg—she was the detonate button on his nuclear bomb.

“Speaking of dating,” Mike said loudly before Greg went off on Beck, “Carl, you haven’t slept with your ward yet, have you?”

“God help me,” Greg said.

“She’s not my ward,” I said in annoyance.

“Dang, was she another fake girlfriend?” Liam fell against Walker, laughing.

“Leave Carl alone,” Beck said. “He can’t help it that he can’t tell the difference between a bot and a real girl.”

Fuck my brothers.

“Guess I haven’t had the luck you had in the dating department, because I’m not dating my fucking employees,” I shot at Beck.

“Fuck you,” Beck snarled.

I jumped out of my seat when he came after me.

“Sit down,” Greg roared.

Beck glared at me.

“Carl, did you blow this deal?” Greg asked.

“He insulted me, and you’re worried about your deal?” Beck demanded.

“Yes, Beck,” Greg said slowly, like he was talking to an idiot, “because I care about money more than your hurt feelings. Did you lose that endowment, Carl?”

“No, there was just the property.” I frowned. “It needs a lot of work, and it’s infested by nudist artists.”

“Funny,” Greg said, “because the Weatly law firm just couriered over paperwork for a large endowment that our mother’s great-uncle set up for Harvard. All cash. And it needs a manager.” 

“Shit.”

My brain spun. That endowment would be a huge win for me and for Svensson Investment. Dammit, I should have just taken Libby up on her offer to save her stupid little dog. Now it was probably too late. She would question my motives.

“Carl done fucked up,” Liam said.

“Does anyone competent want to try and salvage the situation?” Greg asked my brothers.

“Libby is not going to be cooperative,” I said in a rush. I did not want one of my brothers to swoop in and grab that money. Or grab her. “None of you would have the finesse to deal with Libby and her insanity. She’d probably tase you.” I smirked at the thought. “Though I’d pay to see that.”

“You better get me that contract,” Greg spat. “I have several line items I want to use no-strings-attached money on.”

“Of course,” I said, though I had no idea how.

I stood up.

“Are you going to go get my money?” Greg asked pointedly.

“I have a date tonight,” I informed him.

“With a real human girl?” Mike asked, prompting guffaws from my older brothers.

“Yes. She has an Instagram and everything, and there are YouTube videos of her.”

***

As I headed across town to the restaurant, Libby occupied my thoughts, not my date.

I needed to figure out a way to tell her I wanted to help her without setting off her alarm bells. 

Though I wanted the money, I loathed the thought of Libby back in my life. She was a disaster. And I already had enough of those in my life.

Surely, it couldn’t be that difficult right? She was just one girl…