Breaking His Rules (The Billionaire Hart Brothers #2)

Chapter 1

MAX

“Have you heard from Ms. Bradshaw yet?” I ask Tate from across the table if his lawyer has been in touch with him this morning, doing my best to keep the annoyance out of my clipped words. It’s almost impossible.

“Nothing.” He dips his chin and sways his head, having checked his phone for the twentieth time.

“Can you two be civil to one another for a few minutes?” My eyes volley between Tate and his soon-to-be ex-wife, my client, Stella.

“I have zero plans on talking to my husband,” Stella replies coolly, making Tate scoff.

“If I had known divorce was the only way to shut her up, I would have filed for one a long time ago,” he mutters under his breath.

“Enough.” I point at him. “She’s the mother of your children. Have some manners, Mr. Young.”

Screw marriage, and to hell with the kind that ends in divorce. It’s ruthless.

How two people can go from loving each other deeply to being unable to sit in the same room is brutal and, honestly, baffling. The way love can rot into hate is something I’ll never fully understand. That’s why I am never getting married.

Fuck to the no.

“Excuse me.” I push my chair back, remove myself from around the boardroom table, and fake a smile.

“Let me check if my secretary has heard from Ms. Bradshaw,” I say, desperate to get away from them.

I can think of a million better ways to spend my morning than with a couple who can’t even look each other in the eye.

The air is so thick with acrimonious hostility, you could cut it with a knife.

Why I decided to become a divorce lawyer is anyone’s guess, yet here I am in the thick of another messy divorce. But, truthfully, I love my job. It reminds me of all the reasons I will never get married.

I whip open the boardroom door and storm down the corridor in the direction of my office.

“Find out where she is,” I instruct Louise, my secretary, as I round the corner and point at the phone.

“Get her on the line right now and put her through.” Rage burns through my veins as I move into my office, slam the door, and wait for the phone to ring.

Who the fuck does Paige Bradshaw think she is, keeping me and my client waiting again? Hell, she’s even keeping her own client waiting.

I have back-to-back settlement conferences all day. I don’t have the time for tardiness, and I’ll be lucky if I even have the time to take a piss between meetings.

Resting my hands on the desk, I drum my fingers against it and pin my eyes to my phone as it sits idle, staring at it as if summoning it to ring.

Inhaling a deep breath, I prepare myself for the conversation with Paige, the woman who gets under my skin more often than I care to admit.

A divorce lawyer, like me, she turns heads without trying too hard, and she’s so strikingly sophisticated that I often find myself forgetting what I was saying mid-sentence. In meetings, she’s as sharp as a razor, and I hate that she’s always one, if not three, steps ahead of me.

Is she ever on time, though? Nope. Recently, she has been working in her own time zone and makes me wait for her. Every. Single. Time.

This is the fourth time she’s been late in the last few months. Now I think she’s doing it on purpose. Although when she eventually does show up, she’s always apologetic, but seems frustrated with herself and everything around her.

Her most annoying trait is that she seems to see right through me.

She’s immune to my charm, which my ego hates, and I know she tolerates me solely to put on a show in front of our clients.

We’ve handled many divorce cases where we’ve represented opposing spouses so I’m familiar with Paige and how she operates.

I’m not sure if anyone else has ever noticed how often she paints on a smile, but I always do; it gives her away every time.

It’s subtle, and you’ve got to be quicker than divorce papers getting filed to catch it, but I’ve seen it enough times to recognize the difference between polite and performative.

She may look like a fucking goddess, but she’s so detached and emotionally shut off, I’m sure she eats the hearts of small children for supper.

Finally, the red light on my phone blinks, followed by the ring that fills the room. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but it sounds agitated, like me.

I lift the handset to answer, and before I have a chance to talk, Louise informs me that she has Paige on the line and puts her through.

“Max. I’m—” Paige blurts out, but I don’t let her finish.

“Late,” I state firmly, walking over to the window. “You are half an hour late.” Even that’s a lot for her.

The faint click-clack of heels, mixed with car horns and the sound of traffic, drifts down the earpiece.

Out of breath, she says, “I got held up. My secretary was supposed to call you. Move out of the way, asshole,” she chastises someone.

A mental photo of her frantically weaving her way through morning commuters comes into my mind, and I secretly love the fact that she’s already having a shitty day. She’s messing with mine, and it’s not even nine o’clock yet. Serves her right.

“Well, she didn’t call,” I inform her, looking at the San Francisco skyscrapers out of my office window.

