CHAPTER SEVEN
JORDAN
I awoke to a darkened room. Unfamiliar shadows. My limbs went rigid as I struggled to piece together what I was seeing and where the fuck I was. The luxuriously soft sheets beneath me were the first clue. The rhythmic breath of someone beside me.
I propped myself on my elbow, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. Ritz Carlton. I squinted through the darkness, groping for my phone. I peeked at the screen: 7:01 a.m.
Great. Seven a.m., and Seven at my side.
Again.
I settled back into bed, now that I was sure everything was fine. I’d barely slept four hours. Surely I could fall back asleep in this dark haven of comfort. But within a few moments my mind began wandering.
The way Seven had peeled Dustin off of me like a rag doll.
The way he didn’t even flinch when he turned Dustin’s face into a bloody mess.
How safe I’d felt cradled in his arms, crying like a baby. A safety I hadn’t felt in…fuck. Too long to remember. The sad part was I didn’t think I’d ever felt that safe.
I’d never watched someone beat back my tormentors or bullies. Not successfully, anyway. Kaylee had tried, when the foster home assignment was too rough. But it usually just ended up with her getting dragged under, too.
My throat tightened and I rolled onto my side. In the shadows of the room, my gaze landed on the outline of Seven in bed next to me. He was practically an arm’s length away, yet I could feel the heat of him as if we were touching.
Sleep would be impossible. Or maybe I just had to pee?
Definitely needed to try peeing.
I slipped out of bed as quietly as I could, tiptoeing toward the bathroom. I tried to shut the door as quietly as humanly possible—so slowly and carefully that it seemed to take ten minutes to actually accomplish. I turned on one of the backsplash lights, hesitant to jostle myself into daytime mode with too much light and activity. I needed more sleep, dammit. Even if sharing a bed with Seven made that impossible.
I sat on the toilet for a while, trying to pee and failing. I looked at my nails. I rearranged the part of my hair. I inspected my thighs for cellulite. When either ten minutes or an hour had gone by, I gave up and began my silent trek back to bed.
When the door latched, it made a clickthat reverberated so loudly through the quiet bedroom that I winced.
And then I heard another click.
Seven’s hand was on the Glock and he was rising from the bed.
“Don’t shoot!” I lifted my palms. “I just had to pee.”
Seven dragged his bleary gaze my way, and then dropped the gun. He collapsed back into bed, the dim outline of his bare chest erasing whatever brief panic I’d felt as a mistaken intruder. I couldn’t pry my eyes off him as I made my way around the bed and back to my side. Why didn’t this room have more nightlights? I was desperate for a good look at the man. He was all hard lines—slept with a literal gun in his hand—but he was somehow the safest, softest spot I’d come to know.
And I didn’t even know this guy. Not fully.
I resumed my previous position in bed, my back to Seven, snuggled into endless pillows. But sleep didn’t come. Daylight sure did, though. It crept through the one room-darkening curtain I’d failed to close entirely, giving the room enough of a glow to ensure I didn’t fall back asleep. I sighed, flipping onto my back.
And then I turned onto my other side, facing the wide expanse of Seven’s back.
Goooood morning.
I gobbled up the sight as if it were my first drink of water after a full night’s shift at the club. Cut lines, defined traps, a wonderland of muscle and olive skin. Scars crisscrossed his left shoulder. I admired the precise lines of his fade for what felt like a half hour. When he turned onto his back and slung an arm over the top of his face, I relished the opportunity to see his body from a new angle.
Wiry, dark armpit hair. Finally, blessedly, I saw the biceps that made his button-ups strain at the seams. I squeezed my legs together, my gaze drifting lower. The sheet was pulled over his stomach. But the man had to have perfect abs. With arms like this, it would be illegal not to.
For God’s sake, does this man have abs?
Seven sighed, moving his arm from over his face. He turned his head toward me, peering through one slit eye. “Do you always stare at people while they sleep?”
I was so dumbfounded by the fact that he’d noticed me staring that my mouth flopped open like a fish’s.
“You’re making it impossible to actually stay asleep,” he added.
My brain kicked into gear. “Just trying to figure out where you store all your warmth and good humor.”
A smirk curled at the edge of his mouth as his eyes drifted shut. “You’ll never know.”
I sniffed, turning away from him. “I’m beginning to think you don’t have any at all.”
“Close protection officers aren’t required to have any.” The early morning grit of his voice made my pussy clench. I squeezed my eyes shut. Why was this man so unbearably attractive?
