Page 28 of Barristers & Bones

“Why’d you throw that at her?”

Ivan set his drink down. “You’re lucky I didn’t tell her everything. I think your plan is shit, and I’m starting to like her–she’s got spunk. Have you even read my report?”

“I read enough. And I don’t feel lucky, I feel like breaking your fucking nose.” I pointed at him. “Don’t interfere again.”

Drakos leaned back and spread his arms against the spa ledge. “You’re barely pretending to keep it professional with her. Don’t get me wrong, it’s entertaining to see you two square off at each other like cats in heat. But I’m going to throw this out there. Things could get messy, and she’s not her father.”

Xander pulled himself up out of the pool and sat. “It’s already messy. Be careful with her, she’s better than any of us.”

Truer words were never spoken, but I still didn’t give a fuck. Klim had sent her to me, and she wasmine.

Ivan leaned back and put his hands behind his head. “I feel like kicking the shit out of you. How about a sparring match at the gym tomorrow morning? Unless you aren’t up for it.” I knew he was trying to goad me.

“You deserve a good beating for interfering.”

He grinned. “You’re a mean, cold fucker but I do get a good workout with you. Fine. How about seven?”

Ivan and I met at the No Name Boxing Gym a few blocks from our office the next morning before work. We represented No Name’s owner, Ryder Colton, but he ran a tight ship and we never had to come here for more than a good workout or a sparring match.

We’d both been trained by Gideon. Ivan had a few pounds of muscle on me and I was a hair faster. After a few rounds of intense sparring with a few good hits, we’d both worked through our aggression. Ryder stood on the sidelines, his arms crossed, watching us.

“Only a little blood and a dislocated shoulder. It’s been worse,” Ryder muttered as he snapped Ivan’s shoulder back into place.

I showered and cleaned up in the gym, then headed to the office. My phone buzzed early that afternoon, and when I looked down and saw who was texting me, my mouth curled into a cruel smile.

Luna: I want to negotiate my schedule

I decided to let her stew for a while and I waited until after work to get back with her. When I got home, I changed my clothes, grabbed some food, then walked out to the back patio before responding.

Roman: Send me your class times and I’ll give you your schedule

Luna: That’s not negotiating. That’s dictating, and we live in a democracy

I grinned down at my phone as I responded.

Roman: If you want to negotiate, we do it face to face. And who said your internship is a democracy?

Luna

On Monday morning before my first class, I’d gone to plead my case with Klim.

He peered at me from over the rim of his glasses. “Ms. Cross, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Roman Fowler,” I ground out, the name tasting like sour milk on my tongue.

Klim leaned back in his chair and considered me. “I had lunch with him on Sunday.”

“Are you twofriends?”

Klim closed one eye. “In a manner of speaking.”

If Klim and Roman were friends, I was screwed.

I started pacing. “We have the most unorthodox mentor-intern relationship in history. He can barely tolerate me, yet he wants to pick me up every morning.” Whatever was going on between Roman and me seemed personal somehow.

Klim watched me pace. “Do you have a credible complaint? Has he acted inappropriately?”

Damn it, he was calling me out. “He’s overbearing and condescending, and sometimes he looks at me like he wants to peel the skin off my bones. Then he demands I shadow him wherever he goes. It’s too much.”

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