After I park my car behind Sam, I storm down the sidewalk and swing the bakery door open, nearly ripping it off the hinges. Joey and Brooke are behind the counter, both of them focusing on me immediately and halting their conversation that, for once, looks pleasant.

“What’s wrong? You look pissed,” Joey correctly observes. “Did your thank you not get received well?”

“That’s not why I’m pissed.” Storming into the back, I feel Brooke and Joey on my heels as I grab the glass that’s been sitting in the middle of my worktop. Not even bothering to pick the flower out of it, I chuck the glass and its disturbing contents into the trashcan, the sound of it breaking echoing around me.

“Jesus. What the hell happened?” Joey asks.

“Yeah, Dylan. You look ready to murder somebody,” Brooke adds.

I ignore both of them and make my way up the stairs, knowing Joey will be following me. I swing the door open and step behind my decorative screen, ripping my coat off and throwing it onto the bed.

“Dylan, what’s going on?” Joey asks from behind the screen, genuine concern in his voice. “You’re kind of starting to freak me out a little.”

I grab some clothes from my dresser and throw them on the bed. “Reese didn’t leave that flower on Sam the other night. Bryce did.”

“What? Are you fucking serious?” Joey grunts out.

“That asshole from the club?” Brooke’s voice fills the room, and I’m momentarily shocked she was concerned enough to follow me up the stairs. But she is Juls’ sister, after all, and Juls would definitely follow me.

“Yeah, the asshole from the club. He cornered me in the elevator after I thanked Reese for my car. God, I fucking hate that guy.” I button my jeans and grab my shirt just as Joey walks out from behind the screen.

“What do you mean he cornered you? What happened?” Joey asks.

I clench my eyes shut at the memory of it. “He pushed up against me.” I open them, turning my head and seeing Joey’s alarmed expression. “Right in my face, Joey. I kneed him in the balls, but I should’ve done worse than that. He put his fucking finger on my neck.” I shiver, reaching up and rubbing my skin raw with my hand. “Jesus, I’m so grossed out right now.”

“He touched you? Oh, fuck that. I don’t care what you say, cupcake. I’m telling Reese about this. And if I ever see that motherfucker again, I’ll risk jail time.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Brooke says, stepping up beside Joey. She flips her dark hair off her shoulder before crossing her arms over her chest. “He seems worthy of a good beat-down. One I’d personally like to deliver.”

Reaching for my coat, I grab my phone from the pocket. “You won’t have to tell Reese. I already decided he needs to know about this. I was just waiting until I wasn’t putting myself and others in danger to tell him. He’d flip out if he knew I was talking on the phone while driving.” I sit on the edge of my bed, dialing Reese’s office number and placing the phone to my ear. I look up and notice that neither one of my employees have moved from their spot. “Would one of you like to go downstairs in case someone comes in to buy something? We can’t all be up here.” Joey turns to Brooke who gives him a look like she shouldn’t be the one leaving. “Or both of you could go. I don’t really need an audience.”

Joey snaps his head in my direction, his eyes narrowing on mine. “I take offense to that, but fine.” He grabs Brooke’s arm. “Come on. I’ll show you what to do when someone comes in with a special request. Dylan has a specific way of doing things.”

Just as my loft door closes, the phone picks up.

“Reese Carroll’s office. Dave speaking. How can I help you?”

“Hi, Dave. It’s Dylan. Can I speak to Reese, please?”

“Absolutely. He just went to Mr. Thomas’ office, so I’ll transfer you to his line. Hold on one second.”

Speaking of Mr. Thomas’, Juls will definitely be filled in on what I just went through as soon as I hang up from this phone call.

“Ian Thomas.”

“Hey, Ian. It’s Dylan. Is Reese with you?”

“Yeah, he just walked in. Hold on.” I hear shuffling through the phone followed by a muffled “it’s your girl.”

The tenseness that has set into my shoulders seems to release a bit at the sound of my title. I love being ‘his girl’, and that’s always how Ian labels me. Even during mine and Reese’s casual bullshit phase.

“Love. Are you missing me already?”

I smile, my first smile in twenty minutes. “Always. But that’s not why I’m calling.”

After several seconds, he asks, “Are you going to tell me or am I supposed to be guessing?”

I sigh heavily, mentally preparing myself for the reaction that will surely ruin the amazing, post-orgasmic mood he’s floating around with. Mine sure as hell has been ruined. “No. But before I tell you this, I’d like to start off by saying I think I handled this very well and am quite proud of myself.”

“Is this wedding shit? Because you know I back you up one hundred percent. Whatever you decide is fine with me.”

I let out a small laugh. “No, it isn’t wedding shit. I’d actually prefer a discussion with both our mothers’ over the one I just had with Bryce.”

I don’t need to be in Ian’s office right now to know Reese’s free hand is in his hair. “What do you mean the discussion you just had with Bryce? You saw him?”

I hear Ian’s voice in the background, saying something I can’t make out before I respond. “He got on the elevator with me when I was leaving your building.”

His breathing fills my ear. “Did he? And what did you two discuss?”

I can sense the irritation in his voice and suddenly feel like it’s being directed toward me. “What’s with the attitude? I didn’t ask him to get on the elevator with me.”

“No, but you picked out that fucking outfit you had on.”

I’m on my feet, rage coursing through my body as I begin pacing alongside my bed. “Are you serious right now? I don’t remember you complaining about my wardrobe when you had your dick in me. And how the hell was I supposed to know he was in your building? I thought Ian closed the account with him.”

“He did. Don’t fucking yell at me because you, once again, decided to wear something that could draw you undesirable attention. You could’ve stripped all your clothes off once you got in my office, or waited until I fucking got home to pull that stunt.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not my style.”

“No shit. What did he say to you?”

My free hand fists at my side as I burn a hole into my carpet with the strides I’m taking. “You know what, Reese? Don’t worry about it. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me. I fucking handled it like I said I would.”

“Tell me what happened.”

“No. And if you want to yell at somebody, yell at yourself. You’re the one who decided to work with that asshole after I told you months ago he creeped me out. Thanks a lot for thinking of me.”

“Dylan!”

I hang up my phone before tossing it onto the bed. What in the actual fuck? I actually do the right thing here and before I can even tell him what happened, he’s blaming me for it? How is this in any way my fault? I’m not the one who agreed to work with that prick. I wouldn’t care how important this account was or how much money was involved. I would never work with someone who made my fiancé uncomfortable. If anyone has the right to be angry in this situation, it’s me. Reese got paid, laid, and has the nerve to take this out on me?