“Then I can call off my search.” I fluffed up the pillow beneath my head, already wanting one more glimpse of his sexy face. All I could think about was how he might feel against my bare skin. Wrapped up in him, beneath the sheets. We were so close, but a world away.
The sheets rustled from his side of the bed. The bathroom door clicked shut a moment later. I looked at his abandoned spot in the bed—searching, but for what, I didn’t know. Part of me wanted to sniff his pillow, but that was fucking weird—too weird even for me. I huffed, throwing back the covers. Might as well get up and start figuring out what came next. I tore open the curtains, letting in the blinding and beautiful morning. I actually gasped at the view of Central Park through the windows.
I’d never seen the park from this angle, in all my years living in the city. While I knew that Central Park was technically large, seeing it from this high made it seem like a sprawling jungle. The canopy of trees ranged from dark green to vibrant yellow, orange and rusty brown in various shades of autumnal glory.
The bathroom door opened and I turned to face Seven. I don’t know what I was expecting. Fully clothed, gun in holster, regularly scheduled programming? I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
Tousled, black hair. The square jawline that framed those perfect, plump lips. His chocolate puppy dog eyes sweeping over my body, leaving tiny explosions in their wake. And his body—gloriously uncovered, available for viewing. His silky black boxer briefs had an unnaturally large bulge between his legs. I blinked a couple of times, wondering if this was an optical illusion. His dick can’t be that big when it’s soft, right? I tried desperately not to stare, moving my gaze instead to his sculpted thighs. Dark leg hair. And the abs—oh, fuck me, the abs.
My brows furrowed as I beheld him. The longer I looked at him, the angrier I got.
He paused in the doorway, squinting at me like this encounter could go sideways. “Why do you look so angry?”
“You’re just…wearing underwear.”
He blinked a few times. His confusion helped me realize that I hadn’t made any sense at all. But there was no way I could explain. Not without outing myself.
“So are you,” he said.
“Right, but I’m like…” I gestured at my simple tee and undies, which were mostly hidden by the shirt. “You’ve seen me in way less.”
“Should I put pants on or…?”
“No. It’s fine. I mean, unless you were planning on it. I don’t want to plan your clothes out. I’m not your mom.” I breezed out of the room, trying to act confident. But internally, I was melting down. Not a word I’d said made sense.
I just needed to get away from those man thighs. And the possible monster dick.
After opening all the curtains in the living room and watching the treetops of Central Park for a few minutes, I decided my fascination with Seven’s body could be done now. I’d seen plenty of good-looking guys in my time. His abs were nothing new, even though I could have absolutely cleaned a pair of socks on them if necessary. That bulge in his underwear? Probably stuffed with toilet paper to look more impressive. And now that I thought about it, the narrow, slightly crooked nose of his wasn’t all that uncommon. I’d seen more bronzed skin, more precise hairstyles.
“So I take it you’re ready to start the day?” His gravelly voice in the living room startled me out of my thoughts. I spun around to respond, but my voice withered and disappeared entirely. He wore the same black, pressed pants with a belt….and nothing else. The sight of his trim torso cutting away to the dress clothes nearly undid me on the spot. He watched me with a curious look as he sat in an armchair facing me. The crinkle of his belly started a whole new wave of flutters through my pussy.
“What’s wrong now?” he asked. “I put pants on.”
I sighed and turned back to the window. “I really wanted to sleep more. But it’s too bright now. I just can’t.”
“Starting the day early isn’t a bad thing. We have a lot to get done.”
I crossed my arms, getting lost in the trees of Central Park again. “I guess I do need to pack up my apartment.”
“We’ll send someone to do that for you. You don’t need to go back there—in fact, you shouldn’t. What I’m talking about is the elephant in the room.”
I bit my lip. I must have been so transparent. Did he know how badly I wanted to have sex with him? “And that is…?”
“Getting on the same page with your brothers.”
My shoulders sank. “Oh.”
“After what happened last night, we need to go talk to them. I haven’t told them a single word about Dustin, but I’m going to. You should be there to give your input.”
“Can I submit a written statement instead?”
Seven sighed, the first bit of honest exasperation I’d heard from him. I turned to watch him as he buried his face in his hands. “How can you possibly be this resistant to your brothers trying to help you?”
The question floored me. Mostly because he’d asked it so honestly.
I didn’t know how to answer without revealing the gaping caverns of my heart.
“They’ve never been there for me,” I finally said. “Why are they starting now? It’s too convenient.”
