Chapter 7 – Morgan
7
ASKING FOR A SPANKING
MORGAN
Sitting cross-legged on the dusty floor of Atticus and Gwen's half-finished penthouse, I pushed the last few noodles around in my takeout container. The heater in the corner gave a weak hum, barely battling the chill. Between the exposed beams, half-finished walls, and plastic sheeting, it felt like camping in a construction site rather than one of the most expensive zip codes in New York.
But it was free. And quiet. And safe.
I dropped my chopsticks with a sigh, looking around. If I squinted, I could imagine what it would become—sleek, modern, with those ridiculous orchids Gwen liked to scatter about. Perfect for a growing family. I still couldn't believe I had a niece on the way.
For now, it was dust, cold air, and silence. Both sanctuary and reminder that I was very much alone.
Thanks to dear old Dad, the first iteration of my fashion line had gone up in flames, but that wasn't going to stop me. I was Morgan Christin-Becker, damn it.
I just needed money. I had feelers out with friends, but most offered minimum wage.
When Clarissa called earlier to check in, I'd nearly taken her offer to leave everything behind. But I hadn't. Part of me believed I could make this work.
But you're failing.
Just call Atticus. Or call Micah and threaten bodily harm if he rats you out. Or you can always call... Lance.
No. I'd freeze before calling Lance.
I pulled my knees to my chest, staring at my laptop. The glow illuminated the sketches I'd salvaged. I had concepts. It would take work, but I could piece something together for the showcase.
Two months.
Not enough time. But I had to try. That showcase was everything.
My phone buzzed with Gwen's name. I groaned, grabbing it. My sister didn't know about Dad, what he'd done, or that I was camping in her unfinished penthouse.
"Hey, sis! How's the babymoon?"
"Oh, you know..." Gwen's voice came through with that happiness only a tropical getaway brings. "Sun, sand, and all the naps I could want. What about you? Everything okay?"
I glanced around at the half-demolished room and fought the urge to laugh. "Yeah, everything's fine. Construction's still slow at the penthouse, though."
"Ugh, that place better be done by the time we get back. I know the contractor is making Atticus crazy with delays," she grumbled. "How's everything? Are you ready for the showcase?"
Crap. She had no idea everything had gone tits-up.
"Oh, you know. Lots to do, and I'm behind, but I'll get there."
"Do you know how proud I am of you? You're just so awesome. I'm waiting for you to make maternity clothes. My baby sister, a renowned fashion designer," she said softly, and my throat tightened. "I know it's been tough. Finishing school, the fashion line, Dad being Dad, but you're doing it. You're making it happen."
I blinked away tears. "Yeah, well, someone has to keep the Becker family name from being a total joke, right?"
She laughed, the sound a balm to my soul. "You've always been the tough one."
I rolled my eyes, though smiling. "Don't let Atticus hear you say that. I think he likes to believe he's the toughest one in the family."
"Oh, please. You and I both know Atticus is a big softy. He just hides it well."
"Noted," I said, laughing. "Well, go enjoy your virgin tropical drinks and sandy beaches. Everything's good here. You only need to concentrate on relaxing and baking my amazing niece. Promise."
"Okay, but if you need anything?—"
"Yeah, I know. Love you, Gwen. Go be fabulous."
"Love you too, Morgan."
I hung up and dropped my phone, sighing.
Dodged that bullet.
The last thing Gwen needed was worrying about me while pregnant and thousands of miles away.
And then there was Lance.
I let my head fall back against the beam, a familiar ache spreading through my chest. Fate had a cruel sense of humor, determined to throw him in my path.
I rubbed my hands for warmth, trying to shake the thought of him. I just needed to keep my distance. For my sanity.
Suddenly, movement in the foyer pulled me from my thoughts, and I froze.
What the hell? My heart quickened. I stood, looking for something to defend myself with, and grabbed a metal pipe from the construction tools, holding it like a baseball bat as I crept toward the foyer.
"Hello?" I called, my voice higher than intended.
Nothing. The house was quiet except for the wind through the exposed window frames.
My heart pounded as I rounded the corner, grip tightening on the pipe. I saw a shadow—tall, broad—moving near the door.
Shit .
I raised the pipe and swung.
Before it connected, a familiar voice stopped me cold.
"There are more pleasurable ways to kill me, you know."
I froze mid-swing as Lance stepped from the shadows, his expression unreadable.
"Lance?" I hissed, lowering the pipe but keeping it firmly in hand. Relief almost made me wobble. "What the hell are you doing here?"
He smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching as if amused. "Stopping you from committing murder, apparently."
I glared at him, not willing to let my guard down. "Seriously. Why are you here?"
He stepped closer, his eyes dark and intense. "I should be asking you the same thing."
Lance
"Fuck, Morgan." I closed the door behind myself and forced myself to take a long, steady, deep breath to get my shit under control. "Were you trying to kill me?"
"No. I was trying to kill a burglar. That's different. And entirely justifiable, I might add." She threw her hands up, and then tugged up the bodice of her strapless pantsuit that she was wearing.
Unfortunately, it drew my attention straight to her tits, high and proud and full, and all it would take was tugging one side down to pop a nipple in my mouth.
No. The fuck? Stop it. Focus.
"Look, first of all, what the fuck are you doing here? Why aren't you at a goddamn hotel?"
She bit her bottom lip and then rolled her shoulders. "Well, I decided to stay here for a couple of days. Not that it is any of your concern. I get to keep an eye on the construction. And?—"
"Stop lying, Morgan. I know what your father did."
Her eyes went wide, then her damn lip quivered. Fuck. Me. I could take Morgan yelling and screaming. But tears? No way.
"Morgan. D-don't cry. Shit ."
Her eyes went wide, and she stomped toward me. "Cry? First of all, mind your own goddamn business. You don't know anything about me. Second of all, I do have a place to stay." She spread her arms wide and swirled around. "Witness me having a place to stay. And third of all, it's None. Of. Your. Business!"
"This is a fucking construction zone. You're being irrational."
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "I am fine. I do not need your help. I'm going to stay here. I have a plan."
"It's a fucking stupid plan. It's not safe here. Get your shit."
She glared at me as if I had lost my mind. Her lips curled into a far too sexy sneer. "Over my dead body."
I stepped right into her space, which was, to be fair, a rookie fucking move. Immediately, the tension crackled between us, and I could physically feel the sparks hitting my nerve endings.
"First of all, shut your mouth. The grownup is talking. Second of all, pack up your shit. You are coming with me. Third of all, it is my fucking business since I'm supposed to be looking out for you."
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I ignored it, but Morgan's eyes caught the screen lighting up. Shit.
"Who's Silas?" she asked, her voice sharp. "And why is he asking about me?"
"Someone who helped me find you. That's all you need to know."
Her eyes narrowed. "I don't need another person trying to control my life. I've had enough of that shit with my father."
"It's not like that?—"
"Really? Because from where I'm standing, you're tracking me down, making demands..." She jabbed a finger at my chest. "I've dealt with manipulative liars my whole life. I'm done with it."
Fuck. This was getting out of hand. I clamped a hand over her mouth, which was probably not my smartest move, but I needed her to shut up and listen.
"Be quiet, Morgan. Either you do as you're told, or I risk Atticus's wrath and call Gwen."
Her soft lips moved against my hand, and I was pretty certain, given the way she glowered at me, that she was cussing me out.
"You are coming with me until we can figure something out. And you should have fucking mentioned that your father was an asshole and holding your trust fund from you. Because what the fuck are you going to do for money?"
I removed my hand to let her speak.
"The only way I'm going anywhere with you is over my dead body."
The electricity around us sparked and crackled. "That can be arranged."
"You have a distinct problem there. If you kill me, my brother-in-law will kill you. And not quickly either, he will take his time. And the best part of that is before he gets to you, my sister will dismantle you, purposefully, with a smile on her face. So go ahead, kill me."
Little did Morgan know that there had been a time when I was deadlier than Atticus. I probably had more blood on my hands than he did. Not that I was proud of that. It was just the truth.
"Oh, I won't kill you. Your sister and brother-in-law have charged me with taking care of you. Actually looking after you. You can call them and ask. Oh, right, you won't do that because you don't want Atticus and Gwen to know that things have gone to shit."
Her brows snapped down. "You're serious?"
"What part of this said that I was joking?" I pointed at my face and waved my finger around. I realized I was shouting and forced myself to lower my voice, but I changed the pitch so that the command couldn't be missed. "Not fucking kidding you. Get your shit."
"And if I say no?" She narrowed her gaze at me, and fucking hell, all I wanted to do was bite that pouty bottom lip. My cock twitched. Down boy .
"You'll get the spanking you are surely asking for."
Then she lifted a brow and whispered, "No."
The image of her bent over my knee sent a pulse of need through me. Heaven save me from tiny stubborn fashion designers who wouldn’t listen. She really left me no choice, and I hauled her over my shoulder before swatting her on the ass. "Fine, have it your way."