“Someone’s getting fired today,” she states matter-of-factly, as if that won’t mess up her entire week.

“You fired one last month, too.” How many has she had?

“Can people not just do their job?” she asks, now panting.

“I could ask you the same thing. You had one job to do at eight thirty this morning.”

“Please let me explain…”

I pull off my tie, which I hate wearing, before cutting her off.

“Have your secretary call mine to reschedule. Again,” I add to make my point.

“And if mornings are too difficult for you, because you seem to have an issue with getting your ass out the door on time, then maybe you should schedule an afternoon meeting instead.” My tone is thick with sarcasm, then I follow up with, “Tate is going to fire you if you keep this up.”

“He won’t, he’s already paid up-front. And let’s face it, who else would take him on?”

Of course he did. He throws money around like confetti to get what he wants. His cutthroat reputation in the investment banking world is notorious.

She adds more reasons why she’s representing him. “Also, I didn’t have a choice. I was told I had to take him on.”

That’s because her firm knows Paige is the only lawyer who could handle him. Smart move.

“Did you hear about the uncompromising position he found himself in at work?” I ask, curiosity zipping up my spine. He’s been screwing practically every single woman in the city behind his wife’s back. I hope Paige isn’t another one to fall victim to his actions.

I know Tate, so I wouldn’t put it past him to pursue her, but I think Paige has more self-respect.

And not that I’ve been keeping tabs on her or anything—well, maybe I have—but what I do know about her is that she generally keeps to herself.

She rarely attends lawyer lunches or networking events that we get invited to.

I also know she’s single. Something Louise told me, because every secretary from every law firm across the city seems to know everyone and everything.

If Paige is still single, I guess it’s because she’s too busy keeping her broomstick warm.

“Personal feelings aside, I’m just doing my job, Max.”

“He’s a handsome motherfucker; I’m surprised you don’t find him attractive. Maybe after the case, you know, I thought you two…”

She barges in with, “Hell no.” Her voice rises by three octaves, informing me that I’ve rattled her cage. “I have standards, Max. You’re a fucking asshole,” she fires back.

“Just checking.” This might be the most fun I’ve had with her.

I know it is because Paige Bradshaw doesn’t know the meaning of the word. This is also the first time I’ve heard her swear.

Usually a vision of calm, right now, she sounds anything but.

A disgusted noise down the microphone informs me that I’ve riled her.

“Well, for the record, Max, it’s a flat-out no.

I would never go near him, not even if I were desperate.

He’s a client, not that it matters to you.

Knowing you, you’re probably fucking Stella already.

Poor woman. You should inform her that she needs to take herself to the walk-in clinic.

She’ll need a full range of tests if she’s been with you.

” She spits venom into the earpiece, even more breathless than she was before.

Chuckling at her saltiness, I reply, “I’ve never slept with a client.” I suddenly don’t feel annoyed anymore. I’m quite enjoying screwing with Paige. “And careful, you sound jealous.”

“I’d rather slay a dragon than sleep with you.”

I burst out laughing. “Well, that would be easy for you, given you’re a witch and could easily find one of those.”

A gasp is followed by her question. “A witch?”

“Sorry, I meant bitch.”

“Fuck you, Max.”

“You wish.”

“Never.” She makes a gagging sound down the earpiece. “If contracting an STD was on my bucket list, maybe.”

I fight to suppress my amusement but then find myself imagining what hate sex with Paige might be like.

She’s all curves, with an ass to fucking die for, legs longer than the Golden Gate Bridge, long blonde hair she wears in a severe bun, and a snark level that could cut glass.

She’s sharp, unapologetic, and somehow still manages to dress like she has just stepped off a Vogue cover.

That smart mouth of hers is fucking begging to be stuffed with my cock to shut it up. Hell yeah, I could get on board with that. My cock jumps in my boxers in agreement.

Fuck, that’s never happened before.

Ice queens aren’t my thing. That is, until now.

And hate sex: I think I just unlocked a new kink of mine.

“I’m outside your office,” she drawls.

On high alert, I push my shoulders back, stand up straighter, and then look behind me.

She adds, “I’ll be up in two minutes.”

And with that, she ends the call.

Fuck, we only have twenty-five minutes to discuss alimony. I needed an hour for that.

Fucking Paige Bradshaw.

Equal parts exhausting and entertaining.

She’s a beautiful fucking wildfire.

The kind that can burn everything to the ground, and when she’s gone, I’m left sifting through the ashes, replaying every spark she lit and every hard-fought argument she won.