“They didn’t even know you were alive,” he said succinctly. “How could they have been there for you when they thought you were six feet under?”
“It would be easier for all parties involved if they continued thinking I was dead,” I retorted. “Then we wouldn’t have to go through these stupid charades.”
“And you’d have been raped in your hallway last night.”
Silence thudded between us. My gaze dropped to the floor because I couldn’t handle Seven’s intensity right now.
“Sounds like they are looking out for you,” he said a few moments later. “Now that they know you’re alive.”
“Well that’s what you think,” I muttered, feeling a lot like a petulant teen.
“Knock off the immature bullshit.”
“Being abused for years in the foster care system isn’t immature bullshit,” I spat out, leaning forward. “Watching my sister be sold into sex trafficking isn’t immature bullshit.”
Seven rubbed at his face again. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
“Everyone’s Team Fairchild, but not a single person has stuck around to be Team Haynes. And that’s been true since they changed their name. Remember that when we visit your precious employers.” I stormed past him and into the bedroom, eager to end the conversation. Emotion clamped at my throat and I didn’t want to cry in front of him. Not again. Not twice in twelve hours, please God.
I beelined into the bathroom to start my morning routine. He wanted to visit them—fine. I’d go. But it would be quick. And only this once.
Kaylee would have to understand, wherever she was in the Great Beyond. Kaylee had railed harder and harder against Axel and Damian the older we got. They left us. Abandoned us. Turned their backs on us. They were the lucky sons of bitches who got the good family and never once tried to bring us along.
Kaylee was three years older than me, so she was thirteen and I was ten by the time we hit our final foster family. The one from hell. Kaylee had already had sex by then. Obsessed with boyfriends, fitting in, looking cool. She put makeup on in the bathroom at school after we got off the bus and some nights never even came home. Our foster mom Tyla never cared. We were living checks to her, an excuse to get paid. There were five other foster kids in that house, ages ranging from seven to seventeen. A few of them liked to gang up on me and the youngest one however they could. Kaylee stopped it when she was home, but when she wasn’t, I got locked in closets or garages for hours, starving and cold and desperate for dinner.
It got worse as we got older. Shit I didn’t like to think about. We tried to hide the bruises with long sleeves and makeup. When Tyla started demanding we help pay for rent, she already had a “job” for Kaylee, since she was older. She could meet with one of Tyla’s guy friends and talk to him for a little bit. Just talking. That was it.
I never saw what happened when Kaylee disappeared into the vehicles of the “guy friends,” but she always came back silent and brimming with tension. Sometimes she’d disappear for days at a time, then come back with a fat wad of cash, looking jittery and strange.
That’s when I found out how drugs changed a person. Firsthand. Kaylee was fourteen when she told me she was addicted. I was eleven. I had no fucking idea what that meant. But she wore it as a badge of honor, and I didn’t know enough to help her.
By the time Kaylee was at her worst, our brothers were seniors in high school. Kaylee wanted nothing to do with them; she didn’t want anything to do with me, either. I barely recognized her by then and was afraid to be around her.
She died months after turning seventeen. And I realized my sister hadbeen right about our brothers.
After they graduated, they could have come to get us. They could have taken us. They could have been our adults. But they went to New York City instead. And then we never heard from them again.
Protecting me from getting raped in my hallway barely scratched the surface of making up for all the other things I hadn’t been protected from during my childhood.
I didn’t know how to tell Seven that the sudden care and attention from my brothers meant nothing.
A knock sounded on the bathroom door, startling me out of my thoughts.
“What?” I called out, patting foundation on my face.
“You decent?”
“I’m never decent. What do you want?”
“I’m going to let your brothers know we’ll be there in an hour. Sound good?”
“Whatever you say, Overlord.” Getting under Seven’s skin was my new goal in life, especially since last night’s events had removed the end date from our arrangement. I put on a minimal face of makeup, added lip gloss, then went back to the bedroom to change into leggings and a top. As always, I paired them with my boots and leather jacket—my go-to outfit in my off time. By the time I was ready to go, it was just before nine a.m.
When I rejoined Seven in the living room, a spread of food awaited me. He tipped his head toward the surprise breakfast—omelets, hashbrowns, tiny waffles, an entire fruit platter.
“Complements of Team Fairchild,” he said, that self-assured smirk returning.
“Very cute.” I side-eyed him as I popped a grape into my mouth. “Glad to see you’ve finally fully dressed.”
“I was just about to say the same to you.”
I snorted, reaching for a small plate and loading up on the hashbrowns. “Did you eat?”
“I don’t eat this early.”
“Oh.” I looked over my shoulder at him, feeling the quip burbling up inside me until it was too loud to keep inside. “Must be because you’re getting older, huh? Hurts your digestion to eat outside your regular routine?”
Amusement shone in his eyes though he didn’t grace me with a smile. “Doctor’s orders.”
“You probably visit him a lot.”
“Will you eat so we can leave?”
“Sure.” I grinned as I added a tiny waffle to my plate. “But now that you said that, a lot more slowly than I’d planned on.”
About an hour later, Seven and I rolled up to a towering building on Wall Street. I never made it to this part of Manhattan, so the whole neighborhood was new to me. I craned my neck to look up.
“Which floor are they on?” I asked.
“Penthouse.”
Curiosity prickled through me, though I didn’t want to admit it. Seven hopped out of the backseat of the SUV and waited for me to follow. He led the way into the building, clearing security with the flash of a badge before veering off toward a private elevator tucked into the back corner of the lobby.
“This place is pretty swanky,” I murmured as we waited at the elevator.
Seven’s dark gaze skated around the lobby. “This is where their primary residence is, as well as their business headquarters. The business currently under investigation.”
The doors opened, revealing a mirrored, gleaming box. We stepped inside, and I leaned against the railing as he hit the P button and swiped a keycard.
“I remember hearing something about an investigation.”
“You haven’t kept up with the news about them?” he asked.
“I try not to. But sometimes they make it impossible.”
He found my gaze in the reflection on the elevator wall. “The SEC has filed charges accusing them of financial fraud.”
I squinted, trying to remember what that stood for. “SEC…”
“Securities and Exchange Commission.”
“Sounds very formal.”
“It’s the governmental agency that makes sure people aren’t committing financial crimes and manipulating the market,” Seven said.
“Wow. So if the SEC is involved, they clearly must have been in some deep shit. They don’t sound like the stand-up guys you made them out to be. I thought you said you’d do anything for them?”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “I did say that. Because it’s true. The case is outrageous. Their business didn’t have any complaints against them until this came up, apparently out of thin air.”
“So what does it mean for them?”
Seven shrugged, finally looking away from me. “They’re in the process of figuring that out. There’s a trial happening this fall, to determine the consequences. They’re pretty sure there will be a hefty fine either way. But right now, the main recommendation is prison. Up to ten years.”
“Wow. My brothers the felons,” I muttered.
“The world would be worse off without their contributions and support,” he confirmed. “The amount of money they donate to help foster children alone each year would take your breath away. And that doesn’t include the multiple other areas they support.”
I cleared my throat. I supposed I couldn’t be too loudly opposed to the Fairchild Propaganda, considering I was hurtling closer to their home with every passing second. This came with the territory. “I’m sure there are many appreciative children.”
The elevator slowed. We were almost there.
“It’s helpful for you to have a more complete picture,” Seven said, this time looking over his shoulder at me. “Before you say something stupid.”
I ran my tongue along the inside of my cheek. I had thirty-five responses at the ready for that little comment, but none made the leap past my lips before the elevator doors slid open.
We had arrived at the penthouse.
The sizzle and pop of cooking eggs reached me first. Seven led me through what looked like a laundry room and storage area before we emerged into an enormous kitchen.
“Oh my God, you really still don’t know how to crack an egg, do you?” Axel’s voice drifted toward us as Seven guided me through the kitchen.
Damian and Axel stood in front of the range—large enough to be used in a restaurant, surely—beneath an expansive hood, wearing what looked like lounge clothes. They were both tall, had similar muscular builds, and dark blonde hair…like mine. I was sure it wasn’t a stretch to guess who the blood related ones in the room were. As we approached, a stocky dog with a dark, glossy coat rose to his feet, watching us intently with his ears perked up.
Damian slapped Axel’s back just as we walked up. “I’ve cracked more eggs than you’ve ever seen.”
“Fake news,” Axel retorted.
“I fucking worked at Mr. Grady’s chicken coops all of sophomore year,” Damian said, laughter mingling with incredulousness. His hair was longer, possibly in a state of growing out, as he continually tried to tuck it behind his ear while it continually slipped right back out. “He had us crack eggs on our foreheads the first day just because. How could you even—”
“Good morning,” Seven said coolly.
Damian and Axel swiveled to look at us, bright smiles hitting their faces as their gazes landed on me. Looking into their faces was like looking into a carnival mirror. Vaguely familiar in an unsettling way. Axel’s ice-blue eyes looked closest to mine and Kaylee’s. I wasn’t sure where to focus my attention first. Their kitchen was larger than my entire apartment; they had three islands, all marble waterfall counters.
And not only was I surrounded by opulence…my brothers owned all of it.
“Jordan! Seven! I’m so glad you guys are here,” Damian said.
“Stir the eggs,” Axel hissed, glancing back at the sauté pan. “Jordan, are we at hugging status yet, or no?”
I opened my mouth to respond but wasn’t sure how to tell them fuck no without the fuck part.
“I think that’s a no,” Damian said.
“Yeah, that’s a no,” Axel said softly. “That’s okay. We have time. We’ll get there.”
I didn’t necessarily agree. But the plan was to get out of here as quickly as possible. So I kept my mouth shut.
“How about we do some introductions? Jordan, meet Zero, my Rottie mix.” He ruffled the dog’s ears. “Zero, meet your Auntie Jordan.”
I wiggled my fingers in Zero’s direction, who snorted and sat on Axel’s foot.
“So, tell me—how have things been going with this guy?” Axel tipped his head in Seven’s direction. “He looks tough but he’s made of butter on the inside.”
“Hey now,” Seven warned.
“Very firm, immobile butter,” Axel clarified.
“Steel butter,” Damian offered.
“He’s all right.” I crossed my arms, leaning against a slate gray cabinet that extended so high, it could only be hiding something big, like a fridge. I’d never seen a luxury kitchen like this up close, only on reality TV. “He saved my ass yesterday.”
Both my brothers leaned closer. “He did?”
“Yeah.” I figured I’d get this show on the road. Tell them the news, then GTFO. “I got attacked.”
Damian stepped toward me, concern etched across his face. “Oh my God, are you serious?”
“Jordan, this is—” Axel let out a burst of air. “Do you know who it was? Can we track him down?”
“Are you okay?” Damian asked.
“I’m fine,” I said, just as Zero approached me, sniffing curiously. I held out my hand to him as I continued. “I mean, I’m as fine as I’ll be. Seven was in the right place at the right time. I owe him…a lot.”
Both of my brothers visibly relaxed.
“See,” Axel turned toward Damian, “This is why you hire the best. You fucking start at the top.”
“You’re right, you’re right,” Damian said, then swore loudly. “The eggs.”
I bit back a laugh as Damian scraped at the pan, trying to salvage the breakfast. Zero nudged my hand with his snout so I offered him a little head stroke.
“You know, we have people that can do this for us,” Axel said. “They’re called chefs, and they excel at things like eggs. They also didn’t grow up cracking eggs on their foreheads like sociopaths. Maybe you’ve heard of them?”
“I am going to chef you in the ass if you don’t shut up,” Damian said as he snapped off the burner.
“Just trying to help.” Axel clapped him on the shoulder. To me, he said, “Let’s get back to the important issues. You were saved by Seven—bless this man. Perpetrator is pending payback, right?”
“Working on it,” Seven said.
“Good. Where do we go from here?”
“My advice is to abandon the apartment entirely.” The grit of Seven’s bass voice scraped through me. “It’s failed every security check presented so far. It’s a shithole.”
“But it’s my shithole,” I said, now fully petting Zero’s glossy head. He plopped his big butt next to me and his tongue hung out as I stroked his fur.
Damian smiled sadly, his mossy green gaze growing nostalgic. “I’ve felt that way about a place in Chinatown a time or two.”
“She needs new housing immediately.” Seven’s tone left no room for argument.
“Okay. So, let’s tackle new housing.” Axel clapped his hands, brows scrunching together in thought. “Where do you want to live, Jordan? You pick. We’ll pay.”
I cleared my throat. Maybe I was approaching this all wrong—who wouldn’t love the blank check scenario after a lifetime of foster care and barely scraping by? But even though Axel and Damian had all the Warbucks vibes, I was no Annie. Not at this point in my life.
“I can’t accept that,” I told them, dropping down to be on Zero’s level. I stroked the fur of his back, all the way down to his stubby, wagging tail. I had a soft spot in my heart for pets—I’d always wanted one, but never had any growing up. “I need to support myself.”
Damian dropped his chin, giving me a come on look. “We can pay.”
“I would feel more comfortable staying within a budget I know I can continue without help,” I said. Zero let out a soft bark, which I took as his agreement.
Axel frowned. “You don’t think we’ll be able to pay for it indefinitely? The SEC case….it hasn’t been finalized. But even if we go to prison—”
“Can we not say that word?” Damian interjected softly, his eyes pinching shut.
“—We’re preparing for what comes next,” Axel went on. “And that would include continuing things like an apartment for you.”
Damian had been right on the phone earlier that week. The tension that had descended over the kitchen proved there was a lot I didn’t know. But Axel wasn’t even remotely right about my reservations. This was a matter of pride.
“I’ve worked hard to build my life. It would be a cop out to just let you guys take over. It wouldn’t be…mine.
Axel nodded. “I get that. But what if we pay, like, half?”
“Like a farm subsidy,” Damian added.
“Like the subsidies Mr. Grady probably received only to have you crack eggs on your forehead,” Axel said to Damian.
Damn, they were comical. I didn’t remember them like this from my childhood. But then again, we’d never met in relaxed circumstances, ever. It was always a stiff visit arranged by care workers, a stolen moment before or after school, a random meeting in a public space, like the mall.
“I’ve lived my entire life without help from you.” I focused on the dark brown hair of Zero’s coat as I dragged my fingers through it. “I don’t plan on changing that now.”
“What if you moved in here?” Damian asked. “We’re not here all the time. And there’s plenty of room for you. You could have a whole floor if you wanted.”
“I’d rather not live with strange men.”
Axel winced. “Ouch.”
“Is there a getting-to-know-each-other phase that we can formally begin?” Damian asked. “Because I feel like I’ve been trying to change that strange part…”
“Oh, there’s that no face again,” Axel said. “I heard Seven booked you a room at the Ritz. We can upgrade you to the penthouse.”
Seven coughed lightly from my side.
“I don’t want to live out of a hotel,” I told them. I wasn’t trying to be difficult. Ritz or not, I had negative associations with hotel life. I didn’t know how else to put it—I wanted my own space, paid for by my own money. And I’d accept nothing less. Or more.
Damian didn’t look amused. He sighed testily, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter near the stove. “Fine. Then why don’t you move in with Seven?”
I blinked. This idea hadn’t even occurred to me as a possibility. I wasn’t sure I’d even realized that he had a home. He was simply Seven, the impossibly hot man who followed me. “Uh…”
“You’re already familiar with him. He’s proven himself a valuable asset in an emergency.” Damian gestured toward Seven, as though I needed any reminder. “You wouldn’t mind, right, Seven? It might even make things easier until she finds a permanent spot.”
I turned just in time to catch a barely masked look of panic on Seven’s face. “There’s not exactly a bed ready…”
“We can fix that, and provide anything that’s needed, obviously,” Axel interjected. “Your apartment is huge though. It should work fine as an interim solution.”
Seven cleared his throat, and the taste of his discomfort was a nectar I was desperate for more of. Though I usually loathed the idea of living with someone, I could make an exception for the Hottie Roboto. Something told me living with him would be easy for me and annoying for him, which made it the perfect plan.
“I love this idea,” I gushed. Zero licked my hand, which had stopped petting him momentarily.
“She loves the idea.” Damian looked genuinely proud.
Axel nodded, smiling between me and Seven and Zero. “If my little sister loves it, I want to give it to her. What do you think Seven?”
His jaw ticked. “That should work for the interim.”
Axel’s smile faded. “Only problem is, I don’t like the idea of my little sister moving in with a bachelor of any sort…”
“Any funny business would be the absolute end of your contract,” Damian told Seven with an extra edge in his voice.
I snorted. “You guys don’t have to worry about anything like that. Seven is only recently learning about human emotions in his transition from a robot.”
Damian looked like he was fighting a laugh. Seven, on the other hand, only looked annoyed.
“I’ve never engaged in inappropriate contact with any of my clients or their siblings, and I don’t intend to start now,” he said tersely. “My professional conduct is top-notch, and that’s something I take very seriously. Besides,” he sniffed, glancing my way, “she’s a brat. No offense.”
I tried to look offended, but I could only laugh.
“Well I think we can mark this item off the to-do list,” Axel said. “Now, it’s time for subpar eggs.”
Seven’s face returned to that neutral mask I was used to. But it was fine—I knew he disliked the idea of me moving in. That’s all I needed from him.
I, on the other hand, had not been exaggerating.
I fucking loved this idea.
And I planned on milking it for every drop of fun I could.